Arms and the man I sing, who first made way, 
 predestined exile, from the Trojan shore 
 to Italy , the blest Lavinian strand. 
 Smitten of storms he was on land and sea 
 by violence of Heaven, to satisfy 
 stern Juno's sleepless wrath; and much in war 
 he suffered, seeking at the last to found 
 the city, and bring o'er his fathers' gods 
 to safe abode in Latium ; whence arose 
 the Latin race, old Alba's reverend lords, 
 and from her hills wide-walled, imperial Rome .

O Muse, the causes tell! What sacrilege, 
 or vengeful sorrow, moved the heavenly Queen 
 to thrust on dangers dark and endless toil 
 a man whose largest honor in men's eyes 
 was serving Heaven? Can gods such anger feel?

In ages gone an ancient city stood— 
 
 Carthage , a Tyrian seat, which from afar 
 made front on Italy and on the mouths 
 of Tiber 's stream; its wealth and revenues 
 were vast, and ruthless was its quest of war. 
 'T is said that Juno, of all lands she loved, 
 most cherished this,—not Samos ' self so dear. 
 Here were her arms, her chariot; even then 
 a throne of power o'er nations near and far, 
 if Fate opposed not, 't was her darling hope 
 to 'stablish here; but anxiously she heard 
 that of the Trojan blood there was a breed 
 then rising, which upon the destined day 
 should utterly o'erwhelm her Tyrian towers, 
 a people of wide sway and conquest proud 
 should compass Libya 's doom;—such was the web 
 the Fatal Sisters spun. Such was the fear 
 of Saturn's daughter, who remembered well 
 what long and unavailing strife she waged 
 for her loved Greeks at Troy . Nor did she fail 
 to meditate th' occasions of her rage, 
 and cherish deep within her bosom proud 
 its griefs and wrongs: the choice by Paris made; 
 her scorned and slighted beauty; a whole race 
 rebellious to her godhead; and Jove's smile 
 that beamed on eagle-ravished Ganymede. 
 With all these thoughts infuriate, her power 
 pursued with tempests o'er the boundless main 
 the Trojans, though by Grecian victor spared 
 and fierce Achilles; so she thrust them far 
 from Latium ; and they drifted, Heaven-impelled, 
 year after year, o'er many an unknown sea— 
 O labor vast, to found the Roman line!

Below th' horizon the Sicilian isle 
 just sank from view, as for the open sea 
 with heart of hope they sailed, and every ship 
 clove with its brazen beak the salt, white waves. 
 But Juno of her everlasting wound 
 knew no surcease, but from her heart of pain 
 thus darkly mused: “Must I, defeated, fail 
 of what I will, nor turn the Teucrian King 
 from Italy away? Can Fate oppose? 
 Had Pallas power to lay waste in flame 
 the Argive fleet and sink its mariners, 
 revenging but the sacrilege obscene 
 by Ajax wrought, Oileus' desperate son? 
 She, from the clouds, herself Jove's lightning threw, 
 scattered the ships, and ploughed the sea with storms. 
 Her foe, from his pierced breast out-breathing fire, 
 in whirlwind on a deadly rock she flung. 
 But I, who move among the gods a queen, 
 Jove's sister and his spouse, with one weak tribe 
 make war so long! Who now on Juno calls? 
 What suppliant gifts henceforth her altars crown?”

So, in her fevered heart complaining still, 
 unto the storm-cloud land the goddess came, 
 a region with wild whirlwinds in its womb, 
 
 Aeolia named, where royal Aeolus 
 in a high-vaulted cavern keeps control 
 o'er warring winds and loud concourse of storms. 
 There closely pent in chains and bastions strong, 
 they, scornful, make the vacant mountain roar, 
 chafing against their bonds. But from a throne 
 of lofty crag, their king with sceptred hand 
 allays their fury and their rage confines. 
 Did he not so, our ocean, earth, and sky 
 were whirled before them through the vast inane. 
 But over-ruling Jove, of this in fear, 
 hid them in dungeon dark: then o'er them piled 
 huge mountains, and ordained a lawful king 
 to hold them in firm sway, or know what time, 
 with Jove's consent, to loose them o'er the world. 
 To him proud Juno thus made lowly plea:

“Thou in whose hands the Father of all gods 
 and Sovereign of mankind confides the power 
 to calm the waters or with winds upturn, 
 great Aeolus! a race with me at war 
 now sails the Tuscan main towards Italy , 
 bringing their Ilium and its vanquished powers. 
 Uprouse thy gales. Strike that proud navy down! 
 Hurl far and wide, and strew the waves with dead! 
 Twice seven nymphs are mine, of rarest mould; 
 of whom Deiopea, the most fair, 
 I give thee in true wedlock for thine own, 
 to mate thy noble worth; she at thy side 
 shall pass long, happy years, and fruitful bring 
 her beauteous offspring unto thee their sire.”

Then Aeolus: “'T is thy sole task, O Queen, 
 to weigh thy wish and will. My fealty 
 thy high behest obeys. This humble throne 
 is of thy gift. Thy smiles for me obtain 
 authority from Jove. Thy grace concedes 
 my station at your bright Olympian board, 
 and gives me lordship of the darkening storm.”

Replying thus, he smote with spear reversed 
 the hollow mountain's wall; then rush the winds 
 through that wide breach in long, embattled line, 
 and sweep tumultuous from land to land: 
 with brooding pinions o'er the waters spread, 
 east wind and south, and boisterous Afric gale 
 upturn the sea; vast billows shoreward roll; 
 the shout of mariners, the creak of cordage, 
 follow the shock; low-hanging clouds conceal 
 from Trojan eyes all sight of heaven and day; 
 night o'er the ocean broods; from sky to sky 
 the thunders roll, the ceaseless lightnings glare; 
 and all things mean swift death for mortal man. 
 Straightway Aeneas, shuddering with amaze, 
 groaned loud, upraised both holy hands to Heaven, 
 and thus did plead: “O thrice and four times blest, 
 ye whom your sires and whom the walls of Troy 
 
 looked on in your last hour! O bravest son 
 
 Greece ever bore, Tydides! O that I 
 had fallen on Ilian fields, and given this life 
 struck down by thy strong hand! where by the spear 
 of great Achilles, fiery Hector fell, 
 and huge Sarpedon; where the Simois 
 in furious flood engulfed and whirled away 
 so many helms and shields and heroes slain!”

While thus he cried to Heaven, a shrieking blast 
 smote full upon the sail. Up surged the waves 
 to strike the very stars; in fragments flew 
 the shattered oars; the helpless vessel veered 
 and gave her broadside to the roaring flood, 
 where watery mountains rose and burst and fell. 
 Now high in air she hangs, then yawning gulfs 
 lay bare the shoals and sands o'er which she drives. 
 Three ships a whirling south wind snatched and flung 
 on hidden rocks,—altars of sacrifice 
 Italians call them, which lie far from shore 
 a vast ridge in the sea; three ships beside 
 an east wind, blowing landward from the deep, 
 drove on the shallows,—pitiable sight,— 
 and girdled them in walls of drifting sand. 
 That ship, which, with his friend Orontes, bore 
 the Lycian mariners, a great, plunging wave 
 struck straight astern, before Aeneas' eyes. 
 Forward the steersman rolled and o'er the side 
 fell headlong, while three times the circling flood 
 spun the light bark through swift engulfing seas. 
 Look, how the lonely swimmers breast the wave! 
 And on the waste of waters wide are seen 
 weapons of war, spars, planks, and treasures rare, 
 once Ilium 's boast, all mingled with the storm. 
 Now o'er Achates and Ilioneus, 
 now o'er the ship of Abas or Aletes, 
 bursts the tempestuous shock; their loosened seams 
 yawn wide and yield the angry wave its will.

Meanwhile how all his smitten ocean moaned, 
 and how the tempest's turbulent assault 
 had vexed the stillness of his deepest cave, 
 great Neptune knew; and with indignant mien 
 uplifted o'er the sea his sovereign brow. 
 He saw the Teucrian navy scattered far 
 along the waters; and Aeneas' men 
 o'erwhelmed in mingling shock of wave and sky. 
 Saturnian Juno's vengeful stratagem 
 her brother's royal glance failed not to see; 
 and loud to eastward and to westward calling, 
 he voiced this word: “What pride of birth or power 
 is yours, ye winds, that, reckless of my will, 
 audacious thus, ye ride through earth and heaven, 
 and stir these mountain waves? Such rebels I— 
 nay, first I calm this tumult! But yourselves 
 by heavier chastisement shall expiate 
 hereafter your bold trespass. Haste away 
 and bear your king this word! Not unto him 
 dominion o'er the seas and trident dread, 
 but unto me, Fate gives. Let him possess 
 wild mountain crags, thy favored haunt and home, 
 O Eurus! In his barbarous mansion there, 
 let Aeolus look proud, and play the king 
 in yon close-bounded prison-house of storms!”

He spoke, and swiftlier than his word subdued 
 the swelling of the floods; dispersed afar 
 th' assembled clouds, and brought back light to heaven. 
 Cymothoe then and Triton, with huge toil, 
 thrust down the vessels from the sharp-edged reef; 
 while, with the trident, the great god's own hand 
 assists the task; then, from the sand-strewn shore 
 out-ebbing far, he calms the whole wide sea, 
 and glides light-wheeled along the crested foam. 
 As when, with not unwonted tumult, roars 
 in some vast city a rebellious mob, 
 and base-born passions in its bosom burn, 
 till rocks and blazing torches fill the air 
 (rage never lacks for arms)—if haply then 
 some wise man comes, whose reverend looks attest 
 a life to duty given, swift silence falls; 
 all ears are turned attentive; and he sways 
 with clear and soothing speech the people's will. 
 So ceased the sea's uproar, when its grave Sire 
 looked o'er th' expanse, and, riding on in light, 
 flung free rein to his winged obedient car.

Aeneas' wave-worn crew now landward made, 
 and took the nearest passage, whither lay 
 the coast of Libya . A haven there 
 walled in by bold sides of a rocky isle, 
 offers a spacious and secure retreat, 
 where every billow from the distant main 
 breaks, and in many a rippling curve retires. 
 Huge crags and two confronted promontories 
 frown heaven-high, beneath whose brows outspread 
 the silent, sheltered waters; on the heights 
 the bright and glimmering foliage seems to show 
 a woodland amphitheatre; and yet higher 
 rises a straight-stemmed grove of dense, dark shade. 
 Fronting on these a grotto may be seen, 
 o'erhung by steep cliffs; from its inmost wall 
 clear springs gush out; and shelving seats it has 
 of unhewn stone, a place the wood-nymphs love. 
 In such a port, a weary ship rides free 
 of weight of firm-fluked anchor or strong chain.

Hither Aeneas of his scattered fleet 
 saving but seven, into harbor sailed; 
 with passionate longing for the touch of land, 
 forth leap the Trojans to the welcome shore, 
 and fling their dripping limbs along the ground. 
 Then good Achates smote a flinty stone, 
 secured a flashing spark, heaped on light leaves, 
 and with dry branches nursed the mounting flame. 
 Then Ceres' gift from the corrupting sea 
 they bring away; and wearied utterly 
 ply Ceres' cunning on the rescued corn, 
 and parch in flames, and mill 'twixt two smooth stones. 
 Aeneas meanwhile climbed the cliffs, and searched 
 the wide sea-prospect; haply Antheus there, 
 storm-buffeted, might sail within his ken, 
 with biremes, and his Phrygian mariners, 
 or Capys or Caicus armor-clad, 
 upon a towering deck. No ship is seen; 
 but while he looks, three stags along the shore 
 come straying by, and close behind them comes 
 the whole herd, browsing through the lowland vale 
 in one long line. Aeneas stopped and seized 
 his bow and swift-winged arrows, which his friend, 
 trusty Achates, close beside him bore. 
 His first shafts brought to earth the lordly heads 
 of the high-antlered chiefs; his next assailed 
 the general herd, and drove them one and all 
 in panic through the leafy wood, nor ceased 
 the victory of his bow, till on the ground 
 lay seven huge forms, one gift for every ship. 
 Then back to shore he sped, and to his friends 
 distributed the spoil, with that rare wine 
 which good Acestes while in Sicily 
 
 had stored in jars, and prince-like sent away 
 with his Ioved guest;—this too Aeneas gave; 
 and with these words their mournful mood consoled.

“Companions mine, we have not failed to feel 
 calamity till now. O, ye have borne 
 far heavier sorrow: Jove will make an end 
 also of this. Ye sailed a course hard by 
 infuriate Scylla's howling cliffs and caves. 
 Ye knew the Cyclops' crags. Lift up your hearts! 
 No more complaint and fear! It well may be 
 some happier hour will find this memory fair. 
 Through chance and change and hazard without end, 
 our goal is Latium ; where our destinies 
 beckon to blest abodes, and have ordained 
 that Troy shall rise new-born! Have patience all! 
 And bide expectantly that golden day.”

Such was his word, but vexed with grief and care, 
 feigned hopes upon his forehead firm he wore, 
 and locked within his heart a hero's pain. 
 Now round the welcome trophies of his chase 
 they gather for a feast. Some flay the ribs 
 and bare the flesh below; some slice with knives, 
 and on keen prongs the quivering strips impale, 
 place cauldrons on the shore, and fan the fires. 
 Then, stretched at ease on couch of simple green, 
 they rally their lost powers, and feast them well 
 on seasoned wine and succulent haunch of game. 
 But hunger banished and the banquet done, 
 in long discourse of their lost mates they tell, 
 'twixt hopes and fears divided; for who knows 
 whether the lost ones live, or strive with death, 
 or heed no more whatever voice may call? 
 Chiefly Aeneas now bewails his friends, 
 Orontes brave and fallen Amycus, 
 or mourns with grief untold the untimely doom 
 of bold young Gyas and Cloanthus bold.

After these things were past, exalted Jove, 
 from his ethereal sky surveying clear 
 the seas all winged with sails, lands widely spread, 
 and nations populous from shore to shore, 
 paused on the peak of heaven, and fixed his gaze 
 on Libya . But while he anxious mused, 
 near him, her radiant eyes all dim with tears, 
 nor smiling any more, Venus approached, 
 and thus complained: “O thou who dost control 
 things human and divine by changeless laws, 
 enthroned in awful thunder! What huge wrong 
 could my Aeneas and his Trojans few 
 achieve against thy power? For they have borne 
 unnumbered deaths, and, failing Italy , 
 the gates of all the world against them close. 
 Hast thou not given us thy covenant 
 that hence the Romans when the rolling years 
 have come full cycle, shall arise to power 
 from Troy 's regenerate seed, and rule supreme 
 the unresisted lords of land and sea? 
 O Sire, what swerves thy will? How oft have I 
 in Troy 's most lamentable wreck and woe 
 consoled my heart with this, and balanced oft 
 our destined good against our destined ill! 
 But the same stormful fortune still pursues 
 my band of heroes on their perilous way. 
 When shall these labors cease, O glorious King? 
 Antenor, though th' Achaeans pressed him sore, 
 found his way forth, and entered unassailed 
 
 Illyria 's haven, and the guarded land 
 of the Liburni. Straight up stream he sailed 
 where like a swollen sea Timavus pours 
 a nine-fold flood from roaring mountain gorge, 
 and whelms with voiceful wave the fields below. 
 He built Patavium there, and fixed abodes 
 for Troy 's far-exiled sons; he gave a name 
 to a new land and race; the Trojan arms 
 were hung on temple walls; and, to this day, 
 lying in perfect peace, the hero sleeps. 
 But we of thine own seed, to whom thou dost 
 a station in the arch of heaven assign, 
 behold our navy vilely wrecked, because 
 a single god is angry; we endure 
 this treachery and violence, whereby 
 wide seas divide us from th' Hesperian shore. 
 Is this what piety receives? Or thus 
 doth Heaven's decree restore our fallen thrones?”

Smiling reply, the Sire of gods and men, 
 with such a look as clears the skies of storm 
 chastely his daughter kissed, and thus spake on: 
 “Let Cytherea cast her fears away! 
 Irrevocably blest the fortunes be 
 of thee and thine. Nor shalt thou fail to see 
 that City, and the proud predestined wall 
 encompassing Lavinium . Thyself 
 shall starward to the heights of heaven bear 
 Aeneas the great-hearted. Nothing swerves 
 my will once uttered. Since such carking cares 
 consume thee, I this hour speak freely forth, 
 and leaf by leaf the book of fate unfold. 
 Thy son in Italy shall wage vast war 
 and, quell its nations wild; his city-wall 
 and sacred laws shall be a mighty bond 
 about his gathered people. Summers three 
 shall Latium call him king; and three times pass 
 the winter o'er Rutulia's vanquished hills. 
 His heir, Ascanius, now Iulus called 
 (Ilus it was while Ilium 's kingdom stood), 
 full thirty months shall reign, then move the throne 
 from the Lavinian citadel, and build 
 for Alba Longa its well-bastioned wall.

Here three full centuries shall Hector's race 
 have kingly power; till a priestess queen, 
 by Mars conceiving, her twin offspring bear; 
 then Romulus, wolf-nursed and proudly clad 
 in tawny wolf-skin mantle, shall receive 
 the sceptre of his race. He shall uprear 
 and on his Romans his own name bestow. 
 To these I give no bounded times or power, 
 but empire without end. Yea, even my Queen, 
 Juno, who now chastiseth land and sea 
 with her dread frown, will find a wiser way, 
 and at my sovereign side protect and bless 
 the Romans, masters of the whole round world, 
 who, clad in peaceful toga, judge mankind. 
 Such my decree! In lapse of seasons due, 
 the heirs of Ilium 's kings shall bind in chains 
 
 Mycenae 's glory and Achilles' towers, 
 and over prostrate Argos sit supreme. 
 Of Trojan stock illustriously sprung, 
 lo, Caesar comes! whose power the ocean bounds, 
 whose fame, the skies. He shall receive the name 
 Iulus nobly bore, great Julius, he. 
 Him to the skies, in Orient trophies dress, 
 thou shalt with smiles receive; and he, like us, 
 shall hear at his own shrines the suppliant vow. 
 Then will the world grow mild; the battle-sound 
 will be forgot; for olden Honor then, 
 with spotless Vesta, and the brothers twain, 
 Remus and Romulus, at strife no more, 
 will publish sacred laws. The dreadful gates 
 whence issueth war, shall with close-jointed steel 
 be barred impregnably; and prisoned there 
 the heaven-offending Fury, throned on swords, 
 and fettered by a hundred brazen chains, 
 shall belch vain curses from his lips of gore.”

These words he gave, and summoned Maia's son, 
 the herald Mercury, who earthward flying, 
 should bid the Tyrian realms and new-built towers 
 welcome the Trojan waifs; lest Dido, blind 
 to Fate's decree, should thrust them from the land. 
 He takes his flight, with rhythmic stroke of wing, 
 across th' abyss of air, and soon draws near 
 unto the Libyan mainland. He fulfils 
 his heavenly task; the Punic hearts of stone 
 grow soft beneath the effluence divine; 
 and, most of all, the Queen, with heart at ease 
 awaits benignantly her guests from Troy .

But good Aeneas, pondering all night long 
 his many cares, when first the cheerful dawn 
 upon him broke, resolved to take survey 
 of this strange country whither wind and wave 
 had driven him,—for desert land it seemed,— 
 to learn what tribes of man or beast possess 
 a place so wild, and careful tidings bring 
 back to his friends. His fleet of ships the while, 
 where dense, dark groves o'er-arch a hollowed crag, 
 he left encircled in far-branching shade. 
 Then with no followers save his trusty friend 
 Achates, he went forth upon his way, 
 two broad-tipped javelins poising in his hand. 
 Deep to the midmost wood he went, and there 
 his Mother in his path uprose; she seemed 
 in garb and countenance a maid, and bore, 
 like Spartan maids, a weapon; in such guise 
 Harpalyce the Thracian urges on 
 her panting coursers and in wild career 
 outstrips impetuous Hebrus as it flows. 
 Over her lovely shoulders was a bow, 
 slender and light, as fits a huntress fair; 
 her golden tresses without wimple moved 
 in every wind, and girded in a knot 
 her undulant vesture bared her marble knees. 
 She hailed them thus: “Ho, sirs, I pray you tell 
 if haply ye have noted, as ye came, 
 one of my sisters in this wood astray? 
 She bore a quiver, and a lynx's hide 
 her spotted mantle was; perchance she roused 
 some foaming boar, and chased with loud halloo.”

So Venus spoke, and Venus' son replied: 
 “No voice or vision of thy sister fair 
 has crossed my path, thou maid without a name! 
 Thy beauty seems not of terrestrial mould, 
 nor is thy music mortal! Tell me, goddess, 
 art thou bright Phoebus' sister? Or some nymph, 
 the daughter of a god? Whate'er thou art, 
 thy favor we implore, and potent aid 
 in our vast toil. Instruct us of what skies, 
 or what world's end, our storm-swept lives have found! 
 Strange are these lands and people where we rove, 
 compelled by wind and wave. Lo, this right hand 
 shall many a victim on thine altar slay!”

Then Venus: “Nay, I boast not to receive 
 honors divine. We Tyrian virgins oft 
 bear bow and quiver, and our ankles white 
 lace up in purple buskin. Yonder lies 
 the Punic power, where Tyrian masters hold 
 Agenor's town; but on its borders dwell 
 the Libyans, by battles unsubdued. 
 Upon the throne is Dido, exiled there 
 from Tyre , to flee th' unnatural enmity 
 of her own brother. 'T was an ancient wrong; 
 too Iong the dark and tangled tale would be; 
 I trace the larger outline of her story: 
 Sichreus was her spouse, whose acres broad 
 no Tyrian lord could match, and he was-blessed 
 by his ill-fated lady's fondest love, 
 whose father gave him her first virgin bloom 
 in youthful marriage. But the kingly power 
 among the Tyrians to her brother came, 
 Pygmalion, none deeper dyed in crime 
 in all that land. Betwixt these twain there rose 
 a deadly hatred,—and the impious wretch, 
 blinded by greed, and reckless utterly 
 of his fond sister's joy, did murder foul 
 upon defenceless and unarmed Sichaeus, 
 and at the very altar hewed him down. 
 Long did he hide the deed, and guilefully 
 deceived with false hopes, and empty words, 
 her grief and stricken love. But as she slept, 
 her husband's tombless ghost before her came, 
 with face all wondrous pale, and he laid bare 
 his heart with dagger pierced, disclosing so 
 the blood-stained altar and the infamy 
 that darkened now their house. His counsel was 
 to fly, self-banished, from her ruined land, 
 and for her journey's aid, he whispered where 
 his buried treasure lay, a weight unknown 
 of silver and of gold. Thus onward urged, 
 Dido, assembling her few trusted friends, 
 prepared her flight. There rallied to her cause 
 all who did hate and scorn the tyrant king, 
 or feared his cruelty. They seized his ships, 
 which haply rode at anchor in the bay, 
 and loaded them with gold; the hoarded wealth 
 of vile and covetous Pygmalion 
 they took to sea. A woman wrought this deed. 
 Then came they to these lands where now thine eyes 
 behold yon walls and yonder citadel 
 of newly rising Carthage . For a price 
 they measured round so much of Afric soil 
 as one bull's hide encircles, and the spot 
 received its name, the Byrsa. But, I pray, 
 what men are ye? from what far land arrived, 
 and whither going?” When she questioned thus, 
 her son, with sighs that rose from his heart's depths, 
 this answer gave:

“Divine one, if I tell 
 my woes and burdens all, and thou could'st pause 
 to heed the tale, first would the vesper star 
 th' Olympian portals close, and bid the day 
 in slumber lie. Of ancient Troy are we— 
 if aught of Troy thou knowest! As we roved 
 from sea to sea, the hazard of the storm 
 cast us up hither on this Libyan coast. 
 I am Aeneas, faithful evermore 
 to Heaven's command; and in my ships I bear 
 my gods ancestral, which I snatched away 
 from peril of the foe. My fame is known 
 above the stars. I travel on in quest 
 of Italy , my true home-land, and I 
 from Jove himself may trace my birth divine. 
 With twice ten ships upon the Phryglan main 
 I launched away. My mother from the skies 
 gave guidance, and I wrought what Fate ordained. 
 Yet now scarce seven shattered ships survive 
 the shock of wind and wave; and I myself 
 friendless, bereft, am wandering up and down 
 this Libyan wilderness! Behold me here, 
 from Europe and from Asia exiled still!” 
 But Venus could not let him longer plain, 
 and stopped his grief midway:

“Whoe'er thou art, 
 I deem that not unblest of heavenly powers, 
 with vital breath still thine, thou comest hither 
 unto our Tyrian town. Go steadfast on, 
 and to the royal threshold make thy way! 
 I bring thee tidings that thy comrades all 
 are safe at land; and all thy ships, conveyed 
 by favoring breezes, safe at anchor lie; 
 or else in vain my parents gave me skill 
 to read the skies. Look up at yonder swans! 
 A flock of twelve, whose gayly fluttering file, 
 erst scattered by Jove's eagle swooping down 
 from his ethereal haunt, now form anew 
 their long-drawn line, and make a landing-place, 
 or, hovering over, scan some chosen ground, 
 or soaring high, with whir of happy wings, 
 re-circle heaven in triumphant song: 
 likewise, I tell thee, thy Iost mariners 
 are landed, or fly landward at full sail. 
 Up, then! let yon plain path thy guidance be,”

She ceased and turned away. A roseate beam 
 from her bright shoulder glowed; th' ambrosial hair 
 breathed more than mortal sweetness, while her robes 
 fell rippling to her feet. Each step revealed 
 the veritable goddess. Now he knew 
 that vision was his mother, and his words 
 pursued the fading phantom as it fled: 
 “Why is thy son deluded o'er and o'er 
 with mocking dreams,—another cruel god? 
 Hast thou no hand-clasp true, nor interchange 
 of words unfeigned betwixt this heart and thine?” 
 Such word of blame he spoke, and took his way 
 toward the city's rampart. Venus then 
 o'erveiled them as they moved in darkened air,— 
 a liquid mantle of thick cloud divine,— 
 that viewless they might pass, nor would any 
 obstruct, delay, or question why they came. 
 To Paphos then she soared, her Ioved abode, 
 where stands her temple, at whose hundred shrines 
 garlands of myrtle and fresh roses breathe, 
 and clouds of orient sweetness waft away.

Meanwhile the wanderers swiftly journey on 
 along the clear-marked road, and soon they climb 
 the brow of a high hill, which close in view 
 o'er-towers the city's crown. The vast exploit, 
 where lately rose but Afric cabins rude, 
 Aeneas wondered at: the smooth, wide ways; 
 the bastioned gates; the uproar of the throng. 
 The Tyrians toil unwearied; some up-raise 
 a wall or citadel, from far below 
 lifting the ponderous stone; or with due care 
 choose where to build, and close the space around 
 with sacred furrow; in their gathering-place 
 the people for just governors, just laws, 
 and for their reverend senate shout acclaim. 
 Some clear the harbor mouth; some deeply lay 
 the base of a great theatre, and carve out 
 proud columns from the mountain, to adorn 
 their rising stage with lofty ornament. 
 so busy bees above a field of flowers 
 in early summer amid sunbeams toil, 
 leading abroad their nation's youthful brood; 
 or with the flowing honey storing close 
 the pliant cells, until they quite run o'er 
 with nectared sweet; while from the entering swarm 
 they take their little loads; or lined for war, 
 rout the dull drones, and chase them from the hive; 
 brisk is the task, and all the honeyed air 
 breathes odors of wild thyme. “How blest of Heaven. 
 These men that see their promised ramparts rise!” 
 Aeneas sighed; and swift his glances moved 
 from tower to tower; then on his way he fared, 
 veiled in the wonder-cloud, whence all unseen 
 of human eyes,—O strange the tale and true!— 
 he threaded the thronged streets, unmarked, unknown.

Deep in the city's heart there was a grove 
 of beauteous shade, where once the Tyrians, 
 cast here by stormful waves, delved out of earth 
 that portent which Queen Juno bade them find,— 
 the head of a proud horse,—that ages long 
 their boast might be wealth, luxury and war. 
 Upon this spot Sidonian Dido raised 
 a spacious fane to Juno, which became 
 splendid with gifts, and hallowed far and wide 
 for potency divine. Its beams were bronze, 
 and on loud hinges swung the brazen doors. 
 A rare, new sight this sacred grove did show, 
 which calmed Aeneas' fears, and made him bold 
 to hope for safety, and with lifted heart 
 from his low-fallen fortunes re-aspire. 
 For while he waits the advent of the Queen, 
 he scans the mighty temple, and admires 
 the city's opulent pride, and all the skill 
 its rival craftsmen in their work approve. 
 Behold! he sees old Ilium 's well-fought fields 
 in sequent picture, and those famous wars 
 now told upon men's lips the whole world round. 
 There Atreus' sons, there kingly Priam moved, 
 and fierce Pelides pitiless to both. 
 Aeneas paused, and, weeping, thus began: 
 “Alas, Achates, what far region now, 
 what land in all the world knows not our pain? 
 See, it is Priam! Virtue's wage is given— 
 O even here! Here also there be tears 
 for what men bear, and mortal creatures feel 
 each other's sorrow. Therefore, have no fear! 
 This story of our loss forbodes us well.”

So saying, he received into his heart 
 that visionary scene, profoundly sighed, 
 and let his plenteous tears unheeded flow. 
 There he beheld the citadel of Troy 
 
 girt with embattled foes; here, Greeks in flight 
 some Trojan onset 'scaped; there, Phrygian bands 
 before tall-plumed Achilles' chariot sped. 
 The snowy tents of Rhesus spread hard by 
 (he sees them through his tears), where Diomed 
 in night's first watch burst o'er them unawares 
 with bloody havoc and a host of deaths; 
 then drove his fiery coursers o'er the plain 
 before their thirst or hunger could be stayed 
 on Trojan corn or Xanthus ' cooling stream. 
 Here too was princely Troilus, despoiled, 
 routed and weaponless, O wretched boy! 
 Ill-matched against Achilles! His wild steeds 
 bear him along, as from his chariot's rear 
 he falls far back, but clutches still the rein; 
 his hair and shoulders on the ground go trailing, 
 and his down-pointing spear-head scrawls the dust. 
 Elsewhere, to Pallas' ever-hostile shrine, 
 daughters of Ilium , with unsnooded hair, 
 and lifting all in vain her hallowed pall, 
 walked suppliant and sad, beating their breasts, 
 with outspread palms. But her unswerving eyes 
 the goddess fixed on earth, and would not see. 
 Achilles round the Trojan rampart thrice 
 had dragged the fallen Hector, and for gold 
 was making traffic of the lifeless clay. 
 Aeneas groaned aloud, with bursting heart, 
 to see the spoils, the car, the very corpse 
 of his lost friend,—while Priam for the dead 
 stretched forth in piteous prayer his helpless hands. 
 There too his own presentment he could see 
 surrounded by Greek kings; and there were shown 
 hordes from the East, and black-browed Memnon's arms; 
 her band of Amazons, with moon-shaped shields, 
 Penthesilea led; her martial eye 
 flamed on from troop to troop; a belt of gold 
 beneath one bare, protruded breast she bound— 
 a warrior-virgin braving mail-clad men.

While on such spectacle Aeneas' eyes 
 looked wondering, while mute and motionless 
 he stood at gaze, Queen Dido to the shrine 
 in lovely majesty drew near; a throng 
 of youthful followers pressed round her way. 
 So by the margin of Eurotas wide 
 or o'er the Cynthian steep, Diana leads 
 her bright processional; hither and yon 
 are visionary legions numberless 
 of Oreads; the regnant goddess bears 
 a quiver on her shoulders, and is seen 
 emerging tallest of her beauteous train; 
 while joy unutterable thrills the breast 
 of fond Latona: Dido not less fair 
 amid her subjects passed, and not less bright 
 her glow of gracious joy, while she approved 
 her future kingdom's pomp and vast emprise. 
 Then at the sacred portal and beneath 
 the temple's vaulted dome she took her place, 
 encompassed by armed men, and lifted high 
 upon a throne; her statutes and decrees 
 the people heard, and took what lot or toil 
 her sentence, or impartial urn, assigned. 
 But, lo! Aeneas sees among the throng 
 Antheus, Sergestus, and Cloanthus bold, 
 with other Teucrians, whom the black storm flung 
 far o'er the deep and drove on alien shores. 
 Struck dumb was he, and good Achates too, 
 half gladness and half fear. Fain would they fly 
 to friendship's fond embrace; but knowing not 
 what might befall, their hearts felt doubt and care. 
 Therefore they kept the secret, and remained 
 forth-peering from the hollow veil of cloud, 
 haply to learn what their friends' fate might be, 
 or where the fleet was landed, or what aim 
 had brought them hither; for a chosen few 
 from every ship had come to sue for grace, 
 and all the temple with their voices rang.

The doors swung wide; and after access given 
 and leave to speak, revered Ilioneus 
 with soul serene these lowly words essayed: 
 “O Queen, who hast authority of Jove 
 to found this rising city, and subdue 
 with righteous governance its people proud, 
 we wretched Trojans, blown from sea to sea, 
 beseech thy mercy; keep the curse of fire 
 from our poor ships! We pray thee, do no wrong 
 unto a guiltless race. But heed our plea! 
 No Libyan hearth shall suffer by our sword, 
 nor spoil and plunder to our ships be borne; 
 such haughty violence fits not the souls 
 of vanquished men. We journey to a land 
 named, in Greek syllables, Hesperia : 
 a storied realm, made mighty by great wars 
 and wealth of fruitful land; in former days 
 Oenotrians had it, and their sons, 't is said, 
 have called it Italy , a chieftain's name 
 to a whole region given. Thitherward 
 our ships did fare; but with swift-rising flood 
 the stormful season of Orion's star 
 drove us on viewless shoals; and angry gales 
 dispersed us, smitten by the tumbling surge, 
 among innavigable rocks. Behold, 
 we few swam hither, waifs upon your shore! 
 What race of mortals this? What barbarous land, 
 that with inhospitable laws ye thrust 
 a stranger from your coasts, and fly to arms, 
 nor grant mere foothold on your kingdom's bound? 
 If man thou scornest and all mortal power, 
 forget not that the gods watch good and ill!

A king we had; Aeneas,—never man 
 in all the world more loyal, just and true, 
 nor mightier in arms! If Heaven decree 
 his present safety, if he now do breathe 
 the air of earth and is not buried low 
 among the dreadful shades, then fear not thou! 
 For thou wilt never rue that thou wert prompt 
 to do us the first kindness. O'er the sea 
 in the Sicilian land, are cities proud, 
 with martial power, and great Acestes there 
 is of our Trojan kin. So grant us here 
 to beach our shattered ships along thy shore, 
 and from thy forest bring us beam and spar 
 to mend our broken oars. Then, if perchance 
 we find once more our comrades and our king, 
 and forth to Italy once more set sail, 
 to Italy , our Latin hearth and home, 
 we will rejoicing go. But if our weal 
 is clean gone by, and thee, blest chief and sire, 
 these Libyan waters keep, and if no more 
 Iulus bids us hope,—then, at the least, 
 to yon Sicilian seas, to friendly lands 
 whence hither drifting with the winds we came, 
 let us retrace the journey and rejoin 
 good King Acestes.” So Ilioneus 
 ended his pleading; the Dardanidae 
 murmured assent.

Then Dido, briefly and with downcast eyes, 
 her answer made: “O Teucrians, have no fear! 
 Bid care begone! It was necessity, 
 and my young kingdom's weakness, which compelled 
 the policy of force, and made me keep 
 such vigilant sentry my wide co'ast along. 
 Aeneas and his people, that fair town 
 of Troy—who knows them not? The whole world knows 
 those valorous chiefs and huge, far-flaming wars. 
 Our Punic hearts are not of substance all 
 insensible and dull: the god of day 
 drives not his fire-breathing steeds so far 
 from this our Tyrian town. If ye would go 
 to great Hesperia, where Saturn reigned, 
 or if voluptuous Eryx and the throne 
 of good Acestes be your journey's end, 
 I send you safe; I speed you on your way. 
 But if in these my realms ye will abide, 
 associates of my power, behold, I build 
 this city for your own! Choose haven here 
 for your good ships. Beneath my royal sway 
 Trojan and Tyrian equal grace will find. 
 But O, that this same storm had brought your King. 
 Aeneas, hither! I will bid explore 
 our Libya 's utmost bound, where haply he 
 in wilderness or hamlet wanders lost.”

By these fair words to joy profoundly stirred, 
 Father Aeneas and Achates brave 
 to cast aside the cloud that wrapped them round 
 yearned greatly; and Achates to his King 
 spoke thus: “O goddess-born, in thy wise heart 
 what purpose rises now? Lo! All is well! 
 Thy fleet and followers are safe at land. 
 One only comes not, who before our eyes 
 sank in the soundless sea. All else fulfils 
 thy mother's prophecy.” Scarce had he spoke 
 when suddenly that overmantling cloud 
 was cloven, and dissolved in lucent air; 
 forth stood Aeneas. A clear sunbeam smote 
 his god-like head and shoulders. Venus' son 
 of his own heavenly mother now received 
 youth's glowing rose, an eye of joyful fire, 
 and tresses clustering fair. 'T is even so 
 the cunning craftsman unto ivory gives 
 new beauty, or with circlet of bright gold 
 encloses silver or the Parian stone. 
 Thus of the Queen he sued, while wonderment 
 fell on all hearts. “Behold the man ye seek, 
 for I am here! Aeneas, Trojan-born, 
 brought safely hither from yon Libyan seas! 
 O thou who first hast looked with pitying eye 
 on Troy 's unutterable grief, who even to us 
 (escaped our Grecian victor, and outworn 
 by all the perils land and ocean know), 
 to us, bereft and ruined, dost extend 
 such welcome to thy kingdom and thy home! 
 I have no power, Dido, to give thanks 
 to match thine ample grace; nor is there power 
 in any remnant of our Dardan blood, 
 now fled in exile o'er the whole wide world. 
 May gods on high (if influence divine 
 bless faithful lives, or recompense be found 
 in justice and thy self-approving mind) 
 give thee thy due reward. What age was blest 
 by such a birth as thine? What parents proud 
 such offspring bore? O, while the rivers run 
 to mingle with the sea, while shadows pass 
 along yon rounded hills from vale to vale, 
 and while from heaven's unextinguished fire 
 the stars be fed—so Iong thy glorious name, 
 thy place illustrious and thy virtue's praise, 
 abide undimmed.—Yet I myself must go 
 to lands I know not where.” After this word 
 his right hand clasped his Ioved Ilioneus, 
 his left Serestus; then the comrades all, 
 brave Gyas, brave Cloanthus, and their peers.

Sidonian Dido felt her heart stand still 
 when first she looked on him; and thrilled again 
 to hear what vast adventure had befallen 
 so great a hero. Thus she welcomed him: 
 “What chance, O goddess-born, o'er danger's path 
 impels? What power to this wild coast has borne? 
 Art thou Aeneas, great Anchises' son, 
 whom lovely Venus by the Phrygian stream 
 of Simois brought forth unto the day? 
 Now I bethink me of when Teucer came 
 to Sidon , exiled, and of Belus' power 
 desired a second throne. For Belus then, 
 our worshipped sire, despoiled the teeming land 
 of Cyprus , as its conqueror and king. 
 And since that hour I oft have heard the tale 
 of fallen Troy , of thine own noble name, 
 and of Achaean kings. Teucer was wont, 
 although their foe, to praise the Teucrian race, 
 and boasted him of that proud lineage sprung. 
 Therefore, behold, our portals are swung wide 
 for all your company. I also bore 
 hard fate like thine. I too was driven of storms 
 and after long toil was allowed at last 
 to call this land my home. O, I am wise 
 in sorrow, and I help all suffering souls!” 
 So saying, she bade Aeneas welcome take 
 beneath her royal roof, and to the gods 
 made sacrifice in temples, while she sent 
 unto the thankful Trojans on the shore 
 a score of bulls, and of huge, bristling swine, 
 a herd of a whole hundred, and a flock 
 of goodly lambs, a hundred, who ran close 
 beside the mother-ewes: and all were given 
 in joyful feast to please the Heavenly Powers. 
 Her palace showed a monarch's fair array 
 all glittering and proud, and feasts were spread 
 within the ample court. Rich broideries 
 hung deep incarnadined with Tyrian skill; 
 the board had massy silver, gold-embossed, 
 where gleamed the mighty deeds of all her sires, 
 a graven chronicle of peace and war 
 prolonged, since first her ancient line began, 
 from royal sire to son.

Aeneas now 
 (for love in his paternal heart spoke loud 
 and gave no rest) bade swift Achates run 
 to tell Ascanius all, and from the ship 
 to guide him upward to the town,—for now 
 the father's whole heart for Ascanius yearned. 
 And gifts he bade them bring, which had been saved 
 in Ilium 's fall: a richly broidered cloak 
 heavy with golden emblems; and a veil 
 by leaves of saffron lilies bordered round, 
 which Argive Helen o'er her beauty threw, 
 her mother Leda's gift most wonderful, 
 and which to Troy she bore, when flying far 
 in lawless wedlock from Mycenae 's towers; 
 a sceptre, too, once fair Ilione's, 
 eldest of Priam's daughters; and round pearls 
 strung in a necklace, and a double crown 
 of jewels set in gold. These gifts to find, 
 Achates to the tall ships sped away.

But Cytherea in her heart revolved 
 new wiles, new schemes: how Cupid should transform 
 his countenance, and, coming in the guise 
 of sweet Ascanius, still more inflame 
 the amorous Queen with gifts, and deeply fuse 
 through all her yielding frame his fatal fire. 
 Sooth, Venus feared the many-languaged guile 
 which Tyrians use; fierce Juno's hate she feared, 
 and falling night renewed her sleepless care. 
 Therefore to Love, the light-winged god, she said: 
 “Sweet son, of whom my sovereignty and power 
 alone are given! O son, whose smile may scorn 
 the shafts of Jove whereby the Titans fell, 
 to thee I fly, and humbly here implore 
 thy help divine. Behold, from land to land 
 Aeneas, thine own brother, voyages on 
 storm-driven, by Juno's causeless enmity. 
 Thou knowest it well, and oft hast sighed to see 
 my sighs and tears. Dido the Tyrian now 
 detains him with soft speeches; and I fear 
 such courtesy from Juno means us ill; 
 she is not one who, when the hour is ripe, 
 bids action pause. I therefore now intend 
 the Tyrian Queen to snare, and siege her breast 
 with our invading fire, before some god 
 shall change her mood. But let her bosom burn 
 with love of my Aeneas not less than mine. 
 This thou canst bring to pass. I pray thee hear 
 the plan I counsel. At his father's call 
 Ascanius, heir of kings, makes haste to climb 
 to yon Sidonian citadel; my grace 
 protects him, and he bears gifts which were saved 
 from hazard of the sea and burning Troy . 
 Him lapped in slumber on Cythera 's hill, 
 or in Idalia's deep and hallowing shade, 
 myself will hide, lest haply he should learn 
 our stratagem, and burst in, foiling all. 
 Wear thou his shape for one brief night thyself, 
 and let thy boyhood feign another boy's 
 familiar countenance; when Dido there, 
 beside the royal feast and flowing wine, 
 all smiles and joy, shall clasp thee to her breast 
 while she caresses thee, and her sweet lips 
 touch close with thine, then let thy secret fire 
 breathe o'er her heart, to poison and betray.” 
 The love-god to his mother's dear behest 
 gave prompt assent. He put his pinions by 
 and tripped it like Iulus, light of heart. 
 But Venus o'er Ascanius' body poured 
 a perfect sleep, and, to her heavenly breast 
 enfolding him, far, far away upbore 
 to fair Idalia's grove, where fragrant buds 
 of softly-petalled marjoram embower 
 in pleasurable shade.

Cupid straightway 
 obeyed his mother's word and bore the gifts, 
 each worthy of a king, as offerings 
 to greet the Tyrian throne; and as he went 
 he clasped Achates' friendly hand, and smiled. 
 Father Aeneas now, and all his band 
 of Trojan chivalry, at social feast, 
 on lofty purple-pillowed couches lie; 
 deft slaves fresh water on their fingers pour, 
 and from reed-woven basketry renew 
 the plenteous bread, or bring smooth napery 
 of softest weave; fifty handmaidens serve, 
 whose task it is to range in order fair 
 the varied banquet, or at altars bright 
 throw balm and incense on the sacred fires. 
 A hundred more serve with an equal band 
 of beauteous pages, whose obedient skill 
 piles high the generous board and fills the bowl. 
 The Tyrians also to the festal hall 
 come thronging, and receive their honor due, 
 each on his painted couch; with wondering eyes 
 Aeneas' gifts they view, and wondering more, 
 mark young Iulus' radiant brows divine, 
 his guileful words, the golden pall he bears, 
 and broidered veil with saffron lilies bound. 
 The Tyrian Queen ill-starred, already doomed 
 to her approaching woe, scanned ardently, 
 with kindling cheek and never-sated eyes, 
 the precious gifts and wonder-gifted boy. 
 He round Aeneas' neck his arms entwined, 
 fed the deep yearning of his seeming sire, 
 then sought the Queen's embrace; her eyes, her soul 
 clave to him as she strained him to her breast. 
 For Dido knew not in that fateful hour 
 how great a god betrayed her. He began, 
 remembering his mother (she who bore 
 the lovely Acidalian Graces three), 
 to make the dear name of Sichaeus fade, 
 and with new life, new love, to re-possess 
 her Iong-since slumbering bosom's Iost desire.

When the main feast is over, they replace 
 the banquet with huge bowls, and crown the wine 
 with ivy-leaf and rose. Loud rings the roof 
 with echoing voices; from the gilded vault 
 far-blazing cressets swing, or torches bright 
 drive the dark night away. The Queen herself 
 called for her golden chalice studded round 
 with jewels, and o'er-brimming it with wine 
 as Belus and his proud successors use, 
 commanded silence, and this utterance made: 
 “Great Jove, of whom are hospitable laws 
 for stranger-guest, may this auspicious day 
 bless both our Tyrians and the wanderers 
 from Trojan shore. May our posterity 
 keep this remembrance! Let kind Juno smile, 
 and Bacchus, Iord of mirth, attend us here! 
 And, O ye Tyrians, come one and all, 
 and with well-omened words our welcome share!” 
 So saying, she outpoured the sacred drop 
 due to the gods, and lightly from the rim 
 sipped the first taste, then unto Bitias gave 
 with urgent cheer; he seized it, nothing loth, 
 quaffed deep and long the foaming, golden bowl, 
 then passed to others. On a gilded Iyre 
 the flowing-haired Iopas woke a song 
 taught him by famous Atlas: of the moon 
 he sang, the wanderer, and what the sun's 
 vast labors be; then would his music tell 
 whence man and beast were born, and whence were bred 
 clouds, lightnings, and Arcturus' stormful sign, 
 the Hyades, rain-stars, and nigh the Pole 
 the great and lesser Wain; for well he knew 
 why colder suns make haste to quench their orb 
 in ocean-stream, and wintry nights be slow. 
 Loudly the Tyrians their minstrel praised, 
 and Troy gave prompt applause. Dido the while 
 with varying talk prolonged the fateful night, 
 and drank both long and deep of love and wine. 
 Now many a tale of Priam would she crave, 
 of Hector many; or what radiant arms 
 Aurora's son did wear; what were those steeds 
 of Diomed, or what the stature seemed 
 of great Achilles. “Come, illustrious guest, 
 begin the tale,” she said, “begin and tell 
 the perfidy of Greece , thy people's fall, 
 and all thy wanderings. For now,—Ah, me! 
 Seven times the summer's burning stars have seen 
 thee wandering far o'er alien lands and seas.”

A general silence fell; and all gave ear, 
 while, from his lofty station at the feast, 
 Father Aeneas with these words began :— 
 A grief unspeakable thy gracious word, 
 o sovereign lady, bids my heart live o'er: 
 how Asia 's glory and afflicted throne 
 the Greek flung down; which woeful scene I saw, 
 and bore great part in each event I tell. 
 But O! in telling, what Dolopian churl, 
 or Myrmidon, or gory follower 
 of grim Ulysses could the tears restrain? 
 'T is evening; lo! the dews of night begin 
 to fall from heaven, and yonder sinking stars 
 invite to slumber. But if thy heart yearn 
 to hear in brief of all our evil days 
 and Troy 's last throes, although the memory 
 makes my soul shudder and recoil in pain, 
 I will essay it. Wearied of the war, 
 and by ill-fortune crushed, year after year, 
 the kings of Greece , by Pallas' skill divine, 
 build a huge horse, a thing of mountain size, 
 with timbered ribs of fir. They falsely say 
 it has been vowed to Heaven for safe return, 
 and spread this lie abroad. Then they conceal 
 choice bands of warriors in the deep, dark side, 
 and fill the caverns of that monstrous womb 
 with arms and soldiery. In sight of Troy 
 
 lies Tenedos , an island widely famed 
 and opulent, ere Priam's kingdom fell, 
 but a poor haven now, with anchorage 
 not half secure; 't was thitherward they sailed, 
 and lurked unseen by that abandoned shore. 
 We deemed them launched away and sailing far, 
 bound homeward for Mycenae . Teucria then 
 threw off her grief inveterate; all her gates 
 swung wide; exultant went we forth, and saw 
 the Dorian camp untenanted, the siege 
 abandoned, and the shore without a keel. 
 “Here!” cried we, “the Dolopian pitched; the host 
 of fierce Achilles here; here lay the fleet; 
 and here the battling lines to conflict ran.” 
 Others, all wonder, scan the gift of doom 
 by virgin Pallas given, and view with awe 
 that horse which loomed so large. Thymoetes then 
 bade lead it through the gates, and set on high 
 within our citadel,—or traitor he, 
 or tool of fate in Troy 's predestined fall. 
 But Capys, as did all of wiser heart, 
 bade hurl into the sea the false Greek gift, 
 or underneath it thrust a kindling flame 
 or pierce the hollow ambush of its womb 
 with probing spear. Yet did the multitude 
 veer round from voice to voice and doubt of all.

Then from the citadel, conspicuous, 
 Laocoon, with all his following choir, 
 hurried indignant down; and from afar 
 thus hailed the people: “O unhappy men! 
 What madness this? Who deems our foemen fled? 
 Think ye the gifts of Greece can lack for guile? 
 Have ye not known Ulysses? The Achaean 
 hides, caged in yonder beams; or this is reared 
 for engin'ry on our proud battlements, 
 to spy upon our roof-tops, or descend 
 in ruin on the city. 'T is a snare. 
 Trust not this horse, O Troy , whate'er it bode! 
 I fear the Greeks, though gift on gift they bear.” 
 So saying, he whirled with ponderous javelin 
 a sturdy stroke straight at the rounded side 
 of the great, jointed beast. A tremor struck 
 its towering form, and through the cavernous womb 
 rolled loud, reverberate rumbling, deep and long. 
 If heaven's decree, if our own wills, that hour, 
 had not been fixed on woe, his spear had brought 
 a bloody slaughter on our ambushed foe, 
 and Troy were standing on the earth this day! 
 O Priam's towers, ye were unfallen still!

But, lo! with hands fast bound behind, a youth 
 by clamorous Dardan shepherds haled along, 
 was brought before our king,—to this sole end 
 a self-surrendered captive, that he might, 
 although a nameless stranger, cunningly 
 deliver to the Greek the gates of Troy . 
 His firm-set mind flinched not from either goal,— 
 success in crime, or on swift death to fall. 
 The thronging Trojan youth made haste his way 
 from every side, all eager to see close 
 their captive's face, and clout with emulous scorn. 
 Hear now what Greek deception is, and learn 
 from one dark wickedness the whole. For he, 
 a mark for every eye, defenceless, dazed, 
 stood staring at our Phrygian hosts, and cried: 
 “Woe worth the day! What ocean or what shore 
 will have me now? What desperate path remains 
 for miserable me? Now have I lost 
 all foothold with the Greeks, and o'er my head 
 
 Troy 's furious sons call bloody vengeance down.” 
 Such groans and anguish turned all rage away 
 and stayed our lifted hands. We bade him tell 
 his birth, his errand, and from whence might be 
 such hope of mercy for a foe in chains. 
 Then fearing us no more, this speech he dared:

“O King! I will confess, whate'er befall, 
 the whole unvarnished truth. I will not hide 
 my Grecian birth. Yea, thus will I begin. 
 For Fortune has brought wretched Sinon low; 
 but never shall her cruelty impair 
 his honor and his truth. Perchance the name 
 of Palamedes, Belus' glorious son, 
 has come by rumor to your listening ears; 
 whom by false witness and conspiracy, 
 because his counsel was not for this war, 
 the Greeks condemned, though guiltless, to his death, 
 and now make much lament for him they slew. 
 I, his companion, of his kith and kin, 
 sent hither by my humble sire's command, 
 followed his arms and fortunes from my youth. 
 Long as his throne endured, and while he throve 
 in conclave with his kingly peers, we twain 
 some name and lustre bore; but afterward, 
 because that cheat Ulysses envied him 
 (Ye know the deed), he from this world withdrew, 
 and I in gloom and tribulation sore 
 lived miserably on, lamenting loud 
 my lost friend's blameless fall. A fool was I 
 that kept not these lips closed; but I had vowed 
 that if a conqueror home to Greece I came, 
 I would avenge. Such words moved wrath, and were 
 the first shock of my ruin; from that hour, 
 Ulysses whispered slander and alarm; 
 breathed doubt and malice into all men's ears, 
 and darkly plotted how to strike his blow. 
 Nor rest had he, till Calchas, as his tool,- 
 but why unfold this useless, cruel story? 
 Why make delay? Ye count all sons of Greece 
 
 arrayed as one; and to have heard thus far 
 suffices you. Take now your ripe revenge! 
 Ulysses smiles and Atreus' royal sons 
 with liberal price your deed of blood repay.”

We ply him then with passionate appeal 
 and question all his cause: of guilt so dire 
 or such Greek guile we harbored not the thought. 
 So on he prates, with well-feigned grief and fear, 
 and from his Iying heart thus told his tale: 
 
 “Full oft the Greeks had fain achieved their flight, 
 and raised the Trojan siege, and sailed away 
 war-wearied quite. O, would it had been so! 
 Full oft the wintry tumult of the seas 
 did wall them round, and many a swollen storm 
 their embarcation stayed. But chiefly when, 
 all fitly built of beams of maple fair, 
 this horse stood forth,— what thunders filled the skies! 
 With anxious fears we sent Eurypylus 
 to ask Apollo's word; and from the shrine 
 he brings the sorrowful commandment home: 
 ‘By flowing blood and by a virgin slain 
 the wild winds were appeased, when first ye came, 
 ye sons of Greece , to Ilium 's distant shore. 
 Through blood ye must return. Let some Greek life 
 your expiation be.’ The popular ear 
 the saying caught, all spirits were dimmed o'er; 
 cold doubt and horror through each bosom ran, 
 asking what fate would do, and on what wretch 
 Apollo's choice would fall. Ulysses, then, 
 amid the people's tumult and acclaim, 
 thrust Calchas forth, some prophecy to tell 
 to all the throng: he asked him o'er and o'er 
 what Heaven desired. Already not a few 
 foretold the murderous plot, and silently 
 watched the dark doom upon my life impend. 
 Twice five long days the seer his lips did seal, 
 and hid himself, refusing to bring forth 
 His word of guile, and name what wretch should die. 
 At last, reluctant, and all loudly urged 
 By false Ulysses, he fulfils their plot, 
 and, lifting up his voice oracular, 
 points out myself the victim to be slain. 
 Nor did one voice oppose. The mortal stroke 
 horribly hanging o'er each coward head 
 was changed to one man's ruin, and their hearts 
 endured it well. Soon rose th' accursed morn; 
 the bloody ritual was ready; salt 
 was sprinkled on the sacred loaf; my brows 
 were bound with fillets for the offering. 
 But I escaped that death—yes! I deny not! 
 I cast my fetters off, and darkling lay 
 concealed all night in lake-side sedge and mire, 
 awaiting their departure, if perchance 
 they should in truth set sail. But nevermore 
 shall my dear, native country greet these eyes. 
 No more my father or my tender babes 
 shall I behold. Nay, haply their own lives 
 are forfeit, when my foemen take revenge 
 for my escape, and slay those helpless ones, 
 in expiation of my guilty deed. 
 O, by yon powers in heaven which witness truth, 
 by aught in this dark world remaining now 
 of spotless human faith and innocence, 
 I do implore thee look with pitying eye 
 on these long sufferings my heart hath borne. 
 O, pity! I deserve not what I bear.”

Pity and pardon to his tears we gave, 
 and spared his life. King Priam bade unbind 
 the fettered hands and loose those heavy chains 
 that pressed him sore; then with benignant mien 
 addressed him thus: “ Whate'er thy place or name, 
 forget the people thou hast Iost, and be 
 henceforth our countryman. But tell me true! 
 What means the monstrous fabric of this horse? 
 Who made it? Why? What offering to Heaven, 
 or engin'ry of conquest may it be?” 
 He spake; and in reply, with skilful guile, 
 Greek that he was! the other lifted up 
 his hands, now freed and chainless, to the skies: 
 “O ever-burning and inviolate fires, 
 witness my word! O altars and sharp steel, 
 whose curse I fled, O fillets of the gods, 
 which bound a victim's helpless forehead, hear! 
 'T is lawful now to break the oath that gave 
 my troth to Greece . To execrate her kings 
 is now my solemn duty. Their whole plot 
 I publish to the world. No fatherland 
 and no allegiance binds me any more. 
 O Troy, whom I have saved, I bid thee keep 
 the pledge of safety by good Priam given, 
 for my true tale shall my rich ransom be. 
 The Greeks' one hope, since first they opened war, 
 was Pallas, grace and power. But from the day 
 when Diomed, bold scorner of the gods, 
 and false Ulysses, author of all guile, 
 rose up and violently bore away 
 Palladium, her holy shrine, hewed down 
 the sentinels of her acropolis, 
 and with polluted, gory hands dared touch 
 the goddess, virgin fillets, white and pure,— 
 thenceforth, I say, the courage of the Greeks 
 ebbed utterly away; their strength was Iost, 
 and favoring Pallas all her grace withdrew. 
 No dubious sign she gave. Scarce had they set 
 her statue in our camp, when glittering flame 
 flashed from the staring eyes; from all its limbs 
 salt sweat ran forth; three times (O wondrous tale!) 
 it gave a sudden skyward leap, and made 
 prodigious trembling of her lance and shield. 
 The prophet Calchas bade us straightway take 
 swift flight across the sea; for fate had willed 
 the Trojan citadel should never fall 
 by Grecian arm, till once more they obtain 
 new oracles at Argos , and restore 
 that god the round ships hurried o'er the sea. 
 Now in Mycenae , whither they are fled, 
 new help of heaven they find, and forge anew 
 the means of war. Back hither o'er the waves 
 they suddenly will come. So Calchas gave 
 the meaning of the god. Warned thus, they reared 
 in place of Pallas, desecrated shrine 
 yon image of the horse, to expiate 
 the woeful sacrilege. Calchas ordained 
 that they should build a thing of monstrous size 
 of jointed beams, and rear it heavenward, 
 so might it never pass your gates, nor come 
 inside your walls, nor anywise restore 
 unto the Trojans their lost help divine. 
 For had your hands Minerva's gift profaned, 
 a ruin horrible—O, may the gods 
 bring it on Calchas rather!—would have come 
 on Priam's throne and all the Phrygian power. 
 But if your hands should lift the holy thing 
 to your own citadel, then Asia 's host 
 would hurl aggression upon Pelops' land, 
 and all that curse on our own nation fall.”

Thus Sinon's guile and practiced perjury 
 our doubt dispelled. His stratagems and tears 
 wrought victory where neither Tydeus' son, 
 nor mountain-bred Achilles could prevail, 
 nor ten years' war, nor fleets a thousand strong. 
 
 But now a vaster spectacle of fear 
 burst over us, to vex our startled souls. 
 Laocoon, that day by cast of lot 
 priest unto Neptune, was in act to slay 
 a huge bull at the god's appointed fane. 
 Lo! o'er the tranquil deep from Tenedos 
 appeared a pair (I shudder as I tell) 
 of vastly coiling serpents, side by side, 
 stretching along the waves, and to the shore 
 taking swift course; their necks were lifted high, 
 their gory dragon-crests o'ertopped the waves; 
 all else, half seen, trailed low along the sea; 
 while with loud cleavage of the foaming brine 
 their monstrous backs wound forward fold on fold. 
 Soon they made land; the furious bright eyes 
 glowed with ensanguined fire; their quivering tongues 
 lapped hungrily the hissing, gruesome jaws. 
 All terror-pale we fled. Unswerving then 
 the monsters to Laocoon made way. 
 First round the tender limbs of his two sons 
 each dragon coiled, and on the shrinking flesh 
 fixed fast and fed. Then seized they on the sire, 
 who flew to aid, a javelin in his hand, 
 embracing close in bondage serpentine 
 twice round the waist; and twice in scaly grasp 
 around his neck, and o'er him grimly peered 
 with lifted head and crest; he, all the while, 
 his holy fillet fouled with venomous blood, 
 tore at his fetters with a desperate hand, 
 and lifted up such agonizing voice, 
 as when a bull, death-wounded, seeks to flee 
 the sacrificial altar, and thrusts back 
 from his doomed head the ill-aimed, glancing blade. 
 then swiftly writhed the dragon-pair away 
 unto the templed height, and in the shrine 
 of cruel Pallas sure asylum found 
 beneath the goddess' feet and orbed shield. 
 Such trembling horror as we ne'er had known 
 seized now on every heart. “ Of his vast guilt 
 Laocoon,” they say, “receives reward; 
 for he with most abominable spear 
 did strike and violate that blessed wood. 
 Yon statue to the temple! Ask the grace 
 of glorious Pallas!” So the people cried 
 in general acclaim. Ourselves did make 
 a breach within our walls and opened wide 
 the ramparts of our city. One and all 
 were girded for the task. Smooth-gliding wheels 
 were 'neath its feet; great ropes stretched round its neck, 
 till o'er our walls the fatal engine climbed, 
 pregnant with men-at-arms. On every side 
 fair youths and maidens made a festal song, 
 and hauled the ropes with merry heart and gay. 
 So on and up it rolled, a tower of doom, 
 and in proud menace through our Forum moved. 
 O Ilium , my country, where abode 
 the gods of all my sires! O glorious walls 
 of Dardan's sons! before your gates it passed, 
 four times it stopped and dreadful clash of arms 
 four times from its vast concave loudly rang. 
 Yet frantic pressed we on, our hearts all blind, 
 and in the consecrated citadel 
 set up the hateful thing. Cassandra then 
 from heaven-instructed heart our doom foretold; 
 but doomed to unbelief were Ilium 's sons. 
 Our hapless nation on its dying day 
 flung free o'er streets and shrines the votive flowers.

The skies rolled on; and o'er the ocean fell 
 the veil of night, till utmost earth and heaven 
 and all their Myrmidonian stratagems 
 were mantled darkly o'er. In silent sleep 
 the Trojan city lay; dull slumber chained 
 its weary life. But now the Greek array 
 of ordered ships moved on from Tenedos , 
 their only light the silent, favoring moon, 
 on to the well-known strand. The King displayed 
 torch from his own ship, and Sinon then, 
 whom wrathful Heaven defended in that hour, 
 let the imprisoned band of Greeks go free 
 from that huge womb of wood; the open horse 
 restored them to the light; and joyfully 
 emerging from the darkness, one by one, 
 princely Thessander, Sthenelus, and dire 
 Ulysses glided down the swinging cord. 
 Closely upon them Neoptolemus, 
 the son of Peleus, came, and Acamas, 
 King Menelaus, Thoas and Machaon, 
 and last, Epeus, who the fabric wrought. 
 Upon the town they fell, for deep in sleep 
 and drowsed with wine it lay; the sentinels 
 they slaughtered, and through gates now opened wide 
 let in their fellows, and arrayed for war 
 th' auxiliar legions of the dark design.

That hour it was when heaven's first gift of sleep 
 on weary hearts of men most sweetly steals. 
 O, then my slumbering senses seemed to see 
 Hector, with woeful face and streaming eyes; 
 I seemed to see him from the chariot trailing, 
 foul with dark dust and gore, his swollen feet 
 pierced with a cruel thong. Ah me! what change 
 from glorious Hector when he homeward bore 
 the spoils of fierce Achilles; or hurled far 
 that shower of torches on the ships of Greece ! 
 Unkempt his beard, his tresses thick with blood, 
 and all those wounds in sight which he did take 
 defending Troy . Then, weeping as I spoke, 
 I seemed on that heroic shape to call 
 with mournful utterance: “O star of Troy ! 
 O surest hope and stay of all her sons! 
 Why tarriest thou so Iong? What region sends 
 the long-expected Hector home once more? 
 These weary eyes that look on thee have seen 
 hosts of thy kindred die, and fateful change 
 upon thy people and thy city fall. 
 O, say what dire occasion has defiled 
 thy tranquil brows? What mean those bleeding wounds?” 
 Silent he stood, nor anywise would stay 
 my vain lament; but groaned, and answered thus: 
 “Haste, goddess-born, and out of yonder flames 
 achieve thy flight. Our foes have scaled the wall; 
 exalted Troy is falling. Fatherland 
 and Priam ask no more. If human arm 
 could profit Troy , my own had kept her free. 
 Her Lares and her people to thy hands 
 
 Troy here commends. Companions let them be 
 of all thy fortunes. Let them share thy quest 
 of that wide realm, which, after wandering far, 
 thou shalt achieve, at last, beyond the sea.” 
 He spoke: and from our holy hearth brought forth 
 the solemn fillet, the ancestral shrines, 
 and Vesta's ever-bright, inviolate fire.

Now shrieks and loud confusion swept the town; 
 and though my father's dwelling stood apart 
 embowered deep in trees, th' increasing din 
 drew nearer, and the battle-thunder swelled. 
 I woke on sudden, and up-starting scaled 
 the roof, the tower, then stood with listening ear: 
 't was like an harvest burning, when wild winds 
 uprouse the flames; 't was like a mountain stream 
 that bursts in flood and ruinously whelms 
 sweet fields and farms and all the ploughman's toil, 
 whirling whole groves along; while dumb with fear, 
 from some far cliff the shepherd hears the sound. 
 Now their Greek plot was plain, the stratagem 
 at last laid bare. Deiphobus' great house 
 sank vanquished in the fire. Ucalegon's 
 hard by was blazing, while the waters wide 
 around Sigeum gave an answering glow. 
 Shrill trumpets rang; Ioud shouting voices roared; 
 wildly I armed me (when the battle calls, 
 how dimly reason shines!); I burned to join 
 the rally of my peers, and to the heights 
 defensive gather. Frenzy and vast rage 
 seized on my soul. I only sought what way 
 with sword in hand some noble death to die.

When Panthus met me, who had scarce escaped 
 the Grecian spears,—Panthus of Othrys' line, 
 Apollo's priest within our citadel; 
 his holy emblems, his defeated gods, 
 and his small grandson in his arms he bore, 
 while toward the gates with wild, swift steps he flew. 
 “How fares the kingdom, Panthus? What strong place 
 is still our own?” But scarcely could I ask 
 when thus, with many a groan, he made reply:— 
 “Dardania's death and doom are come to-day, 
 implacable. There is no Ilium now; 
 our Trojan name is gone, the Teucrian throne 
 Quite fallen. For the wrathful power of Jove 
 has given to Argos all our boast and pride. 
 The Greek is Iord of all yon blazing towers. 
 yon horse uplifted on our city's heart 
 disgorges men-at-arms. False Sinon now, 
 with scorn exultant, heaps up flame on flame. 
 Others throw wide the gates. The whole vast horde 
 that out of proud Mycenae hither sailed 
 is at us. With confronting spears they throng 
 each narrow passage. Every steel-bright blade 
 is flashing naked, making haste for blood. 
 Our sentries helpless meet the invading shock 
 and give back blind and unavailing war.” 
 By Panthus' word and by some god impelled, 
 I flew to battle, where the flames leaped high, 
 where grim Bellona called, and all the air 
 resounded high as heaven with shouts of war. 
 Rhipeus and Epytus of doughty arm 
 were at my side, Dymas and Hypanis, 
 seen by a pale moon, join our little band; 
 and young Coroebus, Mygdon's princely son, 
 who was in Troy that hour because he loved 
 Cassandra madly, and had made a league 
 as Priam's kinsman with our Phrygian arms: 
 ill-starred, to heed not what the virgin raved!

When these I saw close-gathered for the fight, 
 I thus addressed them: “Warriors, vainly brave, 
 if ye indeed desire to follow one 
 who dares the uttermost brave men may do, 
 our evil plight ye see: the gods are fled 
 from every altar and protecting fire, 
 which were the kingdom's stay. Ye offer aid 
 unto your country's ashes. Let us fight 
 unto the death! To arms, my men, to arms! 
 The single hope and stay of desperate men 
 is their despair.” Thus did I rouse their souls. 
 Then like the ravening wolves, some night of cloud, 
 when cruel hunger in an empty maw 
 drives them forth furious, and their whelps behind 
 wait famine-throated; so through foemen's steel 
 we flew to surest death, and kept our way 
 straight through the midmost town . The wings of night 
 brooded above us in vast vault of shade. 
 But who the bloodshed of that night can tell? 
 What tongue its deaths shall number, or what eyes 
 find meed of tears to equal all its woe? 
 The ancient City fell, whose throne had stood 
 age after age. Along her streets were strewn 
 the unresisting dead; at household shrines 
 and by the temples of the gods they lay. 
 Yet not alone was Teucrian blood required: 
 oft out of vanquished hearts fresh valor flamed, 
 and the Greek victor fell. Anguish and woe 
 were everywhere; pale terrors ranged abroad, 
 and multitudinous death met every eye.

Androgeos, followed by a thronging band 
 of Greeks, first met us on our desperate way; 
 but heedless, and confounding friend with foe, 
 thus, all unchallenged, hailed us as his own : 
 “Haste, heroes! Are ye laggards at this hour? 
 Others bear off the captives and the spoil 
 of burning Troy . Just from the galleys ye?” 
 He spoke; but straightway, when no safe reply 
 returned, he knew himself entrapped, and fallen 
 into a foeman's snare; struck dumb was he 
 and stopped both word and motion; as one steps, 
 when blindly treading a thick path of thorns, 
 upon a snake, and sick with fear would flee 
 that lifted wrath and swollen gorge of green: 
 so trembling did Androgeos backward fall. 
 At them we flew and closed them round with war; 
 and since they could not know the ground, and fear 
 had whelmed them quite, we swiftly laid them low. 
 Thus Fortune on our first achievement smiled; 
 and, flushed with victory, Cormbus cried: 
 “Come, friends, and follow Fortune's finger, where 
 she beckons us what path deliverance lies. 
 Change we our shields, and these Greek emblems wear. 
 'Twixt guile and valor who will nicely weigh 
 When foes are met? These dead shall find us arms.” 
 With this, he dons Androgeos' crested helm 
 and beauteous, blazoned shield; and to his side 
 girds on a Grecian blade. Young Rhipeus next, 
 with Dymas and the other soldiery, 
 repeat the deed, exulting, and array 
 their valor in fresh trophies from the slain. 
 Now intermingled with our foes we moved, 
 and alien emblems wore; the long, black night 
 brought many a grapple, and a host of Greeks 
 down to the dark we hurled. Some fled away, 
 seeking their safe ships and the friendly shore. 
 Some cowards foul went clambering back again 
 to that vast horse and hid them in its maw.

But woe is me! If gods their help withhold, 
 't is impious to be brave. That very hour 
 the fair Cassandra passed us, bound in chains, 
 King Priam's virgin daughter, from the shrine 
 and altars of Minerva; her loose hair 
 had lost its fillet; her impassioned eyes 
 were lifted in vain prayer,—her eyes alone! 
 For chains of steel her frail, soft hands confined. 
 Coroebus' eyes this horror not endured, 
 and, sorrow-crazed, he plunged him headlong in 
 the midmost fray, self-offered to be slain, 
 while in close mass our troop behind him poured. 
 But, at this point, the overwhelming spears 
 of our own kinsmen rained resistless down 
 from a high temple-tower; and carnage wild 
 ensued, because of the Greek arms we bore 
 and our false crests. The howling Grecian band, 
 crazed by Cassandra's rescue, charged at us 
 from every side; Ajax of savage soul, 
 the sons of Atreus, and that whole wild horde 
 Achilles from Dolopian deserts drew. 
 'T was like the bursting storm, when gales contend, 
 west wind and South, and jocund wind of morn 
 upon his orient steeds—while forests roar, 
 and foam-flecked Nereus with fierce trident stirs 
 the dark deep of the sea. All who did hide 
 in shadows of the night, by our assault 
 surprised, and driven in tumultuous flight, 
 now start to view. Full well they now can see 
 our shields and borrowed arms, and clearly note 
 our speech of alien sound; their multitude 
 o'erwhelms us utterly. Coroebus first 
 at mailed Minerva's altar prostrate lay, 
 pierced by Peneleus, blade; then Rhipeus fell; 
 we deemed him of all Trojans the most just, 
 most scrupulously righteous; but the gods 
 gave judgment otherwise. There Dymas died, 
 and Hypanis, by their compatriots slain; 
 nor thee, O Panthus, in that mortal hour, 
 could thy clean hands or Phoebus, priesthood save. 
 O ashes of my country! funeral pyre 
 of all my kin! bear witness that my breast 
 shrank not from any sword the Grecian drew, 
 and that my deeds the night my country died 
 deserved a warrior's death, had Fate ordained. 
 But soon our ranks were broken; at my side 
 stayed Iphitus and Pelias; one with age 
 was Iong since wearied, and the other bore 
 the burden of Ulysses' crippling wound. 
 Straightway the roar and tumult summoned us 
 to Priam's palace, where a battle raged 
 as if save this no conflict else were known, 
 and all Troy 's dying brave were mustered there. 
 There we beheld the war-god unconfined; 
 The Greek besiegers to the roof-tops fled; 
 or, with shields tortoise-back, the gates assailed. 
 Ladders were on the walls; and round by round, 
 up the huge bulwark as they fight their way, 
 the shielded left-hand thwarts the falling spears, 
 the right to every vantage closely clings. 
 The Trojans hurl whole towers and roof-tops down 
 upon the mounting foe; for well they see 
 that the last hour is come, and with what arms 
 the dying must resist. Rich gilded beams, 
 with many a beauteous blazon of old time, 
 go crashing down. Men armed with naked swords 
 defend the inner doors in close array.

Thus were our hearts inflamed to stand and strike 
 for the king's house, and to his body-guard 
 bring succor, and renew their vanquished powers. 
 A certain gate I knew, a secret way, 
 which gave free passage between Priam's halls, 
 and exit rearward; hither, in the days 
 before our fall, the lone Andromache 
 was wont with young Astyanax to pass 
 in quest of Priam and her husband's kin. 
 This way to climb the palace roof I flew, 
 where, desperate, the Trojans with vain skill 
 hurled forth repellent arms. A tower was there, 
 reared skyward from the roof-top, giving view 
 of Troy 's wide walls and full reconnaissance 
 of all Achaea 's fleets and tented field; 
 this, with strong steel, our gathered strength assailed, 
 and as the loosened courses offered us 
 great threatening fissures, we uprooted it 
 from its aerial throne and thrust it down. 
 It fell with instantaneous crash of thunder 
 along the Danaan host in ruin wide. 
 But fresh ranks soon arrive; thick showers of stone 
 rain down, with every missile rage can find.

Now at the threshold of the outer court 
 Pyrrhus triumphant stood, with glittering arms 
 and helm of burnished brass. He glittered like 
 some swollen viper, fed on poison-leaves, 
 whom chilling winter shelters underground, 
 till, fresh and strong, he sheds his annual scales 
 and, crawling forth rejuvenate, uncoils 
 his slimy length; his lifted gorge insults 
 the sunbeam with three-forked and quivering tongue. 
 Huge Periphas was there; Automedon, 
 who drove Achilles' steeds, and bore his arms. 
 Then Scyros' island-warriors assault 
 the palaces, and hurl reiterate fire 
 at wall and tower. Pyrrhus led the van; 
 seizing an axe he clove the ponderous doors 
 and rent the hinges from their posts of bronze; 
 he cut the beams, and through the solid mass 
 burrowed his way, till like a window huge 
 the breach yawned wide, and opened to his gaze 
 a vista of long courts and corridors, 
 the hearth and home of many an ancient king, 
 and Priam's own; upon its sacred bourne 
 the sentry, all in arms, kept watch and ward. 
 Confusion, groans, and piteous turmoil 
 were in that dwelling; women shrieked and wailed 
 from many a dark retreat, and their loud cry 
 rang to the golden stars. Through those vast halls 
 the panic-stricken mothers wildly roved, 
 and clung with frantic kisses and embrace 
 unto the columns cold. Fierce as his sire, 
 Pyrrhus moves on; nor bar nor sentinel 
 may stop his way; down tumbles the great door 
 beneath the battering beam, and with it fall 
 hinges and framework violently torn. 
 Force bursts all bars; th' assailing Greeks break in, 
 do butchery, and with men-at-arms possess 
 what place they will. Scarce with an equal rage 
 a foaming river, when its dykes are down, 
 o'erwhelms its mounded shores, and through the plain 
 rolls mountain-high, while from the ravaged farms 
 its fierce flood sweeps along both flock and fold. 
 My own eyes looked on Neoptolemus 
 frenzied with slaughter, and both Atreus' sons 
 upon the threshold frowning; I beheld 
 her hundred daughters with old Hecuba; 
 and Priam, whose own bleeding wounds defiled 
 the altars where himself had blessed the fires; 
 there fifty nuptial beds gave promise proud 
 of princely heirs; but all their brightness now, 
 of broidered cunning and barbaric gold, 
 lay strewn and trampled on. The Danaan foe 
 stood victor, where the raging flame had failed.

But would ye haply know what stroke of doom 
 on Priam fell? Now when his anguish saw 
 his kingdom lost and fallen, his abode 
 shattered, and in his very hearth and home 
 th' exulting foe, the aged King did bind 
 his rusted armor to his trembling thews,— 
 all vainly,— and a useless blade of steel 
 he girded on; then charged, resolved to die 
 encircled by the foe. Within his walls 
 there stood, beneath the wide and open sky, 
 a lofty altar; an old laurel-tree 
 leaned o'er it, and enclasped in holy shade 
 the statues of the tutelary powers. 
 Here Hecuba and all the princesses 
 took refuge vain within the place of prayer. 
 Like panic-stricken doves in some dark storm, 
 close-gathering they sate, and in despair 
 embraced their graven gods. But when the Queen 
 saw Priam with his youthful harness on, 
 “What frenzy, O my wretched lord,” she cried, 
 “Arrayed thee in such arms? O, whither now? 
 Not such defences, nor such arm as thine, 
 the time requires, though thy companion were 
 our Hector's self. O, yield thee, I implore! 
 This altar now shall save us one and all, 
 or we must die together.” With these words 
 she drew him to her side, and near the shrine 
 made for her aged spouse a place to cling.

But, lo! just 'scaped of Pyrrhus' murderous hand, 
 Polites, one of Priam's sons, fled fast 
 along the corridors, through thronging foes 
 and a thick rain of spears. Wildly he gazed 
 across the desolate halls, wounded to death. 
 Fierce Pyrrhus followed after, pressing hard 
 with mortal stroke, and now his hand and spear 
 were close upon:— when the lost youth leaped forth 
 into his father's sight, and prostrate there 
 lay dying, while his life-blood ebbed away. 
 Then Priam, though on all sides death was nigh, 
 quit not the strife, nor from loud wrath refrained: 
 “Thy crime and impious outrage, may the gods 
 (if Heaven to mortals render debt and due) 
 justly reward and worthy honors pay! 
 My own son's murder thou hast made me see, 
 blood and pollution impiously throwing 
 upon a father's head. Not such was he, 
 not such, Achilles, thy pretended sire, 
 when Priam was his foe. With flush of shame 
 he nobly listened to a suppliant's plea 
 in honor made. He rendered to the tomb 
 my Hector's body pale, and me did send 
 back to my throne a king.” With this proud word 
 the aged warrior hurled with nerveless arm 
 his ineffectual spear, which hoarsely rang 
 rebounding on the brazen shield, and hung 
 piercing the midmost boss,- but all in vain. 
 Then Pyrrhus: “Take these tidings, and convey 
 message to my father, Peleus' son! 
 tell him my naughty deeds! Be sure and say 
 how Neoptolemus hath shamed his sires. 
 Now die!” With this, he trailed before the shrines 
 the trembling King, whose feet slipped in the stream 
 of his son's blood. Then Pyrrhus' left hand clutched 
 the tresses old and gray; a glittering sword 
 his right hand lifted high, and buried it 
 far as the hilt in that defenceless heart. 
 So Priam's story ceased. Such final doom 
 fell on him, while his dying eyes surveyed 
 
 Troy burning, and her altars overthrown, 
 though once of many an orient land and tribe 
 the boasted lord. In huge dismemberment 
 his severed trunk lies tombless on the shore, 
 the head from shoulder torn, the corpse unknown.

Then first wild horror on my spirit fell 
 and dazed me utterly. A vision rose 
 of my own cherished father, as I saw 
 the King, his aged peer, sore wounded Iying 
 in mortal agony; a vision too 
 of lost Creusa at my ravaged hearth, 
 and young Iulus' peril. Then my eyes 
 looked round me seeking aid. But all were fled, 
 war-wearied and undone; some earthward leaped 
 from battlement or tower; some in despair 
 yielded their suffering bodies to the flame.

I stood there sole surviving; when, behold, 
 to Vesta's altar clinging in dumb fear, 
 hiding and crouching in the hallowed shade, 
 Tyndarus' daughter!— 't was the burning town 
 lighted full well my roving steps and eyes. 
 In fear was she both of some Trojan's rage 
 for Troy o'erthrown, and of some Greek revenge, 
 or her wronged husband's Iong indignant ire. 
 So hid she at that shrine her hateful brow, 
 being of Greece and Troy , full well she knew, 
 the common curse. Then in my bosom rose 
 a blaze of wrath; methought I should avenge 
 my dying country, and with horrid deed 
 pay crime for crime. “Shall she return unscathed 
 to Sparta , to Mycenae 's golden pride, 
 and have a royal triumph? Shall her eyes 
 her sire and sons, her hearth and husband see, 
 while Phrygian captives follow in her train? 
 is Priam murdered? Have the flames swept o'er 
 my native Troy ? and cloth our Dardan strand 
 sweat o'er and o'er with sanguinary dew? 
 O, not thus unavenged! For though there be 
 no glory if I smite a woman's crime, 
 nor conqueror's fame for such a victory won, 
 yet if I blot this monster out, and wring 
 full punishment from guilt, the time to come 
 will praise me, and sweet pleasure it will be 
 to glut my soul with vengeance and appease 
 the ashes of my kindred.” So I raved, 
 and to such frenzied purpose gave my soul. 
 Then with clear vision (never had I seen 
 her presence so unclouded) I beheld, 
 in golden beams that pierced the midnight gloom, 
 my gracious mother, visibly divine, 
 and with that mien of majesty she wears 
 when seen in heaven; she stayed me with her hand, 
 and from her lips of rose this counsel gave: 
 “O son, what sorrow stirs thy boundless rage? 
 what madness this? Or whither vanisheth 
 thy love of me? Wilt thou not seek to know 
 where bides Anchises, thy abandoned sire, 
 now weak with age? or if Creusa lives 
 and young Ascanius, who are ringed about 
 with ranks of Grecian foes, and long ere this— 
 save that my love can shield them and defend— 
 had fallen on flame or fed some hungry sword? 
 Not Helen's hated beauty works thee woe; 
 nor Paris, oft-accused. The cruelty 
 of gods, of gods unaided, overwhelms 
 thy country's power, and from its Iofty height 
 casts Ilium down. Behold, I take away 
 the barrier-cloud that dims thy mortal eye, 
 with murk and mist o'er-veiling. Fear not thou 
 to heed thy mother's word, nor let thy heart 
 refuse obedience to her counsel given. 
 'Mid yonder trembling ruins, where thou see'st 
 stone torn from stone, with dust and smoke uprolling, 
 't is Neptune strikes the wall; his trident vast 
 makes her foundation tremble, and unseats 
 the city from her throne. Fierce Juno leads 
 resistless onset at the Scaean gate, 
 and summons from the ships the league of powers, 
 wearing her wrathful sword. On yonder height 
 behold Tritonia in the citadel 
 clothed with the lightning and her Gorgon-shield! 
 Unto the Greeks great Jove himself renews 
 their courage and their power; 't is he thrusts on 
 the gods themselves against the Trojan arms. 
 Fly, O my son! The war's wild work give o'er! 
 I will be always nigh and set thee safe 
 upon thy father's threshold.” Having said, 
 she fled upon the viewless night away.

Then loomed o'er Troy the apparition vast 
 of her dread foes divine; I seemed to see 
 all Ilium sink in fire, and sacred Troy , 
 of Neptune's building, utterly o'erthrown. 
 So some huge ash-tree on the mountain's brow 
 (when rival woodmen, heaving stroke on stroke 
 of two-edged axes, haste to cast her down) 
 sways ominously her trembling, leafy top, 
 and drops her smitten head; till by her wounds 
 vanquished at last, she makes her dying groan, 
 and falls in loud wreck from the cliffs uptorn. 
 I left the citadel; and, led by Heaven, 
 threaded the maze of deadly foes and fires, 
 through spears that glanced aside and flames that fell.

Soon came I to my father's ancient seat, 
 our home and heritage. But lo! my sire 
 (whom first of all I sought, and first would bear 
 to safe asylum in the distant hills) 
 vowed he could never, after fallen Troy , 
 live longer on, or bear an exile's woe. 
 “O you,” he cried, “whose blood not yet betrays 
 the cruel taint of time, whose powers be still 
 unpropped and undecayed, go, take your flight. 
 If heavenly wrath had willed my life to spare, 
 this dwelling had been safe. It is too much 
 that I have watched one wreck, and for too Iong 
 outlived my vanquished country. Thus, O, thus! 
 Compose these limbs for death, and say farewell. 
 My own hand will procure it; or my foe 
 will end me of mere pity, and for spoil 
 will strip me bare. It is an easy loss 
 to have no grave. For many a year gone by, 
 accursed of Heaven, I tarry in this world 
 a useless burden, since that fatal hour 
 when Jove, of gods the Sire and men the King, 
 his lightnings o'er me breathed and blasting fire.”

Such fixed resolve he uttered o'er and o'er, 
 and would not yield, though with my tears did join 
 my spouse Creusa, fair Ascanius, 
 and our whole house, imploring the gray sire 
 not with himself to ruin all, nor add 
 yet heavier burdens to our crushing doom. 
 He still cried, “No!” and clung to where he sat 
 and to the same dread purpose. I once more 
 back to the fight would speed. For death alone 
 I made my wretched prayer. What space was left 
 for wisdom now? What chance or hope was given? 
 “Didst thou, dear father, dream that I could fly 
 sundered from thee? Did such an infamy 
 fall from a father's lips? If Heaven's decree 
 will of this mighty nation not let live 
 a single soul, if thine own purpose be 
 to cast thyself and thy posterity 
 into thy country's grave, behold, the door 
 is open to thy death! Lo, Pyrrhus comes 
 red-handed from King Priam! He has slain 
 a son before a father's eyes, and spilt 
 a father's blood upon his own hearthstone. 
 Was it for this, O heavenly mother mine, 
 that thou hast brought me safe through sword and fire? 
 that I might see these altars desecrate 
 by their worst foes? that I might look upon 
 my sire, my wife, and sweet Ascanius 
 dead at my feet in one another's blood? 
 To arms, my men, to arms! The hour of death 
 now beckons to the vanquished. Let me go 
 whither the Greeks are gathered; let me stand 
 where oft revives the flagging stroke of war: 
 Not all of us die unavenged this day!”

I clasped my sword-belt round me once again, 
 fitted my left arm to my shield, and turned 
 to fly the house; but at the threshold clung 
 Creusa to my knees, and lifted up 
 Iulus to his father's arms. “If thou 
 wouldst rush on death,” she cried, “O, suffer us 
 to share thy perils with thee to the end. 
 But if this day's work bid thee trust a sword, 
 defend thy hearthstone first. Who else shall guard 
 thy babe Iulus, or thy reverend sire? 
 Or me, thy wife that was—what help have I?”

So rang the roof-top with her piteous cries: 
 but lo! a portent wonderful to see 
 on sudden rose; for while his parents' grief 
 held the boy close in arm and full in view, 
 there seemed upon Iulus' head to glow 
 a flickering peak of fire; the tongue of flame 
 innocuous o'er his clustering tresses played, 
 and hovered round his brows. We, horror-struck, 
 grasped at his burning hair, and sprinkled him, 
 to quench that holy and auspicious fire. 
 then sire Anchises with exultant eyes 
 looked heavenward, and lifted to the stars 
 his voice and outstretched hands. “Almighty Jove, 
 if aught of prayer may move thee, let thy grace 
 now visit us! O, hear this holy vow! 
 And if for service at thine altars done, 
 we aught can claim, O Father, lend us aid, 
 and ratify the omen thou hast given!”

Scarce ceased his aged voice, when suddenly 
 from leftward, with a deafening thunder-peal, 
 cleaving the blackness of the vaulted sky, 
 a meteor-star in trailing splendor ran, 
 exceeding bright. We watched it glide sublime 
 o'er tower and town, until its radiant beam 
 in forest-mantled Ida died away; 
 but left a furrow on its track in air, 
 a glittering, Iong line, while far and wide 
 the sulphurous fume and exhalation flowed. 
 My father strove not now; but lifted him 
 in prayer to all the gods, in holy awe 
 of that auspicious star, and thus exclaimed: 
 “Tarry no moment more! Behold, I come! 
 Whithersoe'er ye lead, my steps obey. 
 Gods of my fathers, O, preserve our name! 
 Preserve my son, and his! This augury 
 is yours; and Troy on your sole strength relies. 
 I yield, dear son; I journey at thy side.” 
 He spoke; and higher o'er the blazing walls 
 leaped the loud fire, while ever nearer drew 
 the rolling surges of tumultuous flame. 
 “Haste, father, on these bending shoulders climb! 
 This back is ready, and the burden light; 
 one peril smites us both, whate'er befall; 
 one rescue both shall find. Close at my side 
 let young Iulus run, while, not too nigh, 
 my wife Creusa heeds what way we go. 
 Ye servants of our house, give ear, I pray, 
 to my command. Outside the city's gates 
 lies a low mound and long since ruined fane 
 to Ceres vowed; a cypress, ancient shade 
 o'erhangs it, which our fathers' pious care 
 protected year by year; by various paths 
 be that our meeting-place. But in thy hands 
 bring, sire, our household gods, and sanctifies: 
 for me to touch, who come this very hour 
 from battle and the fresh blood of the slain, 
 were but abomination, till what time 
 in living waters I shall make me clean.” 
 So saying, I bowed my neck and shoulders broad, 
 o'erspread me with a lion's tawny skin, 
 and lifted up my load. Close at my side 
 little Iulus twined his hand in mine 
 and followed, with unequal step, his sire. 
 My wife at distance came. We hastened on, 
 creeping through shadows; I, who once had viewed 
 undaunted every instrument of war 
 and all the gathered Greeks in grim array, 
 now shook at every gust, and heard all sounds 
 with fevered trepidation, fearing both 
 for him I bore and him who clasped my hand. 
 Now near the gates I drew, and deemed our flight 
 safely at end, when suddenly I heard 
 the sounding tread of many warriors 
 that seemed hard-by, while through the murky night 
 my father peered, and shouted, “O my son, 
 away, away! for surely all our foes 
 are here upon us, and my eyes behold 
 the glance of glittering shields and flash of arms.” 
 O, then some evil-working, nameless god 
 clouded my senses quite: for while I sped 
 along our pathless way, and left behind 
 all paths and regions known—O wretched me!— 
 Creusa on some dark disaster fell; 
 she stopped, or wandered, or sank down undone,— 
 I never knew what way,—and nevermore 
 I looked on her alive. Yet knew I not 
 my loss, nor backward turned a look or thought, 
 till by that hallowed hill to Ceres vowed 
 we gathered all,— and she alone came not, 
 while husband, friends, and son made search in vain. 
 What god, what man, did not my grief accuse 
 in frenzied word? In all the ruined land 
 what worse woe had I seen? Entrusting then 
 my sire, my son, and all the Teucrian gods 
 to the deep shadows of a slanting vale 
 where my allies kept guard, I tried me back 
 to that doomed town, re-girt in glittering arms. 
 Resolved was I all hazards to renew, 
 all Troy to re-explore, and once again 
 offer my life to perils without end.

The walls and gloomy gates whence forth I came 
 I first revisit, and retrace my way, 
 searching the night once more. On all sides round 
 horror spread wide; the very silence breathed 
 a terror on my soul. I hastened then 
 back to my fallen home, if haply there 
 her feet had strayed; but the invading Greeks 
 were its possessors, though the hungry fire 
 was blown along the roof-tree, and the flames 
 rolled raging upward on the fitful gale. 
 To Priam's house I haste, and climb once more 
 the citadel; in Juno's temple there, 
 the chosen guardians of her wasted halls, 
 Phoenix and dread Ulysses watched the spoil. 
 Here, snatched away from many a burning fane, 
 
 Troy 's treasures lay,—rich tables for the gods, 
 thick bowls of messy gold, and vestures rare, 
 confusedly heaped up, while round the pile 
 fair youths and trembling virgins stood forlorn. 
 Yet oft my voice rang dauntless through the gloom, 
 from street to street I cried with anguish vain; 
 and on Creusa piteously calling, 
 woke the lamenting echoes o'er and o'er. 
 While on this quest I roamed the city through, 
 of reason reft there rose upon my sight— 
 O shape of sorrow!— my Creusa's ghost, 
 hers truly, though a loftier port it wore. 
 I quailed, my hair rose, and I gasped for fear; 
 but thus she spoke, and soothed my grief away: 
 “Why to these frenzied sorrows bend thy soul, 
 O husband ever dear! The will of Heaven 
 hath brought all this to pass. Fate doth not send 
 Creusa the long journeys thou shalt take, 
 or hath th' Olympian King so given decree. 
 Long is thy banishment; thy ship must plough 
 the vast, far-spreading sea. Then shalt thou come 
 unto Hesperia, whose fruitful plains 
 are watered by the Tiber , Lydian stream, 
 of smooth, benignant Bow. Thou shalt obtain 
 fair fortunes, and a throne and royal bride. 
 For thy beloved Creusa weep no more! 
 No Myrmidon's proud palace waits me now; 
 Dolopian shall not scorn, nor Argive dames 
 command a slave of Dardan's royal stem 
 and wife to Venus' son. On these loved shores 
 the Mother of the Gods compels my stay. 
 Farewell! farewell! O, cherish evermore 
 thy son and mine!” Her utterance scarce had ceased, 
 when, as I strove through tears to make reply, 
 she left me, and dissolved in empty air. 
 Thrice would my frustrate arms her form enfold; 
 thrice from the clasp of hand that vision fled, 
 like wafted winds and like a fleeting dream.

The night had passed, and to my friends once more 
 I made my way, much wondering to find 
 a mighty multitude assembled there 
 of friends new-come,—matrons and men-at-arms, 
 and youth for exile bound,— a doleful throng. 
 From far and near they drew, their hearts prepared 
 and their possessions gathered, to sail forth 
 to lands unknown, wherever o'er the wave 
 I bade them follow. Now above the crest 
 of loftiest Ida rose the morning-star, 
 chief in the front of day. The Greeks held fast 
 the captive gates of Troy . No help or hope 
 was ours any more. Then, yielding all, 
 and lifting once again my aged sire, 
 for refuge to the distant hills I fled.

When Asia 's power and Priam's race and throne, 
 though guiltless, were cast down by Heaven's decree, 
 when Ilium proud had fallen, and Neptune's Troy 
 
 in smouldering ash lay level with the ground, 
 to wandering exile then and regions wild 
 the gods by many an augury and sign 
 compelled us forth. We fashioned us a fleet 
 within Antander's haven, in the shade 
 of Phrygian Ida's peak (though knowing not 
 whither our fate would drive, or where afford 
 a resting-place at last), and my small band 
 of warriors I arrayed. As soon as smiled 
 the light of summer's prime, my reverend sire 
 Anchises bade us on the winds of Fate 
 to spread all sail. Through tears I saw recede 
 my native shore, the haven and the plains 
 where once was Troy . An exile on the seas, 
 with son and followers and household shrines, 
 and Troy 's great guardian-gods, I took my way.

There is a far-off land where warriors breed, 
 where Thracians till the boundless plains, and where 
 the cruel-eyed Lycurgus once was king. 
 Troy's old ally it was, its deities 
 had brotherhood with ours before our fall. 
 Thither I fared, and on its winding shores 
 set my first walls, though partial Fate opposed 
 our entrance there. In memory of my name 
 I called its people the Aeneadae.

Unto Dione's daughter, and all gods 
 who blessed our young emprise, due gifts were paid; 
 and unto the supreme celestial King 
 I slew a fair white bull beside the sea. 
 But haply near my place of sacrifice 
 a mound was seen, and on the summit grew 
 a copse of corner and a myrtle tree, 
 with spear-like limbs outbranched on every side. 
 This I approached, and tried to rend away 
 from its deep roots that grove of gloomy green, 
 and dress my altars in its leafy boughs. 
 But, horrible to tell, a prodigy 
 smote my astonished eyes: for the first tree, 
 which from the earth with broken roots I drew, 
 dripped black with bloody drops, and gave the ground 
 dark stains of gore. Cold horror shook my frame, 
 and every vein within me froze for fear. 
 Once more I tried from yet another stock 
 the pliant stem to tear, and to explore 
 the mystery within,—but yet again 
 the foul bark oozed with clots of blackest gore! 
 From my deep-shaken soul I made a prayer 
 to all the woodland nymphs and to divine 
 Gradivus, patron of the Thracian plain, 
 to bless this sight, to lift its curse away. 
 But when at a third sheaf of myrtle spears 
 I fell upon my knees, and tugged amain 
 against the adverse ground (I dread to tell!), 
 a moaning and a wail from that deep grave 
 burst forth and murmured in my listening ear: 
 “Why wound me, great Aeneas, in my woe? 
 O, spare the dead, nor let thy holy hands 
 do sacrilege and sin! I, Trojan-born, 
 was kin of thine. This blood is not of trees. 
 Haste from this murderous shore, this land of greed. 
 O, I am Polydorus! Haste away! 
 Here was I pierced; a crop of iron spears 
 has grown up o'er my breast, and multiplied 
 to all these deadly javelins, keen and strong.” 
 Then stood I, burdened with dark doubt and fear 
 I quailed, my hair rose and my utterance choked.

For once this Polydorus, with much gold, 
 ill-fated Priam sent by stealth away 
 for nurture with the Thracian king, what time 
 Dardania's war Iooked hopeless, and her towers 
 were ringed about by unrelenting siege. 
 That king, when Ilium 's cause was ebbing low, 
 and fortune frowned, gave o'er his plighted faith 
 to Agamemnon's might and victory; 
 he scorned all honor and did murder foul 
 on Polydorus, seizing lawlessly 
 on all the gold. O, whither at thy will, 
 curst greed of gold, may mortal hearts be driven? 
 Soon as my shuddering ceased, I told this tale 
 of prodigies before the people's chiefs, 
 who sat in conclave with my kingly sire, 
 and bade them speak their reverend counsel forth. 
 All found one voice; to leave that land of sin, 
 where foul abomination had profaned 
 a stranger's right; and once more to resign 
 our fleet unto the tempest and the wave. 
 But fit and solemn funeral rites were paid 
 to Polydorus. A high mound we reared 
 of heaped-up earth, and to his honored shade 
 built a perpetual altar, sadly dressed 
 in cypress dark and purple pall of woe. 
 Our Ilian women wailed with loosened hair; 
 new milk was sprinkled from a foaming cup, 
 and from the shallow bowl fresh blood out-poured 
 upon the sacred ground. So in its tomb 
 we laid his ghost to rest, and loudly sang, 
 with prayer for peace, the long, the last farewell.

After these things, when first the friendly sea 
 looked safe and fair, and o'er its tranquil plain 
 light-whispering breezes bade us launch away, 
 my men drew down our galleys to the brine, 
 thronging the shore. Soon out of port we ran, 
 and watched the hills and cities fading far. 
 There is a sacred island in mid-seas, 
 to fruitful Doris and to Neptune dear, 
 which grateful Phoebus, wielder of the bow, 
 the while it drifted loose from land to land, 
 chained firmly where the crags of Gyaros 
 and Myconos uptower, and bade it rest 
 immovable, in scorn of wind and wave. 
 Thither I sped; by this my weary ships 
 found undisturbed retreat and haven fair. 
 To land we came and saw with reverent eyes 
 Apollo's citadel. King Anius, 
 his people's king, and priest at Phoebus' fane, 
 came forth to meet us, wearing on his brow 
 the fillets and a holy laurel crown. 
 Unto Anchises he gave greeting kind, 
 claimed old acquaintance, grasped us by the hand, 
 and bade us both his roof and welcome share.

Then, kneeling at the shrine of time-worn stone: 
 “Thou who at Thymbra on the Trojan shore 
 hast often blessed my prayer, O, give to me 
 a hearth and home, and to this war-worn band 
 defensive towers and offspring multiplied 
 in an abiding city; give to Troy 
 
 a second citadel, that shall survive 
 Achilles' wrath and all our Argive foe. 
 Whom shall we follow? Whither lies our way? 
 Where wilt thou grant us an abiding-place? 
 Send forth, O King, thy voice oracular, 
 and on our spirits move.” Scarce had I spoke 
 when sudden trembling through the laurels ran 
 and smote the holy portals; far and wide 
 the mighty ridges of the mountain shook, 
 and from the opening shrine the tripod moaned. 
 Prostrate to earth we fall, as on our ears 
 this utterance breaks: “O breed of iron men, 
 ye sons of Dardanus! the self-same land 
 where bloomed at first your far-descended stem 
 shall to its bounteous bosom draw ye home. 
 Seek out your ancient Mother! There at last 
 Aeneas' race shall reign on every shore, 
 and his sons' sons, and all their house to be.” 
 So Phoebus spoke; and mighty joy uprose 
 from all my thronging people, who would know 
 where Phoebus' city lay, and whitherward 
 the god ordained the wandering tribe's return. 
 Then spake my father, pondering olden days 
 and sacred memories of heroes gone: 
 “Hear, chiefs and princes, what your hopes shall be! 
 The Isle of Crete , abode of lofty Jove, 
 rests in the middle sea. Thence Ida soars; 
 there is the cradle of our race. It boasts 
 a hundred cities, seats of fruitful power. 
 Thence our chief sire, if duly I recall 
 the olden tale, King Teucer sprung, who first 
 touched on the Trojan shore, and chose his seat 
 of kingly power. There was no Ilium then 
 nor towered Pergama; in lowly vales 
 their dwelling; hence the ancient worship given 
 to the Protectress of Mount Cybele, 
 mother of Gods, what time in Ida's grove 
 the brazen Corybantic cymbals clang, 
 or sacred silence guards her mystery, 
 and lions yoked her royal chariot draw. 
 Up, then, and follow the behests divine! 
 Pour offering to the winds, and point your keels 
 unto that realm of Minos. It is near. 
 if Jove but bless, the third day's dawn should see 
 our ships at Cretan land.” So, having said, 
 he slew the victims for each altar's praise. 
 A bull to Neptune, and a bull to thee, 
 o beauteous Apollo! A black lamb 
 unto the clouds and storms; but fleece of snow 
 to the mild zephyrs was our offering.

The tale was told us that Idomeneus, 
 from his hereditary kindgom driven, 
 had left his Crete abandoned, that no foe 
 now harbored there, but all its dwellings lay 
 untenanted of man. So forth we sailed 
 out of the port of Delos , and sped far 
 along the main. The maenad-haunted hills 
 of Naxos came in view; the ridges green 
 of fair Donysa, with Olearos, 
 and Paros , gleaming white, and Cyclades 
 
 scattered among the waves, as close we ran 
 where thick-strewn islands vex the channelled seas 
 with rival shout the sailors cheerly called: 
 “On, comrades! On, to Crete and to our sires!” 
 Freely behind us blew the friendly winds, 
 and gave smooth passage to that fabled shore, 
 the land of the Curetes, friends of Jove. 
 There eagerly I labored at the walls 
 of our long-prayed-for city; and its name 
 was Pergamea; to my Trojan band, 
 pleased with such name, I gave command to build 
 altar and hearth, and raise the lofty tower.

But scarce the ships were beached along the strand 
 (While o'er the isle my busy mariners 
 ploughed in new fields and took them wives once more, — 
 I giving homes and laws) when suddenly 
 a pestilence from some infectious sky 
 seized on man's flesh, and horribly exhaled 
 o'er trees and crops a fatal year of plague. 
 Some breathed their last, while others weak and worn 
 lived on; the dog-star parched the barren fields; 
 grass withered, and the sickly, mouldering corn 
 refused us life. My aged father then 
 bade us re-cross the waves and re-implore 
 Apollo's mercy at his island shrine; 
 if haply of our weariness and woe 
 he might vouchsafe the end, or bid us find 
 help for our task, or guidance o'er the sea.

'T was night, and sleep possessed all breathing things; 
 when, lo! the sacred effigies divine, 
 the Phrygian gods which through the flames I bore 
 from fallen Troy , seemed in a vision clear 
 to stand before me where I slumbering lay, 
 bathed in bright beams which from the moon at full 
 streamed through the latticed wall: and thus they spoke 
 to soothe my care away. “Apollo's word, 
 which in far Delos the god meant for thee, 
 is uttered here. Behold, he sends ourselves 
 to this thy house, before thy prayer is made. 
 We from Troy 's ashes have companioned thee 
 in every fight; and we the swollen seas, 
 guided by thee, in thine own ships have crossed; 
 our power divine shall set among the stars 
 thy seed to be, and to thy city give 
 dominion evermore. For mighty men 
 go build its mighty walls! Seek not to shun 
 the hard, long labors of an exile's way. 
 Change this abode! Not thine this Cretan shore, 
 nor here would Delian Phoebus have thee bide. 
 There is a land the roving Greeks have named 
 Hesperia. It is a storied realm 
 made mighty by great wars and fruitful land. 
 Oenotrians had it, and their sons, 't is said, 
 have called it Italy , a chieftain's name 
 to a whole region given. That land alone 
 our true abode can be; for Dardanus 
 was cradled there, and old Iasius, 
 their blood the oldest of our ancient line. 
 Arise! go forth and cheer thy father gray 
 with the glad tidings! Bid him doubt no more! 
 Ausonia seek and Corythus; for Jove 
 denies this Cretan realm to thine and thee.” 
 I marvelled at the heavenly presences 
 so vocal and so bright, for 't was not sleep; 
 but face to face I deemed I could discern 
 each countenance august and holy brow, 
 each mantled head; and from my body ran 
 cold sweat of awe. From my low couch I sprang, 
 lifting to heaven my suppliant hands and prayer, 
 and o'er my hearth poured forth libations free. 
 After th' auspicious offering, I told 
 Anchises the whole tale in order due. 
 He owned our stock two-branched, of our great sires 
 the twofold line, and that his thought had strayed, 
 in new confusion mingling ancient names; 
 then spoke: “O son, in Ilium 's doom severe 
 afflicted ever! To my ears alone 
 this dark vicissitude Cassandra sang. 
 I mind me now that her wild tongue foretold 
 such destiny. For oft she called aloud 
 ‘Hesperia!’ oft ‘ Italia 's kingdom!’ called. 
 But who had faith that Teucer's sons should come 
 to far Hesperia? What mortal ear 
 gave heed to sad Cassandra's voice divine? 
 Now Phoebus speaks. Obedient let us be, 
 and, warned by him, our happier Iot pursue!” 
 He spoke: with heart of hope we all obeyed; 
 again we changed abode; and, leaving there 
 a feeble few, again with spreading sails 
 we coursed in hollow ship the spacious sea.

When from the deep the shores had faded far, 
 and only sky and sea were round our way, 
 full in the zenith hung a purple cloud, 
 storm-laden, dark as night, and every wave 
 grew black and angry, while perpetual gales 
 came rolling o'er the main, and mountain-high 
 the wreckful surges rose; our ships were hurled 
 wide o'er the whirling waters; thunder-clouds 
 and misty murk of night made end of all 
 the light of heaven, save where the rifted storm 
 flashed with the oft-reiterate shaft of Jove. 
 Then went we drifting, beaten from our course, 
 upon a trackless sea. Not even the eyes 
 of Palinurus could tell night from noon 
 or ken our way. Three days of blinding dark, 
 three nights without a star, we roved the seas; 
 The fourth, land seemed to rise. Far distant hills 
 and rolling smoke we saw. Down came our sails, 
 out flew the oars, and with prompt stroke the crews 
 swept the dark waves and tossed the crested foam. 
 From such sea-peril safe, I made the shores 
 of Strophades,—a name the Grecians gave 
 to islands in the broad Ionic main, — 
 the Strophades, where dread Celaeno bides, 
 with other Harpies, who had quit the halls 
 of stricken Phineus, and for very fear 
 fled from the routed feast; no prodigy 
 more vile than these, nor plague more pitiless 
 ere rose by wrath divine from Stygian wave; 
 birds seem they, but with face like woman-kind; 
 foul-flowing bellies, hands with crooked claws, 
 and ghastly lips they have, with hunger pale. 
 Scarce had we made the haven, when, behold! 
 Fair herds of cattle roaming a wide plain, 
 and horned goats, untended, feeding free 
 in pastures green, surprised our happy eyes. 
 with eager blades we ran to take and slay, 
 asking of every god, and chicfly Jove, 
 to share the welcome prize: we ranged a feast, 
 with turf-built couches and a banquet-board 
 along the curving strand. But in a trice, 
 down from the high hills swooping horribly, 
 the Harpies loudly shrieking, flapped their wings, 
 snatched at our meats, and with infectious touch 
 polluted all; infernal was their cry, 
 the stench most vile. Once more in covert far 
 beneath a caverned rock, and close concealed 
 with trees and branching shade, we raised aloft 
 our tables, altars, and rekindled fires. 
 Once more from haunts unknown the clamorous flock 
 from every quarter flew, and seized its prey 
 with taloned feet and carrion lip most foul. 
 I called my mates to arms and opened war 
 on that accursed brood. My band obeyed; 
 and, hiding in deep grass their swords and shields, 
 in ambush lay. But presently the foe 
 swept o'er the winding shore with loud alarm : 
 then from a sentry-crag, Misenus blew 
 a signal on his hollow horn. My men 
 flew to the combat strange, and fain would wound 
 with martial steel those foul birds of the sea; 
 but on their sides no wounding blade could fall, 
 nor any plume be marred. In swiftest flight 
 to starry skies they soared, and left on earth 
 their half-gnawed, stolen feast, and footprints foul. 
 Celaeno only on a beetling crag 
 took lofty perch, and, prophetess of ill, 
 shrieked malediction from her vulture breast: 
 “Because of slaughtered kine and ravished herd, 
 sons of Laomedon, have ye made war? 
 And will ye from their rightful kingdom drive 
 the guiltless Harpies? Hear, O, hear my word 
 (Long in your bosoms may it rankle sore!) 
 which Jove omnipotent to Phoebus gave, 
 Phoebus to me: a word of doom, which I, 
 the Furies' elder sister, here unfold: 
 ‘To Italy ye fare. The willing winds 
 your call have heard; and ye shall have your prayer 
 in some Italian haven safely moored. 
 But never shall ye rear the circling walls 
 of your own city, till for this our blood 
 by you unjustly spilt, your famished jaws 
 bite at your tables, aye,—and half devour.’”

She spoke: her pinions bore her to the grove, 
 and she was seen no more. But all my band 
 shuddered with shock of fear in each cold vein; 
 their drooping spirits trusted swords no more, 
 but turned to prayers and offerings, asking grace, 
 scarce knowing if those creatures were divine, 
 or but vast birds, ill-omened and unclean. 
 Father Anchises to the gods in heaven 
 uplifted suppliant hands, and on that shore 
 due ritual made, crying aloud; “Ye gods 
 avert this curse, this evil turn away! 
 Smile, Heaven, upon your faithful votaries.” 
 Then bade he launch away, the chain undo, 
 set every cable free and spread all sail. 
 O'er the white waves we flew, and took our way 
 where'er the helmsman or the winds could guide. 
 Now forest-clad Zacynthus met our gaze, 
 engirdled by the waves; Dulichium, 
 same, and Neritos, a rocky steep, 
 uprose. We passed the cliffs of Ithaca 
 
 that called Laertes king, and flung our curse 
 on fierce Ulysses' hearth and native land. 
 nigh hoar Leucate's clouded crest we drew, 
 where Phoebus' temple, feared by mariners, 
 loomed o'er us; thitherward we steered and reached 
 the little port and town. Our weary fleet 
 dropped anchor, and lay beached along the strand.

So, safe at land, our hopeless peril past, 
 we offered thanks to Jove, and kindled high 
 his altars with our feast and sacrifice; 
 then, gathering on Actium 's holy shore, 
 made fair solemnities of pomp and game. 
 My youth, anointing their smooth, naked limbs, 
 wrestled our wonted way. For glad were we, 
 who past so many isles of Greece had sped 
 and 'scaped our circling foes. Now had the sun 
 rolled through the year's full circle, and the waves 
 were rough with icy winter's northern gales. 
 I hung for trophy on that temple door 
 a swelling shield of brass (which once was worn 
 by mighty Abas) graven with this line: 
 SPOIL OF AENEAS FROM TRIUMPHANT FOES. 
 Then from that haven I command them forth; 
 my good crews take the thwarts, smiting the sea 
 with rival strokes, and skim the level main. 
 Soon sank Phaeacia's wind-swept citadels 
 out of our view; we skirted the bold shores 
 of proud Epirus , in Chaonian land, 
 and made Buthrotum 's port and towering town.

Here wondrous tidings met us, that the son 
 of Priam, Helenus, held kingly sway 
 o'er many Argive cities, having wed 
 the Queen of Pyrrhus, great Achilles' son, 
 and gained his throne; and that Andromache 
 once more was wife unto a kindred lord. 
 Amazement held me; all my bosom burned 
 to see the hero's face and hear this tale 
 of strange vicissitude. So up I climbed, 
 leaving the haven, fleet, and friendly shore. 
 That self-same hour outside the city walls, 
 within a grove where flowed the mimic stream 
 of a new Simois, Andromache, 
 with offerings to the dead, and gifts of woe, 
 poured forth libation, and invoked the shade 
 of Hector, at a tomb which her fond grief 
 had consecrated to perpetual tears, 
 though void; a mound of fair green turf it stood, 
 and near it rose twin altars to his name. 
 She saw me drawing near; our Trojan helms 
 met her bewildered eyes, and, terror-struck 
 at the portentous sight, she swooning fell 
 and lay cold, rigid, lifeless, till at last, 
 scarce finding voice, her lips addressed me thus : 
 “Have I true vision? Bringest thou the word 
 Of truth, O goddess-born? Art still in flesh? 
 Or if sweet light be fled, my Hector, where?” 
 With flood of tears she spoke, and all the grove 
 reechoed to her cry. Scarce could I frame 
 brief answer to her passion, but replied 
 with broken voice and accents faltering: 
 “I live, 't is true. I lengthen out my days 
 through many a desperate strait. But O, believe 
 that what thine eyes behold is vision true. 
 Alas! what lot is thine, that wert unthroned 
 from such a husband's side? What after-fate 
 could give thee honor due? Andromache, 
 once Hector's wife, is Pyrrhus still thy lord?”

With drooping brows and lowly voice she cried : 
 “O, happy only was that virgin blest, 
 daughter of Priam, summoned forth to die 
 in sight of Ilium , on a foeman's tomb! 
 No casting of the lot her doom decreed, 
 nor came she to her conqueror's couch a slave. 
 Myself from burning Ilium carried far 
 o'er seas and seas, endured the swollen pride 
 of that young scion of Achilles' race, 
 and bore him as his slave a son. When he 
 sued for Hermione, of Leda's line, 
 and nuptial-bond with Lacedaemon's Iords, 
 I, the slave-wife, to Helenus was given, 
 and slave was wed with slave. But afterward 
 Orestes, crazed by loss of her he loved, 
 and ever fury-driven from crime to crime, 
 crept upon Pyrrhus in a careless hour 
 and murdered him upon his own hearth-stone. 
 Part of the realm of Neoptolemus 
 fell thus to Helenus, who called his lands 
 Chaonian, and in Trojan Chaon's name 
 his kingdom is Chaonia. Yonder height 
 is Pergamus , our Ilian citadel. 
 What power divine did waft thee to our shore, 
 not knowing whither? Tell me of the boy 
 Ascanius! Still breathes he earthly air? 
 In Troy she bore him—is he mourning still 
 that mother ravished from his childhood's eyes? 
 what ancient valor stirs the manly soul 
 of thine own son, of Hector's sister's child?” 
 Thus poured she forth full many a doleful word 
 with unavailing tears. But as she ceased, 
 out of the city gates appeared the son 
 of Priam, Helenus, with princely train. 
 He welcomed us as kin, and glad at heart 
 gave guidance to his house, though oft his words 
 fell faltering and few, with many a tear. 
 Soon to a humbler Troy I lift my eyes, 
 and of a mightier Pergamus discern 
 the towering semblance; there a scanty stream 
 runs on in Xanthus ' name, and my glad arms 
 the pillars of a Scaean gate embrace. 
 My Teucrian mariners with welcome free 
 enjoyed the friendly town; his ample halls 
 our royal host threw wide; full wine-cups flowed 
 within the palace; golden feast was spread, 
 and many a goblet quaffed. Day followed day, 
 while favoring breezes beckoned us to sea, 
 and swelled the waiting canvas as they blew. 
 Then to the prophet-priest I made this prayer: 
 “Offspring of Troy , interpreter of Heaven! 
 Who knowest Phoebus' power, and readest well 
 the tripod, stars, and vocal laurel leaves 
 to Phoebus dear, who know'st of every bird 
 the ominous swift wing or boding song, 
 o, speak! For all my course good omens showed, 
 and every god admonished me to sail 
 in quest of Italy 's far-distant shores; 
 but lone Celaeno, heralding strange woe, 
 foretold prodigious horror, vengeance dark, 
 and vile, unnatural hunger. How elude 
 such perils? Or by what hard duty done 
 may such huge host of evils vanquished be?” 
 Then Helenus, with sacrifice of kine 
 in order due, implored the grace of Heaven, 
 unloosed the fillets from his sacred brow, 
 and led me, Phoebus, to thy temple's door, 
 awed by th' o'er-brooding godhead, whose true priest, 
 with lips inspired, made this prophetic song:

“O goddess-born, indubitably shines 
 the blessing of great gods upon thy path 
 across the sea; the heavenly King supreme 
 thy destiny ordains; 't is he unfolds 
 the grand vicissitude, which now pursues 
 a course immutable. I will declare 
 of thy large fate a certain bounded part; 
 that fearless thou may'st view the friendly sea, 
 and in Ausonia's haven at the last 
 find thee a fixed abode. Than this no more 
 the Sister Fates to Helenus unveil, 
 and Juno, Saturn's daughter, grants no more. 
 First, that Italia (which nigh at hand 
 thou deemest, and wouldst fondly enter in 
 by yonder neighboring bays) lies distant far 
 o'er trackless course and long, with interval 
 of far-extended lands. Thine oars must ply 
 the waves of Sicily ; thy fleet must cleave 
 the large expanse of that Ausonian brine; 
 the waters of Avernus thou shalt see, 
 and that enchanted island where abides 
 Aeaean Circe, ere on tranquil shore 
 thou mayest plant thy nation. Lo! a sign 
 I tell thee; hide this wonder in thy heart: 
 Beside a certain stream's sequestered wave, 
 thy troubled eyes, in shadowy flex grove 
 that fringes on the river, shall descry 
 a milk-white, monstrous sow, with teeming brood 
 of thirty young, new littered, white like her, 
 all clustering at her teats, as prone she lies. 
 There is thy city's safe, predestined ground, 
 and there thy labors' end. Vex not thy heart 
 about those ‘tables bitten’, for kind fate 
 thy path will show, and Phoebus bless thy prayer. 
 But from these lands and yon Italian shore, 
 where from this sea of ours the tide sweeps in, 
 escape and flee, for all its cities hold 
 pernicious Greeks, thy foes: the Locri there 
 have builded walls; the wide Sallentine fields 
 are filled with soldiers of Idomeneus; 
 there Meliboean Philoctetes' town, 
 petilia, towers above its little wall. 
 Yea, even when thy fleet has crossed the main, 
 and from new altars built along the shore 
 thy vows to Heaven are paid, throw o'er thy head 
 a purple mantle, veiling well thy brows, 
 lest, while the sacrificial fire ascends 
 in offering to the gods, thine eye behold 
 some face of foe, and every omen fail. 
 Let all thy people keep this custom due, 
 and thou thyself be faithful; let thy seed 
 forever thus th' immaculate rite maintain. 
 After departing hence, thou shalt be blown 
 toward Sicily , and strait Pelorus' bounds 
 will open wide. Then take the leftward way: 
 those leftward waters in long circuit sweep, 
 far from that billowy coast, the opposing side. 
 These regions, so they tell, in ages gone 
 by huge and violent convulsion riven 
 (Such mutability is wrought by time), 
 sprang wide asunder; where the doubled strand 
 sole and continuous lay, the sea's vast power 
 burst in between, and bade its waves divide 
 Hesperia's bosom from fair Sicily , 
 while with a straitened firth it interflowed 
 their fields and cities sundered shore from shore. 
 The right side Scylla keeps; the left is given 
 to pitiless Charybdis, who draws down 
 to the wild whirling of her steep abyss 
 the monster waves, and ever and anon 
 flings them at heaven, to lash the tranquil stars. 
 But Scylla, prisoned in her eyeless cave, 
 thrusts forth her face, and pulls upon the rocks 
 ship after ship; the parts that first be seen 
 are human; a fair-breasted virgin she, 
 down to the womb; but all that lurks below 
 is a huge-membered fish, where strangely join 
 the flukes of dolphins and the paunch of wolves. 
 
 Better by far to round the distant goal 
 of the Trinacrian headlands, veering wide 
 from thy true course, than ever thou shouldst see 
 that shapeless Scylla in her vaulted cave, 
 where grim rocks echo her dark sea-dogs' roar. 
 Yea, more, if aught of prescience be bestowed 
 on Helenus, if trusted prophet he, 
 and Phoebus to his heart true voice have given, 
 o goddess-born, one counsel chief of all 
 I tell thee oft, and urge it o'er and o'er. 
 To Juno's godhead lift thy Ioudest prayer; 
 to Juno chant a fervent votive song, 
 and with obedient offering persuade 
 that potent Queen. So shalt thou, triumphing, 
 to Italy be sped, and leave behind 
 
 Trinacria . When wafted to that shore, 
 repair to Cumae 's hill, and to the Lake 
 Avernus with its whispering grove divine. 
 There shalt thou see a frenzied prophetess, 
 who from beneath the hollow scarped crag 
 sings oracles, or characters on leaves 
 mysterious names. Whate'er the virgin writes, 
 on leaves inscribing the portentous song, 
 she sets in order, and conceals them well 
 in her deep cave, where they abide unchanged 
 in due array. Yet not a care has she, 
 if with some swinging hinge a breeze sweeps in, 
 to catch them as they whirl: if open door 
 disperse them flutterlig through the hollow rock, 
 she will not link their shifted sense anew, 
 nor re-invent her fragmentary song. 
 Oft her unanswered votaries depart, 
 scorning the Sibyl's shrine. But deem not thou 
 thy tarrying too Iong, whate'er thy stay. 
 Though thy companions chide, though winds of power 
 invite thy ship to sea, and well would speed 
 the swelling sail, yet to that Sibyl go. 
 Pray that her own lips may sing forth for thee 
 the oracles, uplifting her dread voice 
 in willing prophecy. Her rede shall tell 
 of Italy , its wars and tribes to be, 
 and of what way each burden and each woe 
 may be escaped, or borne. Her favoring aid 
 will grant swift, happy voyages to thy prayer. 
 Such counsels Heaven to my lips allows. 
 arise, begone! and by thy glorious deeds 
 set Troy among the stars! “

So spake the prophet with benignant voice. 
 Then gifts he bade be brought of heavy gold 
 and graven ivory, which to our ships 
 he bade us bear; each bark was Ioaded full 
 with messy silver and Dodona 's pride 
 of brazen cauldrons; a cuirass he gave 
 of linked gold enwrought and triple chain; 
 a noble helmet, too, with flaming crest 
 and lofty cone, th' accoutrement erewhile 
 of Neoptolemus. My father too 
 had fit gifts from the King; whose bounty then 
 gave steeds and riders; and new gear was sent 
 to every sea-worn ship, while he supplied 
 seafarers, kit to all my loyal crews.

Anchises bade us speedily set sail, 
 nor lose a wind so fair; and answering him, 
 Apollo's priest made reverent adieu: 
 “Anchises, honored by the love sublime 
 of Venus, self and twice in safety borne 
 from falling Troy , chief care of kindly Heaven, 
 th' Ausonian shore is thine. Sail thitherward! 
 For thou art pre-ordained to travel far 
 o'er yonder seas; far in the distance lies 
 that region of Ausonia, Phoebus' voice 
 to thee made promise of. Onward, I say, 
 o blest in the exceeding loyal love 
 of thy dear son! Why keep thee longer now? 
 Why should my words yon gathering winds detain?” 
 Likewise Andromache in mournful guise 
 took last farewell, bringing embroidered robes 
 of golden woof; a princely Phrygian cloak 
 she gave Ascanius, vying with the King 
 in gifts of honor; and threw o'er the boy 
 the labors of her loom, with words like these: 
 “Accept these gifts, sweet youth, memorials 
 of me and my poor handicraft, to prove 
 th' undying friendship of Andromache, 
 once Hector's wife. Take these last offerings 
 of those who are thy kin—O thou that art 
 of my Astyanax in all this world 
 the only image! His thy lovely eyes! 
 Thy hands, thy lips, are even what he bore, 
 and like thy own his youthful bloom would be.” 
 Thus I made answer, turning to depart 
 with rising tears: “Live on, and be ye blessed, 
 whose greatness is accomplished! As for me, 
 from change to change Fate summons, and I go; 
 but ye have won repose. No leagues of sea 
 await your cleaving keel. Not yours the quest 
 of fading Italy 's delusive shore. 
 Here a new Xanthus and a second Troy 
 
 your labor fashioned and your eyes may see— 
 more blest, I trust, less tempting to our foes! 
 If e'er on Tiber and its bordering vales 
 I safely enter, and these eyes behold 
 our destined walls, then in fraternal bond 
 let our two nations live, whose mutual boast 
 is one Dardanian blood, one common story. 
 
 Epirus with Hesperia shall be 
 one Troy in heart and soul. But this remains 
 for our sons' sons the happy task and care.”

Forth o'er the seas we sped and kept our course 
 nigh the Ceraunian headland, where begins 
 the short sea-passage unto Italy . 
 Soon sank the sun, while down the shadowed hills 
 stole deeper gloom; then making shore, we flung 
 our bodies on a dry, sea-bordering sand, 
 couched on earth's welcome breast; the oars were ranged 
 in order due; the tides of slumber dark 
 o'erflowed our lives. But scarce the chariot 
 of Night, on wings of swift, obedient Hours, 
 had touched the middle sky, when wakeful sprang 
 good Palinurus from his pillowed stone: 
 with hand at ear he caught each airy gust 
 and questioned of the winds; the gliding stars 
 he called by name, as onward they advanced 
 through the still heaven; Arcturus he beheld, 
 the Hyades, rain-bringers, the twin Bears, 
 and vast Orion girt in golden arms. 
 He blew a trumpet from his ship; our camp 
 stirred to the signal for embarking; soon 
 we rode the seas once more with swelling sail.

Scarce had Aurora's purple from the sky 
 warned off the stars, when Iying very low 
 along th' horizon, the dimmed hills we saw 
 of Italy ; Achates first gave cry 
 “ Italia !” with answering shouts of joy, 
 my comrades' voices cried, “ Italia , hail!” 
 Anchises, then, wreathed a great bowl with flowers 
 and filled with wine, invoking Heaven to bless, 
 and thus he prayed from our ship's lofty stern: 
 “O Iords of land and sea and every storm! 
 Breathe favoring breezes for our onward way!” 
 Fresh blew the prayed-for winds. A haven fair 
 soon widened near us; and its heights were crowned 
 by a Greek fane to Pallas. Yet my men 
 furled sail and shoreward veered the pointing prow. 
 the port receding from the orient wave 
 is curved into a bow; on either side 
 the jutting headlands toss the salt sea-foam 
 and hide the bay itself. Like double wall 
 the towered crags send down protecting arms, 
 while distant from the shore the temple stands. 
 Here on a green sward, the first omen given, 
 I saw four horses grazing through the field, 
 each white as snow. Father Anchises cried: 
 “Is war thy gift, O new and alien land? 
 Horses make war; of war these creatures bode. 
 Yet oft before the chariot of peace 
 their swift hoofs go, and on their necks they bear 
 th' obedient yoke and rein. Therefore a hope 
 of peace is also ours.” Then we implored 
 Minerva's mercy, at her sacred shrine, 
 the mail-clad goddess who gave welcome there; 
 and at an altar, mantling well our brows 
 the Phrygian way, as Helenus ordained, 
 we paid the honors his chief counsel urged, 
 with blameless rite, to Juno, Argive Queen.

No tarrying now, but after sacrifice 
 we twirled the sailyards and shook out all sail, 
 leaving the cities of the sons of Greece 
 
 and that distrusted land. Tarentum 's bay 
 soon smiled before us, town of Hercules, 
 if fame be true; opposing it uptowers 
 Lacinia's headland unto Juno dear, 
 the heights of Caulon, and that sailors' bane, 
 ship-shattering Scylaceum. Thence half seen, 
 trinacrian Aetna cleaves th' horizon line; 
 we hear from far the crash of shouting seas, 
 where lifted billows leap the tide-swept sand. 
 Father Anchises cried: “'T is none but she— 
 Charybdis! Helenus this reef foretold, 
 and rocks of dreadful name. O, fly, my men! 
 Rise like one man with long, strong sweep of oars!” 
 Not unobedient they! First Palinure 
 veered to the leftward wave the willing keel, 
 and sails and oars together leftward strove. 
 We shot to skyward on the arching surge, 
 then, as she sank, dropped deeper than the grave; 
 thrice bellowed the vast cliffs from vaulted wall; 
 thrice saw we spouted foam and showers of stars. 
 After these things both wind and sun did fail; 
 and weary, worn, not witting of our way, 
 we drifted shoreward to the Cyclops' land.

A spreading bay is there, impregnable 
 to all invading storms; and Aetna 's throat 
 with roar of frightful ruin thunders nigh. 
 Now to the realm of light it lifts a cloud 
 of pitch-black, whirling smoke, and fiery dust, 
 shooting out globes of flame, with monster tongues 
 that lick the stars; now huge crags of itself, 
 out of the bowels of the mountain torn, 
 its maw disgorges, while the molten rock 
 rolls screaming skyward; from the nether deep 
 the fathomless abyss makes ebb and flow. 
 Enceladus, his body lightning-scarred, 
 lies prisoned under all, so runs the tale: 
 o'er him gigantic Aetna breathes in fire 
 from crack and seam; and if he haply turn 
 to change his wearied side, Trinacria 's isle 
 trembles and moans, and thick fumes mantle heaven. 
 That night in screen and covert of a grove 
 we bore the dire convulsion, unaware 
 whence the loud horror came. For not a star 
 its lamp allowed, nor burned in upper sky 
 the constellated fires, but all was gloom, 
 and frowning night confined the moon in cloud.

When from the eastern waves the light of morn 
 began to peer, and from the upper sky 
 Aurora flamed away the dark and dew, 
 out of the forest sprang a startling shape 
 of hunger-wasted misery; a man 
 in wretched guise, who shoreward came with hands 
 outstretched in supplication. We turned back 
 and scanned him well. All grime and foulness he, 
 with long and tangled beard, his savage garb 
 fastened with thorns; but in all else he seemed 
 a Greek, and in his country's league of arms 
 sent to the seige of Troy . Then he beheld 
 the Dardan habit, and our Trojan steel, 
 he somewhat paused, as if in dread dismay 
 such sight to see, and falteringly moved; 
 but soon with headlong steps he sought the shore, 
 ejaculating broken sobs and prayers: 
 “By stars above! By gods on high! O, hear! 
 By this bright heavenly air we mortals breathe, 
 save me, sweet Trojans! Carry me away 
 unto what land ye will! I ask no more. 
 I came, I know it, in the ships of Greece ; 
 and I did war, 't is true, with Ilium 's gods. 
 O, if the crime deserve it, fling my corse 
 on yonder waves, and in the boundless brine 
 sink me forever! Give me in my death 
 the comfort that by human hands I die.” 
 He clasped our knees, and writhing on his own 
 clung fast. We bid him tell his race and name, 
 and by what fate pursued. Anchises gave 
 his own right hand in swift and generous aid, 
 and by prompt token cheered the exile's heart, 
 who, banishing his fears, poured forth this tale :—

“My home was Ithaca , and I partook 
 the fortunes of Ulysses evil-starred. 
 My name is Achemenides, my sire 
 was Adamastus, and I sailed for Troy , 
 being so poor,—O, that I ne'er had change 
 the lot I bore! In yon vast Cyclops' cave 
 my comrades, flying from its gruesome door, 
 left me behind, forgotten. 'T is a house 
 of gory feasts of flesh, 't is deep and dark, 
 and vaulted high. He looms as high as heaven; 
 I pray the blessed gods to rid the earth 
 of the vile monster! None can look on him, 
 none speak with him. He feeds on clotted gore 
 of disembowelled men. These very eyes 
 saw him seize two of our own company, 
 and, as he lolled back in the cave, he clutched 
 and dashed them on the stones, fouling the floor 
 with torrent of their blood; myself I saw him 
 crunch with his teeth the dripping, bloody limbs 
 still hot and pulsing on his hungry jaw. 
 But not without reward! For such a sight 
 Ulysses would not brook, and Ithaca 
 
 forgot not in such strait the name he bore. 
 For soon as, gorged with feasting and o'ercome 
 with drunken slumber, the foul giant lay 
 sprawled through the cave, his head dropped helpless down, 
 disgorging as he slept thick drool of gore 
 and gobbets drenched with bloody wine; then we, 
 calling on Heaven and taking place by lot, 
 drew round him like one man, and with a beam 
 sharpened at end bored out that monster eye, 
 which, huge and sole, lay under the grim brow, 
 round as an Argive shield or Phoebus' star. 
 Thus took we joyful vengeance for the shades 
 of our lost mates. But, O ill-fated men! 
 Fly, I implore, and cut the cables free 
 along the beach! For in the land abide, 
 like Polyphemus, who in hollow cave 
 kept fleecy sheep, and milked his fruitful ewes, 
 a hundred other, huge as he, who rove 
 wide o'er this winding shore and mountains fair: 
 Cyclops accursed, bestial! Thrice the moon 
 has filled her horns with light, while here I dwell 
 in lonely woods and lairs of creatures wild; 
 or from tall cliffs out-peering I discern 
 the Cyclops, and shrink shuddering from the sound 
 of their vast step and cry. My sorry fare 
 is berries and hard corners dropped from trees, 
 or herb-roots torn out from the niggard ground. 
 Though watching the whole sea, only today 
 Have I had sight of ships. To you I fled. 
 Whate'er ye be, it was my only prayer 
 to 'scape that monster brood. I ask no more. 
 O, set me free by any death ye will!”

He scarce had said, when moving o'er the crest 
 of a high hill a giant shape we saw: 
 that shepherd Polyphemus, with his flocks 
 down-wending to the well-known water-side; 
 huge, shapeless, horrible, with blinded eye, 
 bearing a lopped pine for a staff, he made 
 his footing sure, while the white, fleecy sheep, 
 sole pleasure now, and solace of his woes, 
 ran huddling at his side. 
 Soon to the vast flood of the level brine 
 he came, and washed the flowing gore away 
 from that out-hollowed eye; he gnashed his teeth, 
 groaning, and deep into the watery way 
 stalked on, his tall bulk wet by scarce a wave. 
 We fled in haste, though far, and with us bore 
 the truthful suppliant; cut silently 
 the anchor-ropes, and, bending to the oar, 
 swept on with eager strokes clean out to sea. 
 Aware he was, and toward our loud halloo 
 whirled sudden round; but when no power had he 
 to seize or harm, nor could his fierce pursuit 
 o'ertake the Ionian surges as they rolled, 
 he raised a cry incredible; the sea 
 with all its billows trembled; the wide shore 
 of Italy from glens and gorges moaned, 
 and Aetna roared from every vaulted cave.

Then rallied from the grove-clad, Iofty isle 
 the Cyclops' clan, and lined the beach and bay. 
 We saw each lonely eyeball glare in vain, 
 as side by side those brothers Aetna-born 
 stood towering high, a conclave dark and dire: 
 as when, far up some mountain's famous crest, 
 wind-fronting oaks or cone-clad cypresses 
 have made assembling in the solemn hills, 
 Jove's giant wood or Dian's sacred grove. 
 We, terror-struck, would fly we knew not where, 
 with loosened sheet and canvas swelling strong 
 before a welcome wind; but Helenus 
 bade us both Scylla and Charybdis fear, 
 where 'twixt the twain death straitly hems the way; 
 and so the counsel was to veer our bark 
 the course it came. But lo! a northern gale 
 burst o'er us from Pelorus' narrowed side, 
 and on we rode far past Pantagia's bay 
 of unhewn rock, and past the haven strong 
 of Megara , and Thapsus Iying low. 
 Such were the names retold, and such the shores 
 shown us by Achemenides, whose fate 
 made him familiar there, for he had sailed 
 with evil-starred Ulysses o'er that sea.

Off the Sicilian shore an island lies, 
 wave-washed Plemmyrium, called in olden days 
 Ortygia; here Alpheus, river-god, 
 from Elis flowed by secret sluice, they say, 
 beneath the sea, and mingles at thy mouth, 
 fair Arethusa! with Sicilian waves. 
 Our voices hailed the great gods of the land 
 with reverent prayer; then skirted we the shore, 
 where smooth Helorus floods the fruitful plain. 
 Under Pachynus' beetling precipice 
 we kept our course; then Camarina rose 
 in distant view, firm-seated evermore 
 by Fate's decree; and that far-spreading vale 
 of Gela , with the name of power it takes 
 from its wide river; and, uptowering far, 
 the ramparts of proud Acragas appeared, 
 where fiery steeds were bred in days of old. 
 Borne by the winds, along thy coast I fled, 
 
 Selinus , green with palm! and past the shore 
 of Lilybaeum with its treacherous reef; 
 till at the last the port of Drepanum 
 
 received me to its melancholy strand. 
 Here, woe is me I outworn by stormful seas, 
 my sire, sole comfort of my grievous doom, 
 Anchises ceased to be. O best of sires! 
 Here didst thou leave me in the weary way; 
 through all our perils—O the bitter loss! — 
 borne safely, but in vain. King Helenus, 
 whose prophet-tongue of dark events foretold, 
 spoke not this woe; nor did Celeno's curse 
 of this forebode. Such my last loss and pain; 
 such, of my weary way, the destined goal. 
 From thence departing, the divine behest 
 impelled me to thy shores, O listening queen!

Such was, while all gave ear, the tale sublime 
 father Aeneas, none but he, set forth 
 of wanderings and of dark decrees divine: 
 silent at last, he ceased, and took repose.

Now felt the Queen the sharp, slow-gathering pangs 
 of love; and out of every pulsing vein 
 nourished the wound and fed its viewless fire. 
 Her hero's virtues and his lordly line 
 keep calling to her soul; his words, his glance, 
 cling to her heart like lingering, barbed steel, 
 and rest and peace from her vexed body fly. 
 A new day's dawn with Phoebus' lamp divine 
 lit up all lands, and from the vaulted heaven 
 Aurora had dispelled the dark and dew; 
 when thus unto the ever-answering heart 
 of her dear sister spoke the stricken Queen: 
 
 “Anna, my sister, what disturbing dreams 
 perplex me and alarm? What guest is this 
 new-welcomed to our house? How proud his mien! 
 What dauntless courage and exploits of war! 
 Sooth, I receive it for no idle tale 
 that of the gods he sprang. 'T is cowardice 
 betrays the base-born soul. Ah me! How fate 
 has smitten him with storms! What dire extremes 
 of war and horror in his tale he told! 
 O, were it not immutably resolved 
 in my fixed heart, that to no shape of man 
 I would be wed again (since my first love 
 left me by death abandoned and betrayed); 
 loathed I not so the marriage torch and train, 
 I could—who knows?—to this one weakness yield. 
 Anna, I hide it not! But since the doom 
 of my ill-starred Sichaeus, when our shrines 
 were by a brother's murder dabbled o'er, 
 this man alone has moved me; he alone 
 has shaken my weak will. I seem to feel 
 the motions of love's lost, familiar fire. 
 But may the earth gape open where I tread, 
 and may almighty Jove with thunder-scourge 
 hurl me to Erebus' abysmal shade, 
 to pallid ghosts and midnight fathomless, 
 before, O Chastity! I shall offend 
 thy holy power, or cast thy bonds away! 
 He who first mingled his dear life with mine 
 took with him all my heart. 'T is his alone — 
 o, let it rest beside him in the grave!” 
 She spoke: the bursting tears her breast o'erflowed.

“O dearer to thy sister than her life,” 
 Anna replied, “wouldst thou in sorrow's weed 
 waste thy long youth alone, nor ever know 
 sweet babes at thine own breast, nor gifts of love? 
 Will dust and ashes, or a buried ghost 
 reck what we do? 'T is true thy grieving heart 
 was cold to earlier wooers, Libya 's now, 
 and long ago in Tyre . Iarbas knew 
 thy scorn, and many a prince and captain bred 
 in Afric's land of glory. Why resist 
 a love that makes thee glad? Hast thou no care 
 what alien lands are these where thou dost reign? 
 Here are Gaetulia's cities and her tribes 
 unconquered ever; on thy borders rove 
 
 Numidia 's uncurbed cavalry; here too 
 lies Syrtis' cruel shore, and regions wide 
 of thirsty desert, menaced everywhere 
 by the wild hordes of Barca . Shall I tell 
 of Tyre 's hostilities, the threats and rage 
 of our own brother? Friendly gods, I bow, 
 wafted the Teucrian ships, with Juno's aid, 
 to these our shores. O sister, what a throne, 
 and what imperial city shall be thine, 
 if thus espoused! With Trojan arms allied 
 how far may not our Punic fame extend 
 in deeds of power? Call therefore on the gods 
 to favor thee; and, after omens fair, 
 give queenly welcome, and contrive excuse 
 to make him tarry, while yon wintry seas 
 are loud beneath Orion's stormful star, 
 and on his battered ships the season frowns.”

So saying, she stirred a passion-burning breast 
 to Iove more madly still; her words infused 
 a doubting mind with hope, and bade the blush 
 of shame begone. First to the shrines they went 
 and sued for grace; performing sacrifice, 
 choosing an offering of unblemished ewes, 
 to law-bestowing Ceres, to the god 
 of light, to sire Lyeus, Iord of wine; 
 but chiefly unto Juno, patroness 
 of nuptial vows. There Dido, beauteous Queen 
 held forth in her right hand the sacred bowl 
 and poured it full between the lifted horns 
 of the white heifer; or on temple floors 
 she strode among the richly laden shrines, 
 the eyes of gods upon her, worshipping 
 with many a votive gift; or, peering deep 
 into the victims' cloven sides, she read 
 the fate-revealing tokens trembling there. 
 How blind the hearts of prophets be! Alas! 
 Of what avail be temples and fond prayers 
 to change a frenzied mind? Devouring ever, 
 love's fire burns inward to her bones; she feels 
 quick in her breast the viewless, voiceless wound. 
 Ill-fated Dido ranges up and down 
 the spaces of her city, desperate 
 her life one flame—like arrow-stricken doe 
 through Cretan forest rashly wandering, 
 pierced by a far-off shepherd, who pursues 
 with shafts, and leaves behind his light-winged steed, 
 not knowing; while she scours the dark ravines 
 of Dicte and its woodlands; at her heart 
 the mortal barb irrevocably clings. 
 around her city's battlements she guides 
 aeneas, to make show of Sidon 's gold, 
 and what her realm can boast; full oft her voice 
 essays to speak and frembling dies away: 
 or, when the daylight fades, she spreads anew 
 a royal banquet, and once more will plead 
 mad that she is, to hear the Trojan sorrow; 
 and with oblivious ravishment once more 
 hangs on his lips who tells; or when her guests 
 are scattered, and the wan moon's fading horn 
 bedims its ray, while many a sinking star 
 invites to slumber, there she weeps alone 
 in the deserted hall, and casts her down 
 on the cold couch he pressed. Her love from far 
 beholds her vanished hero and receives 
 his voice upon her ears; or to her breast, 
 moved by a father's image in his child, 
 she clasps Ascanius, seeking to deceive 
 her unblest passion so. Her enterprise 
 of tower and rampart stops: her martial host 
 no Ionger she reviews, nor fashions now 
 defensive haven and defiant wall; 
 but idly all her half-built bastions frown, 
 and enginery of sieges, high as heaven.

But soon the chosen spouse of Jove perceived 
 the Queen's infection; and because the voice 
 of honor to such frenzy spoke not, she, 
 daughter of Saturn, unto Venus turned 
 and counselled thus: “How noble is the praise, 
 how glorious the spoils of victory, 
 for thee and for thy boy! Your names should be 
 in lasting, vast renown—that by the snare 
 of two great gods in league one woman fell! 
 it 'scapes me not that my protected realms 
 have ever been thy fear, and the proud halls 
 of Carthage thy vexation and annoy. 
 Why further go? Prithee, what useful end 
 has our long war? Why not from this day forth 
 perpetual peace and nuptial amity? 
 Hast thou not worked thy will? Behold and see 
 how Iove-sick Dido burns, and all her flesh 
 'The madness feels! So let our common grace 
 smile on a mingled people! Let her serve 
 a Phrygian husband, while thy hands receive 
 her Tyrian subjects for the bridal dower!”

In answer (reading the dissembler's mind 
 which unto Libyan shores were fain to shift 
 italia's future throne) thus Venus spoke: 
 “'T were mad to spurn such favor, or by choice 
 be numbered with thy foes. But can it be 
 that fortune on thy noble counsel smiles? 
 To me Fate shows but dimly whether Jove 
 unto the Trojan wanderers ordains 
 a common city with the sons of Tyre , 
 with mingling blood and sworn, perpetual peace. 
 His wife thou art; it is thy rightful due 
 to plead to know his mind. Go, ask him, then! 
 For humbly I obey!” With instant word 
 Juno the Queen replied: “Leave that to me! 
 But in what wise our urgent task and grave 
 may soon be sped, I will in brief unfold 
 to thine attending ear. A royal hunt 
 in sylvan shades unhappy Dido gives 
 for her Aeneas, when to-morrow's dawn 
 uplifts its earliest ray and Titan's beam 
 shall first unveil the world. But I will pour 
 black storm-clouds with a burst of heavy hail 
 along their way; and as the huntsmen speed 
 to hem the wood with snares, I will arouse 
 all heaven with thunder. The attending train 
 shall scatter and be veiled in blinding dark, 
 while Dido and her hero out of Troy 
 
 to the same cavern fly. My auspices 
 I will declare—if thou alike wilt bless; 
 and yield her in true wedlock for his bride. 
 Such shall their spousal be!” To Juno's will 
 Cythera's Queen inclined assenting brow, 
 and laughed such guile to see. Aurora rose, 
 and left the ocean's rim. The city's gates 
 pour forth to greet the morn a gallant train 
 of huntsmen, bearing many a woven snare 
 and steel-tipped javelin; while to and fro 
 run the keen-scented dogs and Libyan squires. 
 The Queen still keeps her chamber; at her doors 
 the Punic lords await; her palfrey, brave 
 in gold and purple housing, paws the ground 
 and fiercely champs the foam-flecked bridle-rein. 
 At last, with numerous escort, forth she shines: 
 her Tyrian pall is bordered in bright hues, 
 her quiver, gold; her tresses are confined 
 only with gold; her robes of purple rare 
 meet in a golden clasp. To greet her come 
 the noble Phrygian guests; among them smiles 
 the boy Iulus; and in fair array 
 Aeneas, goodliest of all his train. 
 In such a guise Apollo (when he leaves 
 cold Lycian hills and Xanthus ' frosty stream 
 to visit Delos to Latona dear) 
 ordains the song, while round his altars cry 
 the choirs of many islands, with the pied, 
 fantastic Agathyrsi; soon the god 
 moves o'er the Cynthian steep; his flowing hair 
 he binds with laurel garland and bright gold; 
 upon his shining shoulder as he goes 
 the arrows ring:—not less uplifted mien 
 aeneas wore; from his illustrious brow 
 such beauty shone. Soon to the mountains tall 
 the cavalcade comes nigh, to pathless haunts 
 of woodland creatures; the wild goats are seen, 
 from pointed crag descending leap by leap 
 down the steep ridges; in the vales below 
 are routed deer, that scour the spreading plain, 
 and mass their dust-blown squadrons in wild flight, 
 far from the mountain's bound. Ascanius 
 flushed with the sport, spurs on a mettled steed 
 from vale to vale, and many a flying herd 
 his chase outspeeds; but in his heart he prays 
 among these tame things suddenly to see 
 a tusky boar, or, leaping from the hills, 
 a growling mountain-lion, golden-maned.

Meanwhile low thunders in the distant sky 
 mutter confusedly; soon bursts in full 
 the storm-cloud and the hail. The Tyrian troop 
 is scattered wide; the chivalry of Troy , 
 with the young heir of Dardan's kingly line, 
 of Venus sprung, seek shelter where they may, 
 with sudden terror; down the deep ravines 
 the swollen torrents roar. In that same hour 
 Queen Dido and her hero out of Troy 
 
 to the same cavern fly. Old Mother-Earth 
 and wedlock-keeping Juno gave the sign; 
 the flash of lightnings on the conscious air 
 were torches to the bridal; from the hills 
 the wailing wood-nymphs sobbed a wedding song. 
 Such was that day of death, the source and spring 
 of many a woe. For Dido took no heed 
 of honor and good-name; nor did she mean 
 her loves to hide; but called the lawlessness 
 a marriage, and with phrases veiled her shame.

Swift through the Libyan cities Rumor sped. 
 Rumor! What evil can surpass her speed? 
 In movement she grows mighty, and achieves 
 strength and dominion as she swifter flies. 
 small first, because afraid, she soon exalts 
 her stature skyward, stalking through the lands 
 and mantling in the clouds her baleful brow. 
 The womb of Earth, in anger at high Heaven, 
 bore her, they say, last of the Titan spawn, 
 sister to Coeus and Enceladus. 
 Feet swift to run and pinions like the wind 
 the dreadful monster wears; her carcase huge 
 is feathered, and at root of every plume 
 a peering eye abides; and, strange to tell, 
 an equal number of vociferous tongues, 
 foul, whispering lips, and ears, that catch at all. 
 At night she spreads midway 'twixt earth and heaven 
 her pinions in the darkness, hissing loud, 
 nor e'er to happy slumber gives her eyes: 
 but with the morn she takes her watchful throne 
 high on the housetops or on lofty towers, 
 to terrify the nations. She can cling 
 to vile invention and malignant wrong, 
 or mingle with her word some tidings true. 
 She now with changeful story filled men's ears, 
 exultant, whether false or true she sung: 
 how, Trojan-born Aeneas having come, 
 Dido, the lovely widow, Iooked his way, 
 deigning to wed; how all the winter long 
 they passed in revel and voluptuous ease, 
 to dalliance given o'er; naught heeding now 
 of crown or kingdom—shameless! lust-enslaved! 
 Such tidings broadcast on the lips of men 
 the filthy goddess spread; and soon she hied 
 to King Iarbas, where her hateful song 
 to newly-swollen wrath his heart inflamed.

Him the god Ammon got by forced embrace 
 upon a Libyan nymph; his kingdoms wide 
 possessed a hundred ample shrines to Jove, 
 a hundred altars whence ascended ever 
 the fires of sacrifice, perpetual seats 
 for a great god's abode, where flowing blood 
 enriched the ground, and on the portals hung 
 garlands of every flower. The angered King, 
 half-maddened by malignant Rumor's voice, 
 unto his favored altars came, and there, 
 surrounded by the effluence divine, 
 upraised in prayer to Jove his suppliant hands. 
 “Almighty Jupiter, to whom each day, 
 at banquet on the painted couch reclined, 
 
 Numidia pours libation! Do thine eyes 
 behold us? Or when out of yonder heaven, 
 o sire, thou launchest the swift thunderbolt, 
 is it for naught we fear thee? Do the clouds 
 shoot forth blind fire to terrify the soul 
 with wild, unmeaning roar? O, Iook upon 
 that woman, who was homeless in our realm, 
 and bargained where to build her paltry town, 
 receiving fertile coastland for her farms, 
 by hospitable grant! She dares disdain 
 our proffered nuptial vow. She has proclaimed 
 Aeneas partner of her bed and throne. 
 And now that Paris, with his eunuch crew, 
 beneath his chin and fragrant, oozy hair 
 ties the soft Lydian bonnet, boasting well 
 his stolen prize. But we to all these fanes, 
 though they be thine, a fruitless offering bring, 
 and feed on empty tales our trust in thee.”

As thus he prayed and to the altars clung, 
 th' Omnipotent gave ear, and turned his gaze 
 upon the royal dwelling, where for love 
 the amorous pair forgot their place and name. 
 Then thus to Mercury he gave command: 
 “Haste thee, my son, upon the Zephyrs call, 
 and take thy winged way! My mandate bear 
 unto that prince of Troy who tarries now 
 in Tyrian Carthage, heedless utterly 
 of empire Heaven-bestowed. On winged winds 
 hasten with my decrees. Not such the man 
 his beauteous mother promised; not for this 
 twice did she shield him from the Greeks in arms: 
 but that he might rule Italy , a land 
 pregnant with thrones and echoing with war; 
 that he of Teucer's seed a race should sire, 
 and bring beneath its law the whole wide world. 
 If such a glory and event supreme 
 enkindle not his bosom; if such task 
 to his own honor speak not; can the sire 
 begrudge Ascanius the heritage 
 of the proud name of Rome ? What plans he now? 
 What mad hope bids him linger in the lap 
 of enemies, considering no more 
 the land Lavinian and Ausonia's sons. 
 Let him to sea! Be this our final word: 
 this message let our herald faithful bear.”

He spoke. The god a prompt obedience gave 
 to his great sire's command. He fastened first 
 those sandals of bright gold, which carry him 
 aloft o'er land or sea, with airy wings 
 that race the fleeting wind; then lifted he 
 his wand, wherewith he summons from the grave 
 pale-featured ghosts, or, if he will, consigns 
 to doleful Tartarus; or by its power 
 gives slumber or dispels; or quite unseals 
 the eyelids of the dead: on this relying, 
 he routs the winds or cleaves th' obscurity 
 of stormful clouds. Soon from his flight he spied 
 the summit and the sides precipitous 
 of stubborn Atlas, whose star-pointing peak 
 props heaven; of Atlas, whose pine-wreathed brow 
 is girdled evermore with misty gloom 
 and lashed of wind and rain; a cloak of snow 
 melts on his shoulder; from his aged chin 
 drop rivers, and ensheathed in stiffening ice 
 glitters his great grim beard. Here first was stayed 
 the speed of Mercury's well-poising wing; 
 here making pause, from hence he headlong flung 
 his body to the sea; in motion like 
 some sea-bird's, which along the levelled shore 
 or round tall crags where rove the swarming fish, 
 flies Iow along the waves: o'er-hovering so 
 between the earth and skies, Cyllene's god 
 flew downward from his mother's mountain-sire, 
 parted the winds and skimmed the sandy merge 
 of Libya . When first his winged feet 
 came nigh the clay-built Punic huts, he saw 
 Aeneas building at a citadel, 
 and founding walls and towers; at his side 
 was girt a blade with yellow jaspers starred, 
 his mantle with the stain of Tyrian shell 
 flowed purple from his shoulder, broidered fair 
 by opulent Dido with fine threads of gold, 
 her gift of love; straightway the god began: 
 “Dost thou for lofty Carthage toil, to build 
 foundations strong? Dost thou, a wife's weak thrall, 
 build her proud city? Hast thou, shameful loss! 
 Forgot thy kingdom and thy task sublime? 
 From bright Olympus , I. He who commands 
 all gods, and by his sovran deity 
 moves earth and heaven—he it was who bade 
 me bear on winged winds his high decree. 
 What plan is thine? By what mad hope dost thou 
 linger so Iong in lap of Libyan land? 
 If the proud reward of thy destined way 
 move not thy heart, if all the arduous toil 
 to thine own honor speak not, Iook upon 
 Iulus in his bloom, thy hope and heir 
 Ascanius. It is his rightful due 
 in Italy o'er Roman lands to reign.” 
 After such word Cyllene's winged god 
 vanished, and e'er his accents died away, 
 dissolved in air before the mortal's eyes.

Aeneas at the sight stood terror-dumb 
 with choking voice and horror-rising hair. 
 He fain would fly at once and get him gone 
 from that voluptuous land, much wondering 
 at Heaven's wrathful word. Alas! how stir? 
 What cunning argument can plead his cause 
 before th' infuriate Queen? How break such news? 
 Flashing this way and that, his startled mind 
 makes many a project and surveys them all. 
 But, pondering well, his final counsel stopped 
 at this resolve: he summoned to his side 
 Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus bold, 
 and bade them fit the fleet, all silently 
 gathering the sailors and collecting gear, 
 but carefully dissembling what emprise 
 such novel stir intends: himself the while 
 (Since high-born Dido dreamed not love so fond 
 could have an end) would seek an audience, 
 at some indulgent time, and try what shift 
 such matters may require. With joy they heard, 
 and wrought, assiduous, at their prince's plan.

But what can cheat true love? The Queen foreknew 
 his stratagem, and all the coming change 
 perceived ere it began. Her jealous fear 
 counted no hour secure. That unclean tongue 
 of Rumor told her fevered heart the fleet 
 was fitting forth, and hastening to be gone. 
 Distractedly she raved, and passion-tossed 
 roamed through her city, like a Maenad roused 
 by the wild rout of Bacchus, when are heard 
 the third year's orgies, and the midnight scream 
 to cold Cithaeron calls the frenzied crew. 
 Finding Aeneas, thus her plaint she poured: 
 “Didst hope to hide it, false one, that such crime 
 was in thy heart,—to steal without farewell 
 out of my kingdom? Did our mutual joy 
 not move thee; nor thine own true promise given 
 once on a time? Nor Dido, who will die 
 a death of sorrow? Why compel thy ships 
 to brave the winter stars? Why off to sea 
 so fast through stormy skies? O, cruelty! 
 If Troy still stood, and if thou wert not bound 
 for alien shore unknown, wouldst steer for Troy 
 
 through yonder waste of waves? Is it from me 
 thou takest flight? O, by these flowing tears, 
 by thine own plighted word (for nothing more 
 my weakness left to miserable me), 
 by our poor marriage of imperfect vow, 
 if aught to me thou owest, if aught in me 
 ever have pleased thee—O, be merciful 
 to my low-fallen fortunes! I implore, 
 if place be left for prayer, thy purpose change! 
 Because of thee yon Libyan savages 
 and nomad chiefs are grown implacable, 
 and my own Tyrians hate me. Yes, for thee 
 my chastity was slain and honor fair, 
 by which alone to glory I aspired, 
 in former days. To whom dost thou in death 
 abandon me? my guest!—since but this name 
 is left me of a husband! Shall I wait 
 till fell Pygmalion, my brother, raze 
 my city walls? Or the Gaetulian king, 
 Iarbas, chain me captive to his car? . 
 O, if, ere thou hadst fled, I might but bear 
 some pledge of love to thee, and in these halls 
 watch some sweet babe Aeneas at his play, 
 whose face should be the memory of thine own — 
 I were not so forsaken, Iost, undone!”

She said. But he, obeying Jove's decree, 
 gazed steadfastly away; and in his heart 
 with strong repression crushed his cruel pain; 
 then thus the silence broke: “O Queen, not one 
 of my unnumbered debts so strongly urged 
 would I gainsay. Elissa's memory 
 will be my treasure Iong as memory holds, 
 or breath of life is mine. Hear my brief plea! 
 'T was not my hope to hide this flight I take, 
 as thou hast dreamed. Nay, I did never light 
 a bridegroom's torch, nor gave I thee the vow 
 of marriage. Had my destiny decreed, 
 that I should shape life to my heart's desire, 
 and at my own will put away the weight 
 of foil and pain, my place would now be found 
 in Troy , among the cherished sepulchres 
 of my own kin, and Priam's mansion proud 
 were standing still; or these my loyal hands 
 had rebuilt Ilium for her vanquished sons. 
 But now to Italy Apollo's power 
 commands me forth; his Lycian oracles 
 are loud for Italy. My heart is there, 
 and there my fatherland. If now the towers 
 of Carthage and thy Libyan colony 
 delight thy Tyrian eyes; wilt thou refuse 
 to Trojan exiles their Ausonian shore? 
 I too by Fate was driven, not less than thou, 
 to wander far a foreign throne to find. 
 Oft when in dewy dark night hides the world, 
 and flaming stars arise, Anchises' shade 
 looks on me in my dreams with angered brow. 
 I think of my Ascanius, and the wrong 
 to that dear heart, from whom I steal away 
 Hesperia, his destined home and throne. 
 But now the winged messenger of Heaven, 
 sent down by Jove (I swear by thee and me!), 
 has brought on winged winds his sire's command. 
 My own eyes with unclouded vision saw 
 the god within these walls; I have received 
 with my own ears his word. No more inflame 
 with lamentation fond thy heart and mine. 
 'T is not my own free act seeks Italy .”

She with averted eyes and glance that rolled 
 speechless this way and that, had listened long 
 to his reply, till thus her rage broke forth: 
 “No goddess gave thee birth. No Dardanus 
 begot thy sires. But on its breast of stone 
 
 Caucasus bore thee, and the tigresses 
 of fell Hyrcania to thy baby lip 
 their udders gave. Why should I longer show 
 a lying smile? What worse can I endure? 
 Did my tears draw one sigh? Did he once drop 
 his stony stare? or did he yield a tear 
 to my lament, or pity this fond heart? 
 Why set my wrongs in order? Juno, now, 
 and Jove, the son of Saturn, heed no more 
 where justice lies. No trusting heart is safe 
 in all this world. That waif and castaway 
 I found in beggary and gave him share— 
 fool that I was!—in my own royal glory. 
 His Iost fleet and his sorry crews I steered 
 from death away. O, how my fevered soul 
 unceasing raves! Forsooth Apollo speaks! 
 His Lycian oracles! and sent by Jove 
 the messenger of Heaven on fleeting air 
 the ruthless bidding brings! Proud business 
 for gods, I trow, that such a task disturbs 
 their still abodes! I hold thee back no more, 
 nor to thy cunning speeches give the lie. 
 Begone! Sail on to Italy , thy throne, 
 through wind and wave! I pray that, if there be 
 any just gods of power, thou mayest drink down 
 death on the mid-sea rocks, and often call 
 with dying gasps on Dido's name—while I 
 pursue with vengeful fire. When cold death rends 
 the body from the breath, my ghost shall sit 
 forever in thy path. Full penalties 
 thy stubborn heart shall pay. They'll bring me never 
 in yon deep gulf of death of all thy woe.” 
 Abrupt her utterance ceased; and sick at heart 
 she fled the light of day, as if to shrink 
 from human eyes, and left Aeneas there 
 irresolute with horror, while his soul 
 framed many a vain reply. Her swooning shape 
 her maidens to a marble chamber bore 
 and on her couch the helpless limbs reposed.

Aeneas, faithful to a task divine, 
 though yearning sore to remedy and soothe 
 such misery, and with the timely word 
 her grief assuage, and though his burdened heart 
 was weak because of love, while many a groan 
 rose from his bosom, yet no whit did fail 
 to do the will of Heaven, but of his fleet 
 resumed command. The Trojans on the shore 
 ply well their task and push into the sea 
 the lofty ships. Now floats the shining keel, 
 and oars they bring all leafy from the grove, 
 with oak half-hewn, so hurried was the flight. 
 Behold them how they haste—from every gate 
 forth-streaming!—just as when a heap of corn 
 is thronged with ants, who, knowing winter nigh, 
 refill their granaries; the long black line 
 runs o'er the levels, and conveys the spoil 
 in narrow pathway through the grass; a part 
 with straining and assiduous shoulder push 
 the kernels huge; a part array the file, 
 and whip the laggards on; their busy track 
 swarms quick and eager with unceasing toil. 
 O Dido, how thy suffering heart was wrung, 
 that spectacle to see! What sore lament 
 was thine, when from the towering citadel 
 the whole shore seemed alive, the sea itself 
 in turmoil with loud cries! Relentless Love, 
 to what mad courses may not mortal hearts 
 by thee be driven? Again her sorrow flies 
 to doleful plaint and supplication vain; 
 again her pride to tyrant Love bows down 
 lest, though resolved to die, she fail to prove 
 each hope of living: “O Anna, dost thou see 
 yon busy shore? From every side they come. 
 their canvas wooes the winds, and o'er each prow 
 the merry seamen hang their votive flowers. 
 Dear sister, since I did forebode this grief, 
 I shall be strong to bear it. One sole boon 
 my sorrow asks thee, Anna! Since of thee, 
 thee only, did that traitor make a friend, 
 and trusted thee with what he hid so deep — 
 the feelings of his heart; since thou alone 
 hast known what way, what hour the man would yield 
 to soft persuasion—therefore, sister, haste, 
 and humbly thus implore our haughty foe: 
 ‘I was not with the Greeks what time they swore 
 at Aulis to cut off the seed of Troy ; 
 I sent no ships to Ilium . Pray, have I 
 profaned Anchises' tomb, or vexed his shade?’ 
 Why should his ear be deaf and obdurate 
 to all I say? What haste? May he not make 
 one last poor offering to her whose love 
 is only pain? O, bid him but delay 
 till flight be easy and the winds blow fair. 
 I plead no more that bygone marriage-vow 
 by him forsworn, nor ask that he should lose 
 his beauteous Latium and his realm to be. 
 Nothing but time I crave! to give repose 
 and more room to this fever, till my fate 
 teach a crushed heart to sorrow. I implore 
 this last grace. (To thy sister's grief be kind!) 
 I will requite with increase, till I die.”

Such plaints, such prayers, again and yet again, 
 betwixt the twain the sorrowing sister bore. 
 But no words move, no lamentations bring 
 persuasion to his soul; decrees of Fate 
 oppose, and some wise god obstructs the way 
 that finds the hero's ear. Oft-times around 
 the aged strength of some stupendous oak 
 the rival blasts of wintry Alpine winds 
 smite with alternate wrath: Ioud is the roar, 
 and from its rocking top the broken boughs 
 are strewn along the ground; but to the crag 
 steadfast it ever clings; far as toward heaven 
 its giant crest uprears, so deep below 
 its roots reach down to Tartarus:—not less 
 the hero by unceasing wail and cry 
 is smitten sore, and in his mighty heart 
 has many a pang, while his serene intent 
 abides unmoved, and tears gush forth in vain.

Then wretched Dido, by her doom appalled, 
 asks only death. It wearies her to see 
 the sun in heaven. Yet that she might hold fast 
 her dread resolve to quit the light of day, 
 behold, when on an incense-breathing shrine 
 her offering was laid—O fearful tale!— 
 the pure libation blackened, and the wine 
 flowed like polluting gore. She told the sight 
 to none, not even to her sister's ear. 
 A second sign was given: for in her house 
 a marble altar to her husband's shade, 
 with garlands bright and snowy fleeces dressed, 
 had fervent worship; here strange cries were heard 
 as if her dead spouse called while midnight reigned, 
 and round her towers its inhuman song 
 the lone owl sang, complaining o'er and o'er 
 with lamentation and long shriek of woe. 
 Forgotten oracles by wizards told 
 whisper old omens dire. In dreams she feels 
 cruel Aeneas goad her madness on, 
 and ever seems she, friendless and alone, 
 some lengthening path to travel, or to seek 
 her Tyrians through wide wastes of barren lands. 
 Thus frantic Pentheus flees the stern array 
 of the Eumenides, and thinks to see 
 two noonday lights blaze oer his doubled Thebes ; 
 or murdered Agamemnon's haunted son, 
 Orestes, flees his mother's phantom scourge 
 of flames and serpents foul, while at his door 
 avenging horrors wait. Now sorrow-crazed 
 and by her grief undone, resolved on death, 
 the manner and the time her secret soul 
 prepares, and, speaking to her sister sad, 
 she masks in cheerful calm her fatal will: 
 “I know a way—O, wish thy sister joy!— 
 to bring him back to Iove, or set me free. 
 On Ocean's bound and next the setting sun 
 lies the last Aethiop land, where Atlas tall 
 lifts on his shoulder the wide wheel of heaven, 
 studded with burning stars. From thence is come 
 a witch, a priestess, a Numidian crone, 
 who guards the shrine of the Hesperides 
 and feeds the dragon; she protects the fruit 
 of that enchanting tree, and scatters there 
 her slumb'rous poppies mixed with honey-dew. 
 Her spells and magic promise to set free 
 what hearts she will, or visit cruel woes 
 on men afar. She stops the downward flow 
 of rivers, and turns back the rolling stars; 
 on midnight ghosts she calls: her vot'ries hear 
 earth bellowing loud below, while from the hills 
 the ash-trees travel down. But, sister mine, 
 thou knowest, and the gods their witness give, 
 how little mind have I to don the garb 
 of sorcery. Depart in secret, thou, 
 and bid them build a lofty funeral pyre 
 inside our palalce-wall, and heap thereon 
 the hero's arms, which that blasphemer hung 
 within my chamber; every relic bring, 
 and chiefly that ill-omened nuptial bed, 
 my death and ruin! For I must blot out 
 all sight and token of this husband vile. 
 'T is what the witch commands.” She spoke no more, 
 and pallid was her brow. Yet Anna's mind 
 knew not what web of death her sister wove 
 by these strange rites, nor what such frenzy dares; 
 nor feared she worse than when Sichaeus died, 
 but tried her forth the errand to fulfil.

Soon as the funeral pyre was builded high 
 in a sequestered garden, Iooming huge 
 with boughs of pine and faggots of cleft oak, 
 the queen herself enwreathed it with sad flowers 
 and boughs of mournful shade; and crowning all 
 she laid on nuptial bed the robes and sword 
 by him abandoned; and stretched out thereon 
 a mock Aeneas;—but her doom she knew. 
 Altars were there; and with loose locks unbound 
 the priestess with a voice of thunder called 
 three hundred gods, Hell, Chaos, the three shapes 
 of triple Hecate, the faces three 
 of virgin Dian. She aspersed a stream 
 from dark Avernus drawn, she said; soft herbs 
 were cut by moonlight with a blade of bronze, 
 oozing black poison-sap; and she had plucked 
 that philter from the forehead of new foal 
 before its dam devours. Dido herself, 
 sprinkling the salt meal, at the altar stands; 
 one foot unsandalled, and with cincture free, 
 on all the gods and fate-instructed stars, 
 foreseeing death, she calls. But if there be 
 some just and not oblivious power on high, 
 who heeds when lovers plight unequal vow, 
 to that god first her supplications rise.

Soon fell the night, and peaceful slumbers breathed 
 on all earth's weary creatures; the loud seas 
 and babbling forests entered on repose; 
 now midway in their heavenly course the stars 
 wheeled silent on; the outspread lands below 
 lay voiceless; all the birds of tinted wing, 
 and flocks that haunt the merge of waters wide 
 or keep the thorny wold, oblivious lay 
 beneath the night so still; the stings of care 
 ceased troubling, and no heart its burden knew. 
 Not so the Tyrian Queen's deep-grieving soul! 
 To sleep she could not yield; her eyes and heart 
 refused the gift of night; her suffering 
 redoubled, and in full returning tide 
 her love rebelled, while on wild waves of rage 
 she drifted to and fro. So, ceasing not 
 from sorrow, thus she brooded on her wrongs: 
 “What refuge now? Shall I invite the scorn 
 of my rejected wooers, or entreat 
 of some disdainful, nomad blackamoor 
 to take me to his bed—though many a time 
 such husbands I made mock of? Shall I sail 
 on Ilian ships away, and sink to be 
 the Trojans' humble thrall? Do they rejoice 
 that once I gave them bread? Lives gratitude 
 in hearts like theirs for bygone kindnesses? 
 O, who, if so I stooped, would deign to bear 
 on yon proud ships the scorned and fallen Queen? 
 Lost creature! Woe betide thee! Knowest thou not 
 the perjured children of Laomedon? 
 What way is left? Should I take flight alone 
 and join the revelling sailors? Or depart 
 with Tyrians, the whole attending train 
 of my own people? Hard the task to force 
 their hearts from Sidon 's towers; how once more 
 compel to sea, and bid them spread the sail? 
 Nay, perish! Thou hast earned it. Let the sword 
 from sorrow save thee! Sister of my blood— 
 who else but thee,—my own tears borne down, 
 didst heap disaster on my frantic soul, 
 and fling me to this foe? Why could I not 
 pass wedlock by, and live a blameless life 
 as wild things do, nor taste of passion's pain? 
 But I broke faith! I cast the vows away 
 made at Sichaeus' grave.” Such loud lament 
 burst from her breaking heart with doleful sound. 
 Meanwhile Aeneas on his lofty ship, 
 having made ready all, and fixed his mind 
 to launch away upon brief slumher fell. 
 But the god came; and in the self-same guise 
 once more in monitory vision spoke, 
 all guised as Mercury,—his voice, his hue, 
 his golden locks, and young limbs strong and fair. 
 “Hail, goddess-born! Wouldst linger on in sleep 
 at such an hour? Nor seest thou the snares 
 that hem thee round? Nor hearest thou the voice 
 of friendly zephyrs calling? Senseless man! 
 That woman's breast contrives some treachery 
 and horrid stroke; for, resolute to die, 
 she drifts on swollen floods of wrath and scorn. 
 Wilt thou not fly before the hastening hour 
 of flight is gone? To-morrow thou wilt see 
 yon waters thronged with ships, the cruel glare 
 of fire-brands, and yonder shore all flame, 
 if but the light of morn again surprise 
 thee loitering in this land. Away! Away! 
 Stay not! A mutable and shifting thing 
 is woman ever.” Such command he spoke, 
 then melted in the midnight dark away.

Aeneas, by that fleeting vision struck 
 with an exceeding awe, straightway leaped forth 
 from slumber's power, and to his followers cried : 
 “Awake, my men! Away! Each to his place 
 upon the thwarts! Unfurl at once the sails! 
 A god from heaven a second time sent down 
 urges our instant flight and bids us cut 
 the twisted cords. Whatever be thy name, 
 behold, we come, O venerated Power! 
 Again with joy we follow! Let thy grace 
 assist us as we go! And may thy power 
 bring none but stars benign across our sky.” 
 So saying, from its scabbard forth he flashed 
 the lightning of his sword, with naked blade 
 striking the hawsers free. Like ardor seized 
 on all his willing men, who raced and ran; 
 and, while their galleys shadowed all the sea, 
 clean from the shore they scudded, with strong strokes 
 sweeping the purple waves and crested foam.

Aurora's first young beams to earth were pouring 
 as from Tithonus' saffron bed she sprang; 
 while from her battlements the wakeful Queen 
 watched the sky brighten, saw the mated sails 
 push forth to sea, till all her port and strand 
 held not an oar or keel. Thrice and four times 
 she smote her lovely breast with wrathful hand, 
 and tore her golden hair. “Great Jove,” she cries, 
 “Shall that departing fugitive make mock 
 of me, a queen? Will not my men-at-arms 
 draw sword, give chase, from all my city thronging? 
 Down from the docks, my ships! Out, out! Begone! 
 Take fire and sword! Bend to your oars, ye slaves! 
 What have I said? Where am I? What mad thoughts 
 delude this ruined mind? Woe unto thee, 
 thou wretched Dido, now thy impious deeds 
 strike back upon thee. Wherefore struck they not, 
 as was most fit, when thou didst fling away 
 thy sceptre from thy hand? O Iying oaths! 
 O faith forsworn! of him who brings, they boast, 
 his father's gods along, and bowed his back 
 to lift an age-worn sire! Why dared I not 
 seize on him, rend his body limb from limb, 
 and hurl him piecemeal on the rolling sea? 
 Or put his troop of followers to the sword, 
 ascanius too, and set his flesh before 
 that father for a feast? Such fearful war 
 had been of doubtful issue. Be it so! 
 What fears a woman dying? Would I had 
 attacked their camp with torches, kindled flame 
 from ship to ship, until that son and sire, 
 with that whole tribe, were unto ashes burned 
 in one huge holocaust—myself its crown! 
 Great orb of light whose holy beam surveys 
 all earthly deeds! Great Juno, patroness 
 of conjugal distress, who knowest all! 
 Pale Hecate, whose name the witches cry 
 at midnight crossways! O avenging furies! 
 O gods that guard Queen Dido's dying breath! 
 Give ear, and to my guiltless misery 
 extend your power. Hear me what I pray! 
 If it be fated that yon creature curst 
 drift to the shore and happy haven find, 
 if Father Iove's irrevocable word 
 such goal decree—there may he be assailed 
 by peoples fierce and bold. A banished man, 
 from his Iulus' kisses sundered far, 
 may his own eyes see miserably slain 
 his kin and kind, and sue for alien arms. 
 nor when he basely bows him to receive 
 terms of unequal peace, shall he be blest 
 with sceptre or with life; but perish there 
 before his time, and lie without a grave 
 upon the barren sand. For this I pray. 
 This dying word is flowing from my heart 
 with my spilt blood. And—O ye Tyrians! I 
 sting with your hatred all his seed and tribe 
 forevermore. This is the offering 
 my ashes ask. Betwixt our nations twain, 
 No Iove! No truce or amity! Arise, 
 Out of my dust, unknown Avenger, rise! 
 To harry and lay waste with sword and flame 
 those Dardan settlers, and to vex them sore, 
 to-day, to-morrow, and as long as power 
 is thine to use! My dying curse arrays 
 shore against shore and the opposing seas 
 in shock of arms with arms. May living foes 
 pass down from sire to son insatiate war!”

She said. From point to point her purpose flew, 
 seeking without delay to quench the flame 
 of her loathed life. Brief bidding she addressed 
 to Barce then, Sichaeus' nurse (her own 
 lay dust and ashes in a lonely grave 
 beside the Tyrian shore), “Go, nurse, and call 
 my sister Anna! Bid her quickly bathe 
 her limbs in living water, and procure 
 due victims for our expiating fires. 
 bid her make haste. Go, bind on thy own brow 
 the sacred fillet. For to Stygian Jove 
 it is my purpose now to consummate 
 the sacrifice ordained, ending my woe, 
 and touch with flame the Trojan's funeral pyre.” 
 The aged crone to do her bidding ran 
 with trembling zeal. But Dido (horror-struck 
 at her own dread design, unstrung with fear, 
 her bloodshot eyes wide-rolling, and her cheek 
 twitching and fever-spotted, her cold brow 
 blanched with approaching death)—sped past the doors 
 into the palace garden; there she leaped, 
 a frenzied creature, on the lofty pyre 
 and drew the Trojan's sword; a gift not asked 
 for use like this! When now she saw the garb 
 of Ilian fashion, and the nuptial couch 
 she knew too well, she lingered yet awhile 
 for memory and tears, and, falling prone 
 on that cold bed, outpoured a last farewell: 
 
 “Sweet relics! Ever dear when Fate and Heaven 
 upon me smiled, receive my parting breath, 
 and from my woe set free! My life is done. 
 I have accomplished what my lot allowed; 
 and now my spirit to the world of death 
 in royal honor goes. The founder I 
 of yonder noble city, I have seen 
 walls at my bidding rise. I was avenged 
 for my slain husband: I chastised the crimes 
 of our injurious brother. Woe is me! 
 Blest had I been, beyond deserving blest, 
 if but the Trojan galleys ne'er had moored 
 upon my kingdom's bound!” So saying, she pressed 
 one last kiss on the couch. “Though for my death 
 no vengeance fall, O, give me death!” she cried. 
 “O thus! O thus! it is my will to take 
 the journey to the dark. From yonder sea 
 may his cold Trojan eyes discern the flames 
 that make me ashes! Be this cruel death 
 his omen as he sails!” She spoke no more. 
 But almost ere she ceased, her maidens all 
 thronged to obey her cry, and found their Queen 
 prone fallen on the sword, the reeking steel 
 still in her bloody hands. Shrill clamor flew 
 along the lofty halls; wild rumor spread 
 through the whole smitten city: Ioud lament, 
 groans and the wail of women echoed on 
 from roof to roof, and to the dome of air 
 the noise of mourning rose. Such were the cry 
 if a besieging host should break the walls 
 of Carthage or old Tyre , and wrathful flames 
 o'er towers of kings and worshipped altars roll. 
 Her sister heard. Half in a swoon, she ran 
 with trembling steps, where thickest was the throng, 
 beating her breast, while with a desperate hand 
 she tore at her own face, and called aloud 
 upon the dying Queen. “Was it for this 
 my own true sister used me with such guile? 
 O, was this horrid deed the dire intent 
 of altars, Iofty couch, and funeral fires? 
 What shall I tell for chiefest of my woes? 
 Lost that I am! Why, though in death, cast off 
 thy sister from thy heart? Why not invite 
 one mortal stroke for both, a single sword, 
 one agony together? But these hands 
 built up thy pyre; and my voice implored 
 the blessing of our gods, who granted me 
 that thou shouldst perish thus—and I not know! 
 In thy self-slaughter, sister, thou hast slain 
 myself, thy people, the grave counsellors 
 of Sidon , and yon city thou didst build 
 to be thy throne!—Go, fetch me water, there! 
 That I may bathe those gashes! If there be 
 one hovering breath that stays, let my fond lips 
 discover and receive!” So saying, she sprang up 
 from stair to stair, and, clasping to her breast 
 her sister's dying form, moaned grievously, 
 and staunched the dark blood with her garment's fold. 
 Vainly would Dido lift her sinking eyes, 
 but backward fell, while at her heart the wound 
 opened afresh; three times with straining arm 
 she rose; three times dropped helpless, her dimmed eyes 
 turned skyward, seeking the sweet light of day, — 
 which when she saw, she groaned. Great Juno then 
 looked down in mercy on that lingering pain 
 and labor to depart: from realms divine 
 she sent the goddess of the rainbow wing, 
 Iris, to set the struggling spirit free 
 and loose its fleshly coil. For since the end 
 came not by destiny, nor was the doom 
 of guilty deed, but of a hapless wight 
 to sudden madness stung, ere ripe to die, 
 therefore the Queen of Hades had not shorn 
 the fair tress from her forehead, nor assigned 
 that soul to Stygian dark. So Iris came 
 on dewy, saffron pinions down from heaven, 
 a thousand colors on her radiant way, 
 from the opposing sun. She stayed her flight 
 above that pallid brow: “I come with power 
 to make this gift to Death. I set thee free 
 from thy frail body's bound.” With her right hand 
 she cut the tress: then through its every limb 
 the sinking form grew cold; the vital breath 
 fled forth, departing on the viewless air.

Meanwhile Aeneas, now well launched away, 
 steered forth with all the fleet to open sea, 
 on his unswerving course, and ploughed the waves, 
 sped by a driving gale; but when his eyes 
 looked back on Carthage , they beheld the glare 
 of hapless Dido's fire. Not yet was known 
 what kindled the wild flames; but that the pang 
 of outraged love is cruel, and what the heart 
 of desperate woman dares, they knew too well, 
 and sad foreboding shook each Trojan soul. 
 Soon in mid-sea, beyond all chart of shore, 
 when only seas and skies were round their way, 
 full in the zenith loomed a purple cloud, 
 storm-laden, dark as night, and every wave 
 grew black and angry; from his Iofty seat 
 the helmsman Palinurus cried, “Alas! 
 What means this host of storms encircling heaven? 
 What, Neptune, wilt thou now?” He, having said, 
 bade reef and tighten, bend to stronger stroke, 
 and slant sail to the wind; then spake again: 
 “High-souled Aeneas, not if Jove the King 
 gave happy omen, would I have good hope 
 of making Italy through yonder sky. 
 Athwart our course from clouded evening-star 
 rebellious winds run shifting, and the air 
 into a cloud-wrack rolls. Against such foes 
 too weak our strife and strain! Since now the hand 
 of Fortune triumphs, let us where she calls 
 obedient go. For near us, I believe, 
 lies Eryx ' faithful and fraternal shore: 
 here are Sicilian havens, if my mind 
 of yon familiar stars have knowledge true.” 
 then good Aeneas: “For a friendly wind 
 long have I sued, and watched thee vainly strive. 
 Shift sail! What happier land for me and mine, 
 or for our storm-beat ships what safer shore, 
 than where Dardanian Acestes reigns; 
 the land whose faithful bosom cherishes 
 Anchises' ashes?” Heedful of his word, 
 they landward steer, while favoring zephyrs fill 
 the spreading sail. On currents swift and strong 
 the fleet is wafted, and with thankful soul 
 they moor on Sicily 's familiar strand.

From a far hill-top having seen with joy 
 the entering ships, and knowing them for friends, 
 good King Acestes ran to bid them hail. 
 Garbed in rough pelt of Libyan bear was he, 
 and javelins he bore, in sylvan guise: 
 for him the river-god Crimisus sired 
 of Trojan wife. Remembering in his heart 
 his ancient blood, he greeted with glad words 
 the wanderers returned; bade welcome to 
 his rude abundance, and with friendly gifts 
 their weariness consoled. The morrow morn, 
 soon as the new beams of a golden day 
 had banished every star, Aeneas called 
 a council of his followers on the shore, 
 and from a fair green hillock gave this word: 
 “Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty line 
 none but the gods began! This day fulfils 
 the annual cycle of revolving time, 
 since the dear relics of my god-like sire 
 to earth we gave, and with dark offerings due 
 built altars sorrowful. If now I err not, 
 this is my day—ye gods have willed it so! — 
 for mourning and for praise. Should it befall 
 me exiled in Gaetulia's wilderness, 
 or sailing some Greek sea, or at the walls 
 of dire Mycenae , still would I renew 
 unfailing vows, and make solemnity 
 with thankful rites, and worshipful array, 
 at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come, 
 beyond all hope, where lie the very bones 
 of my great sire. Nor did it come to pass 
 without divine intent and heavenly power, 
 that on these hospitable shores we stand. 
 Up, then! For we will make a festal day, 
 imploring lucky winds! O, may his spirit 
 grant me to build my city, where his shrines 
 forever shall receive perpetual vows 
 made in his name! This prince of Trojan line, 
 Acestes, upon every ship bestows 
 a pair of oxen. To our offerings call 
 the powers that bless the altars and the fires 
 of our ancestral hearth; and join with these 
 the gods of good Acestes. Presently, 
 when the ninth dawn shall bring its beam benign 
 to mortal men, and show the radiant world, 
 or all my Teucrian people I ordain 
 a holiday of games; the flying ships 
 shall first contend; then swiftest runners try 
 a foot-race; after that the champions bold 
 who step forth for a cast of javelins, 
 or boast the soaring arrow; or fear not 
 the boxing-bout, with gauntlet of thick thongs. 
 This summons is for all; let all have hope 
 to earn some noble palm! And from this hour 
 speak but well-boding words, and bind your brows 
 with garlands green.” So saying, he twined a wreath 
 of his own mother's myrtle-tree, to shade 
 his sacred brow; the hero Helymus, 
 and King Acestes for his tresses gray, 
 like coronals took on; Ascanius 
 and all the warrior youth like emblems wore. 
 Then in th' attendant throng conspicuous, 
 with thousands at his side, the hero moved 
 from place of council to his father's tomb. 
 There on the ground he poured libation due, 
 two beakers of good wine, of sweet milk two, 
 two of the victim's blood—and scattered flowers 
 of saddest purple stain, while thus he prayed: 
 “Hail, hallowed sire! And hail, ye ashes dear 
 of him I vainly saved! O soul and shade 
 of my blest father! Heaven to us denied 
 to find together that predestined land 
 of Italy , or our Ausonian stream 
 of Tiber—ah! but where?” He scarce had said, 
 when from the central shrine a gliding snake, 
 coiled seven-fold in seven spirals wide, 
 twined round the tomb and trailed innocuous o'er 
 the very altars; his smooth back was flecked 
 with green and azure, and his changeful scales 
 gleamed golden, as the cloud-born rainbow flings 
 its thousand colors from th' opposing sun. 
 Aeneas breathless watched the serpent wind 
 among the bowls and cups of polished rim, 
 tasting the sacred feast; where, having fed, 
 back to the tomb all harmless it withdrew. 
 Then with new zeal his sacrifice he brings 
 in honor of his sire; for he must deem 
 that serpent the kind genius of the place, 
 or of his very father's present shade 
 some creature ministrant. Two lambs he slew, 
 the wonted way, two swine, and, sable-hued, 
 the yoke of bulls; from shallow bowl he poured 
 libation of the grape, and called aloud 
 on great Anchises' spirit, and his shade, 
 from Acheron set free. Then all the throng, 
 each from his separate store, heap up the shrines 
 with victims slain; some range in order fair 
 the brazen cauldrons; or along the grass, 
 scattered at ease, hold o'er the embers bright 
 the spitted flesh and roast it in the flames.

Arrived the wished-for day; through cloudless sky 
 the coursers of the Sun's bright-beaming car 
 bore upward the ninth morn. The neighboring folk 
 thronged eager to the shore; some hoped to see 
 Aeneas and his warriors, others fain 
 would their own prowess prove in bout and game. 
 Conspicuous lie the rewards, ranged in sight 
 in the mid-circus; wreaths of laurel green, 
 the honored tripod, coronals of palm 
 for conquerors' brows, accoutrements of war, 
 rare robes of purple stain, and generous weight 
 of silver and of gold. The trumpet's call 
 proclaimed from lofty mound the opening games.

First, side by side, with sturdy, rival oars, 
 four noble galleys, pride of all the fleet, 
 come forward to contend. The straining crew 
 of Mnestheus bring his speedy Pristis on, — 
 Mnestheus in Italy erelong the sire 
 of Memmius' noble line. Brave Gyas guides 
 his vast Chimaera, a colossal craft, 
 a floating city, by a triple row 
 of Dardan sailors manned, whose banks of oars 
 in triple order rise. Sergestus, he 
 of whom the Sergian house shall after spring, 
 rides in his mighty Centaur. Next in line, 
 on sky-blue Scylla proud Cloanthus rides — 
 whence thy great stem, Cluentius of Rome !

Fronting the surf-beat shore, far out at sea 
 rises a rock, which under swollen waves 
 lies buffeted unseen, when wintry storms 
 mantle the stars; but when the deep is calm, 
 lifts silently above the sleeping wave 
 its level field,—a place where haunt and play 
 flocks of the sea-birds, Iovers of the sun. 
 Here was the goal; and here Aeneas set 
 a green-leaved flex-tree, to be a mark 
 for every captain's eye, from whence to veer 
 the courses of their ships in sweeping curves 
 and speed them home. Now places in the line 
 are given by lot. Upon the lofty sterns 
 the captains ride, in beautiful array 
 of Tyriao purple and far-flaming gold; 
 the crews are poplar-crowned, the shoulders bare 
 rubbed well with glittering oil; their straining arms 
 make long reach to the oar, as on the thwarts 
 they sit attentive, listening for the call 
 of the loud trumpet; while with pride and fear 
 their hot hearts throb, impassioned for renown. 
 Soon pealed the signal clear; from all the line 
 instant the galleys bounded, and the air 
 rang to the rowers, shouting, while their arms 
 pulled every inch and flung the waves in foam; 
 deep cut the rival strokes; the surface fair 
 yawned wide beneath their blades and cleaving keels. 
 Not swifter scour the chariots o'er the plain, 
 sped headlong from the line behind their teams 
 of mated coursers, while each driver shakes 
 loose, rippling reins above his plunging pairs, 
 and o'er the lash leans far. With loud applause 
 vociferous and many an urgent cheer 
 the woodlands rang, and all the concave shores 
 back from the mountains took the Trojan cry 
 in answering song. Forth-flying from his peers, 
 while all the crowd acclaims, sped Gyas' keel 
 along the outmost wave. Cloanthus next 
 pushed hard upon, with stronger stroke of oars 
 but heavier ship. At equal pace behind 
 the Pristis and the Centaur fiercely strive 
 for the third place. Now Pristis seems to lead, 
 now mightier Centaur past her flies, then both 
 ride on together, prow with prow, and cleave 
 long lines of foaming furrow with swift keels. 
 Soon near the rock they drew, and either ship 
 was making goal,—when Gyas, in the lead, 
 and winner of the half-course, Ioudly hailed 
 menoetes, the ship's pilot: “Why so far 
 to starboard, we? Keep her head round this way! 
 Hug shore! Let every oar-blade almost graze 
 that reef to larboard! Let the others take 
 the deep-sea course outside!” But while he spoke, 
 Menoetes, dreading unknown rocks below, 
 veered off to open sea. “Why steer so wide? 
 Round to the rock, Menoetes!” Gyas roared, — 
 again in vain, for looking back he saw 
 cloanthus hard astern, and ever nearer, 
 who, in a trice, betwixt the booming reef 
 and Gyas' galley, lightly forward thrust 
 the beak of Scylla to the inside course, 
 and, quickly taking lead, flew past the goal 
 to the smooth seas beyond. Then wrathful grief 
 flamed in the warrior's heart, nor was his cheek 
 unwet with tears; and, reckless utterly 
 of his own honor and his comrades, lives, 
 he hurled poor, slack Menoetes from the poop 
 headlong upon the waters, while himself, 
 pilot and master both, the helm assuming, 
 urged on his crew, and landward took his way. 
 But now, with heavy limbs that hardly won 
 his rescue from the deep, engulfing wave, 
 up the rude rock graybeard Menoetes climbed 
 with garment dripping wet, and there dropped down 
 upon the cliff's dry top. With laughter loud 
 the Trojan crews had watched him plunging, swimming, 
 and now to see his drink of bitter brine 
 spewed on the ground, the sailors laughed again.

But Mnestheus and Sergestus, coming last, 
 have joyful hope enkindled in each heart 
 to pass the laggard Gyas. In the lead 
 Sergestus' ship shoots forth; and to the rock 
 runs boldly nigh; but not his whole long keel 
 may pass his rival; the projecting beak 
 is followed fast by Pristis' emulous prow. 
 Then, striding straight amidships through his crew, 
 thus Mnestheus urged them on: “O Hector's friends! 
 Whom in the dying hours of Troy I chose 
 for followers! Now stand ye to your best! 
 Put forth the thews of valor that ye showed 
 in the Gaetulian Syrtes, or that sea 
 Ionian, or where the waves race by 
 the Malean promontory! Mnestheus now 
 hopes not to be the first, nor do I strive 
 for victory. O Father Neptune, give 
 that garland where thou wilt! But O, the shame 
 if we are last! Endure it not, my men! 
 The infamy refuse!” So, bending low, 
 they enter the home-stretch. Beneath their stroke 
 the brass-decked galley throbs, and under her 
 the sea-floor drops away. On, on they fly! 
 Parched are the panting lips, and sweat in streams 
 pours down their giant sides; but lucky chance 
 brought the proud heroes what their honor craved. 
 For while Sergestus furiously drove 
 his ship's beak toward the rock, and kept inside 
 the scanty passage, by his evil star 
 he grounded on the jutting reef; the cliffs 
 rang with the blow, and his entangled oars 
 grated along the jagged granite, while 
 the prow hung wrecked and helpless. With loud cry 
 upsprang the sailors, while the ship stood still, 
 and pushed off with long poles and pointed iron, 
 or snatched the smashed oars from the whirling tide. 
 Mnestheus exults; and, roused to keener strife 
 by happy fortune, with a quicker stroke 
 of each bright rank of oars, and with the breeze 
 his prayer implored, skims o'er the obedient wave 
 and sweeps the level main. Not otherwise 
 a startled dove, emerging o'er the fields 
 from secret cavern in the crannied hill 
 where her safe house and pretty nestlings lie, 
 soars from her nest, with whirring wings—but soon 
 through the still sky she takes her path of air 
 on pinions motionless. So Pristis sped 
 with Mnestheus, cleaving her last stretch of sea, 
 by her own impulse wafted. She outstripped 
 Sergestus first; for he upon the reef 
 fought with the breakers, desperately shouting 
 for help, for help in vain, with broken oars 
 contriving to move on. Then Mnestheus ran 
 past Gyas, in Chimaera's ponderous hulk, 
 of pilot now bereft; at last remains 
 Cloanthus his sole peer, whom he pursues 
 with a supreme endeavor. From the shore 
 burst echoing cheers that spur him to the chase, 
 and wild applause makes all the welkin ring. 
 The leaders now with eager souls would scorn 
 to Iose their glory, and faint-hearted fail 
 to grasp a prize half-won, but fain would buy 
 honor with life itself; the followers too 
 are flushed with proud success, and feel them strong 
 because their strength is proven. Both ships now 
 with indistinguishable prows had sped 
 to share one prize,—but with uplifted hands 
 spread o'er the sea, Cloanthus, suppliant, 
 called on the gods to bless his votive prayer: 
 “Ye gods who rule the waves, whose waters be 
 my pathway now; for you on yonder strand 
 a white bull at the altar shall be slain 
 in grateful tribute for a granted vow; 
 and o'er the salt waves I will scatter far 
 the entrails, and outpour the flowing wine.” 
 He spoke; and from the caverns under sea 
 Phorcus and virgin Panopea heard, 
 and all the sea-nymphs' choir; while with strong hand 
 the kindly God of Havens rose and thrust 
 the gliding ship along, that swifter flew 
 than south wind, or an arrow from the string, 
 and soon made land in haven safe and sure.

Aeneas then, assembling all to hear, 
 by a far-sounding herald's voice proclaimed 
 Cloanthus victor, and arrayed his brows 
 with the green laurel-garland; to the crews 
 three bulls, at choice, were given, and plenteous wine 
 and talent-weight of silver; to the chiefs 
 illustrious gifts beside; the victor had 
 a gold-embroidered mantle with wide band 
 of undulant Meliboean purple rare, 
 where, pictured in the woof, young Ganymede 
 through Ida's forest chased the light-foot deer 
 with javelin; all flushed and panting he. 
 But lo! Jove's thunder-bearing eagle fell, 
 and his strong talons snatched from Ida far 
 the royal boy, whose aged servitors 
 reached helpless hands to heaven; his faithful hound 
 bayed fiercely at the air. To him whose worth 
 the second place had won, Aeneas gave 
 a smooth-linked golden corselet, triple-chained, 
 of which his own victorious hand despoiled 
 Demoleos, by the swift, embattled stream 
 of Simois, under Troy ,—and bade it be 
 a glory and defence on valor's field; 
 scarce might the straining shoulders of two slaves, 
 Phegeus and Sagaris, the load endure, 
 yet oft Demoleos in this armor dressed 
 charged down full speed on routed hosts of Troy . 
 The third gift was two cauldrons of wrought brass, 
 and bowls of beaten silver, cunningly 
 embossed with sculpture fair. Bearing such gifts, 
 th' exultant victors onward moved, each brow 
 bound with a purple fillet. But behold! 
 Sergestus, from the grim rock just dragged off 
 by cunning toil, one halting rank of oars 
 left of his many lost, comes crawling in 
 with vanquished ship, a mockery to all. 
 As when a serpent, on the highway caught, 
 some brazen wheel has crushed, or traveller 
 with heavy-smiting blow left half alive 
 and mangled by a stone; in vain he moves 
 in writhing flight; a part is lifted high 
 with hissing throat and angry, glittering eyes; 
 but by the wounded part a captive still 
 he knots him fold on fold: with such a track 
 the maimed ship labored slow; but by her sails 
 she still made way, and with full canvas on 
 arrived at land. Aeneas then bestowed 
 a boon upon Sergestus, as was meet 
 for reward of the ship in safety brought 
 with all its men; a fair slave was the prize, 
 the Cretan Pholoe, well taught to weave, 
 and twin boy-babes upon her breast she bore.

Then good Aeneas, the ship-contest o'er, 
 turned to a wide green valley, circled round 
 with clasp of wood-clad hills, wherein was made 
 an amphitheatre; entering with a throng 
 of followers, the hero took his seat 
 in mid-arena on a lofty mound. 
 For the fleet foot-race, now, his summons flies, — 
 he offers gifts, and shows the rewards due. 
 The mingling youth of Troy and Sicily 
 
 hastened from far. Among the foremost came 
 the comrades Nisus and Euryalus, 
 Euryalus for beauty's bloom renowned, 
 Nisus for loyal love; close-following these 
 Diores strode, a prince of Priam's line; 
 then Salius and Patron, who were bred 
 in Acarnania and Arcady; 
 then two Sicilian warriors, Helymus 
 and Panopes, both sylvan bred and born, 
 comrades of King Acestes; after these 
 the multitude whom Fame forgets to tell. 
 Aeneas, so surrounded, thus spake forth: 
 “Hear what I purpose, and with joy receive! 
 of all your company, not one departs 
 with empty hand. The Cretan javelins 
 bright-tipped with burnished steel, and battle-axe 
 adorned with graven silver, these shall be 
 the meed of all. The three first at the goal 
 shall bind their foreheads with fair olive green, 
 and win the rewards due. The first shall lead, 
 victorious, yon rich-bridled steed away; 
 this Amazonian quiver, the next prize, 
 well-stocked with Thracian arrows; round it goes 
 a baldrick broad and golden,—in its clasp 
 a lustrous gem. The third man goes away 
 taking this helmet from the Argive spoil.”

They heard, and took their places. The loud horn 
 gave signal, and impetuous from the line, 
 swift as a bursting storm they sped away, 
 eyes fixed upon the goal. Far in advance 
 Nisus shot forward, swifter than the winds 
 or winged thunderbolt; the next in course, 
 next, but out-rivalled far, was Salius, 
 and after him a space, Euryalus 
 came third; him Helymus was hard upon; 
 and, look! Diores follows, heel on heel, 
 close at his shoulder—if the race be long 
 he sure must win, or claim a doubtful prize. 
 Now at the last stretch, spent and panting, all 
 pressed to the goal, when in a slime of blood 
 Nisus, hard fate! slipped down, where late the death 
 of victims slain had drenched the turf below. 
 Here the young victor, with his triumph flushed, 
 lost foothold on the yielding ground, and plunged 
 face forward in the pool of filth and gore; 
 but not of dear Euryalus was he 
 forgetful then, nor heedless of his friend; 
 but rising from the mire he hurled himself 
 in Salius' way; so he in equal plight 
 rolled in the filthy slough. Euryalus 
 leaped forth, the winner of the race by gift 
 of his true friend, and flying to the goal 
 stood first, by many a favoring shout acclaimed. 
 Next Helymus ran in; and, for the third, last prize, 
 Diores. But the multitude now heard 
 the hollowed hill-side ringing with wild wrath 
 from Salius, clamoring where the chieftains sate 
 for restitution of his stolen prize, 
 lost by a cheat. But general favor smiles 
 upon Euryalus, whose beauteous tears 
 commend him much, and nobler seems the worth 
 of valor clothed in youthful shape so fair. 
 Diores, too, assists the victor's claim, 
 with loud appeal—he too has won a prize, 
 and vainly holds his last place, if the first 
 to Salius fall. Aeneas then replied: 
 “Your gifts, my gallant youths, remain secure. 
 None can re-judge the prize. But to console 
 the misadventure of a blameless friend, 
 is in my power.” Therewith to Salius 
 an Afric lion's monstrous pelt he gave, 
 with ponderous mane, the claws o'erlaid with gold. 
 But Nisus cried: “If such a gift be found 
 for less than victory, and men who fall 
 are worthy so much sorrow, pray, what prize 
 shall Nisus have? For surely I had won 
 the proudest of the garlands, if one stroke 
 of inauspicious fortune had not fallen 
 on Salius and me.” So saying, he showed 
 his smeared face and his sorry limbs befouled 
 with mire and slime. Then laughed the gracious sire, 
 and bade a shield be brought, the cunning work 
 of Didymaon, which the Greeks tore down 
 from Neptune's temple; with this noble gift 
 he sent the high-born youth upon his way.

The foot-race over and the gifts disbursed, 
 “Come forth!” he cries, “if any in his heart 
 have strength and valor, let him now pull on 
 the gauntlets and uplift his thong-bound arms 
 in challenge.” For the reward of this fight 
 a two-fold gift he showed: the victor's meed, 
 a bullock decked and gilded; but a sword 
 and glittering helmet to console the fallen. 
 Straightway, in all his pride of giant strength, 
 Dares Ioomed up, and wondering murmurs ran 
 along the gazing crowd; for he alone 
 was wont to match with Paris, he it was 
 met Butes, the huge-bodied champion 
 boasting the name and race of Amycus, 
 Bythinian-born; him felled he at a blow, 
 and stretched him dying on the tawny sand. 
 Such Dares was, who now held high his head, 
 fierce for the fray, bared both his shoulders broad, 
 lunged out with left and right, and beat the air. 
 Who shall his rival be? Of all the throng 
 not one puts on the gauntlets, or would face 
 the hero's challenge. Therefore, striding forth, 
 believing none now dare but yield the palm, 
 he stood before Aeneas, and straightway 
 seized with his left hand the bull's golden horn, 
 and cried, “O goddess-born, if no man dares 
 to risk him in this fight, how Iong delay? 
 how Iong beseems it I should stand and wait? 
 Bid me bear off my prize.” The Trojans all 
 murmured assent, and bade the due award 
 of promised gift. But with a brow severe 
 Acestes to Entellus at his side 
 addressed upbraiding words, where they reclined 
 on grassy bank and couch of pleasant green: 
 “O my Entellus, in the olden days 
 bravest among the mighty, but in vain! 
 Endurest thou to see yon reward won 
 without a blow? Where, prithee, is that god 
 who taught thee? Are thy tales of Eryx vain? 
 Does all Sicilia praise thee? Is thy roof 
 with trophies hung?” The other in reply: 
 “My jealous honor and good name yield not 
 to fear. But age, so cold and slow to move, 
 makes my blood laggard, and my ebbing powers 
 in all my body are but slack and chill. 
 O, if I had what yonder ruffian boasts— 
 my own proud youth once more! I would not ask 
 the fair bull for a prize, nor to the lists 
 in search of gifts come forth.” So saying, he threw 
 into the mid-arena a vast pair 
 of ponderous gauntlets, which in former days 
 fierce Eryx for his fights was wont to bind 
 on hand and arm, with the stiff raw-hide thong. 
 All marvelled; for a weight of seven bulls' hides 
 was pieced with lead and iron. Dares stared 
 astonished, and step after step recoiled; 
 high-souled Anchises' son, this way and that, 
 turned o'er the enormous coil of knots and thongs; 
 then with a deep-drawn breath the veteran spoke: 
 “O, that thy wondering eyes had seen the arms 
 of Hercules, and what his gauntlets were! 
 Would thou hadst seen the conflict terrible 
 upon this self-same shore! These arms were borne 
 by Eryx . Look; thy brother's!—spattered yet 
 with blood, with dashed-out brains! In these he stood 
 when he matched Hercules. I wore them oft 
 when in my pride and prime, ere envious age 
 shed frost upon my brows. But if these arms 
 be of our Trojan Dares disapproved, 
 if good Aeneas rules it so, and King 
 Acestes wills it, let us offer fight 
 on even terms. Let Eryx ' bull's-hide go. 
 Tremble no more! But strip those gauntlets off — 
 fetched here from Troy .” So saying, he dropped down 
 the double-folded mantle from his shoulders, 
 stripped bare the huge joints, the huge arms and thews, 
 and towered gigantic in the midmost ring. 
 Anchises' son then gave two equal pairs 
 of gauntlets, and accoutred with like arms 
 both champions. Each lifted him full height 
 on tiptoe; each with mien unterrified 
 held both fists high in air, and drew his head 
 far back from blows assailing. Then they joined 
 in struggle hand to hand, and made the fray 
 each moment fiercer. One was light of foot 
 and on his youth relied; the other strong 
 in bulk of every limb, but tottering 
 on sluggish knees, while all his body shook 
 with labor of his breath. Without avail 
 they rained their blows, and on each hollow side, 
 each sounding chest, the swift, reverberate strokes 
 fell without pause; around their ears and brows 
 came blow on blow, and with relentless shocks 
 the smitten jaws cracked loud. Entellus stands 
 unshaken, and, the self-same posture keeping, 
 only by body-movement or quick eye 
 parries attack. Dares (like one in siege 
 against a mountain-citadel, who now will drive 
 with ram and engine at the craggy wall, 
 now wait in full-armed watch beneath its towers) 
 tries manifold approach, most craftily 
 invests each point of vantage, and renews 
 his unsuccessful, ever various war. 
 Then, rising to the stroke, Entellus poised 
 aloft his ponderous right; but, quick of eye, 
 the other the descending wrath foresaw 
 and nimbly slipped away; Entellus so 
 wasted his stroke on air, and, self-o'erthrown, 
 dropped prone to earth his monstrous length along, 
 as when on Erymanth or Ida falls 
 a hollowed pine from giant roots uptorn. 
 Alike the Teucrian and Trinacrian throng 
 shout wildly; while Acestes, pitying, hastes 
 to lift his gray companion. But, unchecked, 
 undaunted by his fall, the champion brave 
 rushed fiercer to the fight, his strength now roused 
 by rage, while shame and courage confident 
 kindle his soul; impetuous he drives 
 Dares full speed all round the ring, with blows 
 redoubled right and left. No stop or stay 
 gives he, but like a storm of rattling hail 
 upon a house-top, so from each huge hand 
 the champion's strokes on dizzy Dares fall.

Then Sire Aeneas willed to make a stay 
 to so much rage, nor let Entellus' soul 
 flame beyond bound, but bade the battle pause, 
 and, rescuing weary Dares, thus he spoke 
 in soothing words: “Ill-starred! What mad attempt 
 is in thy mind? Will not thy heart confess 
 thy strength surpassed, and auspices averse? 
 Submit, for Heaven decrees!” With such wise words 
 he sundered the fell strife. But trusty friends 
 bore Dares off: his spent limbs helpless trailed, 
 his head he could not lift, and from his lips 
 came blood and broken teeth. So to the ship 
 they bore him, taking, at Aeneas' word, 
 the helmet and the sword—but left behind 
 Entellus' prize of victory, the bull. 
 He, then, elate and glorying, spoke forth: 
 “See, goddess-born, and all ye Teucrians, see, 
 what strength was mine in youth, and from what death 
 ye have clelivered Dares.” Saying so, 
 he turned him full front to the bull, who stood 
 for reward of the fight, and, drawing back 
 his right hand, poising the dread gauntlet high, 
 swung sheer between the horns and crushed the skull; 
 a trembling, lifeless creature, to the ground 
 the bull dropped forward dead. Above the fallen 
 Entellus cried aloud, “This victim due 
 I give thee, Eryx , more acceptable 
 than Dares' death to thy benignant shade. 
 For this last victory and joyful day, 
 my gauntlets and my art I leave with thee.”

Forthwith Aeneas summons all who will 
 to contest of swift arrows, and displays 
 reward and prize. With mighty hand he rears 
 a mast within th' arena, from the ship 
 of good Sergestus taken; and thereto 
 a fluttering dove by winding cord is bound 
 for target of their shafts. Soon to the match 
 the rival bowmen came and cast the lots 
 into a brazen helmet. First came forth 
 Hippocoon's number, son of Hyrtacus, 
 by cheers applauded; Mnestheus was the next, 
 late victor in the ship-race, Mnestheus crowned 
 with olive-garland; next Eurytion, 
 brother of thee, O bowman most renowned, 
 Pandarus, breaker of the truce, who hurled 
 his shaft upon the Achaeans, at the word 
 the goddess gave. Acestes' Iot and name 
 came from the helmet last, whose royal hand 
 the deeds of youth dared even yet to try. 
 Each then with strong arm bends his pliant bow, 
 each from the quiver plucks a chosen shaft. 
 First, with loud arrow whizzing from the string, 
 the young Hippocoon with skyward aim 
 cuts through the yielding air; and lo! his barb 
 pierces the very wood, and makes the mast 
 tremble; while with a fluttering, frighted wing 
 the bird tugs hard,—and plaudits fill the sky. 
 Boldly rose Mnestheus, and with bow full-drawn 
 aimed both his eye and shaft aloft; but he 
 failing, unhappy man, to bring his barb 
 up to the dove herself, just cut the cord 
 and broke the hempen bond, whereby her feet 
 were captive to the tree: she, taking flight, 
 clove through the shadowing clouds her path of air. 
 But swiftly—for upon his waiting bow 
 he held a shaft in rest—Eurytion 
 invoked his brother's shade, and, marking well 
 the dove, whose happy pinions fluttered free 
 in vacant sky, pierced her, hard by a cloud; 
 lifeless she fell, and left in light of heaven 
 her spark of life, as, floating down, she bore 
 the arrow back to earth. Acestes now 
 remained, last rival, though the victor's palm 
 to him was Iost; yet did the aged sire, 
 to show his prowess and resounding bow, 
 hurl forth one shaft in air; then suddenly 
 all eyes beheld such wonder as portends 
 events to be (but when fulfilment came, 
 too late the fearful seers its warning sung): 
 for, soaring through the stream of cloud, his shaft 
 took fire, tracing its bright path in flame, 
 then vanished on the wind,—as oft a star 
 will fall unfastened from the firmament, 
 while far behind its blazing tresses flow. 
 Awe-struck both Trojan and Trinacrian stood, 
 calling upon the gods. Nor came the sign 
 in vain to great Aeneas. But his arms 
 folded the blest Acestes to his heart, 
 and, Ioading him with noble gifts, he cried: 
 “Receive them, sire! The great Olympian King 
 some peerless honor to thy name decrees 
 by such an omen given. I offer thee 
 this bowl with figures graven, which my sire, 
 good gray Anchises, for proud gift received 
 of Thracian Cisseus, for their friendship's pledge 
 and memory evermore.” Thereon he crowned 
 his brows with garland of the laurel green, 
 and named Acestes victor over all. 
 Nor could Eurytion, noble youth, think ill 
 of honor which his own surpassed, though he, 
 he only, pierced the bird in upper air. 
 Next gift was his whose arrow cut the cord; 
 last, his whose light shaft clove the lofty pine.

Father Aeneas now, not making end 
 of game and contest, summoned to his side 
 Epytides, the mentor and true friend 
 of young Iulus, and this bidding gave 
 to his obedient ear: “Arise and go 
 where my Ascanius has lined his troop 
 of youthful cavalry, and trained the steeds 
 to tread in ranks of war. Bid him lead forth 
 the squadron in our sire Anchises' name, 
 and wear a hero's arms!” So saying, he bade 
 the course be cleared, and from the whole wide field 
 th' insurging, curious multitude withdrew. 
 In rode the boys, to meet their parents' eyes, 
 in even lines, a glittering cavalry; 
 while all Trinacria and the host from Troy 
 
 made loud applause. On each bright brow 
 a well-trimmed wreath the flowing tresses bound; 
 two javelins of corner tipped with steel 
 each bore for arms; some from the shoulder slung 
 a polished quiver; to each bosom fell 
 a pliant necklace of fine, twisted gold. 
 Three bands of horsemen ride, three captains proud 
 prance here and there, assiduous in command, 
 each of his twelve, who shine in parted lines 
 which lesser captains lead. One cohort proud 
 follows a little Priam's royal name — 
 one day, Polites, thy illustrious race 
 through him prolonged, shall greater glory bring 
 to Italy . A dappled Thracian steed 
 with snow-white spots and fore-feet white as snow 
 bears him along, its white face lifted high. 
 Next Atys rode, young Atys, sire to be 
 of th' Atian house in Rome , a boy most dear 
 unto the boy Iulus; last in line, 
 and fairest of the throng, Iulus came, 
 astride a steed from Sidon , the fond gift 
 of beauteous Dido and her pledge of love. 
 Close followed him the youthful chivalry 
 of King Acestes on Trinacrian steeds.

The Trojans, with exultant, Ioud acclaim, 
 receive the shy-faced boys, and joyfully 
 trace in the features of the sons their sires. 
 After, with smiling eyes, the horsemen proud 
 have greeted each his kin in all the throng, 
 Epytides th' appointed signal calls, 
 and cracks his lash; in even lines they move, 
 then, Ioosely sundering in triple band, 
 wheel at a word and thrust their lances forth 
 in hostile ranks; or on the ample field 
 retreat or charge, in figure intricate 
 of circling troop with troop, and swift parade 
 of simulated war; now from the field 
 they flee with backs defenceless to the foe; 
 then rally, lance in rest—or, mingling all, 
 make common front, one legion strong and fair. 
 As once in Crete , the lofty mountain-isle, 
 that-fabled labyrinthine gallery 
 wound on through lightless walls, with thousand paths 
 which baffled every clue, and led astray 
 in unreturning mazes dark and blind: 
 so did the sons of Troy their courses weave 
 in mimic flights and battles fought for play, 
 like dolphins tumbling in the liquid waves, 
 along the Afric or Carpathian seas. 
 This game and mode of march Ascanius, 
 when Alba Longa 's bastions proudly rose, 
 taught to the Latin people of the prime; 
 and as the princely Trojan and his train 
 were wont to do, so Alba to her sons 
 the custom gave; so glorious Rome at last 
 the heritage accepted and revered; 
 and still we know them for the “Trojan Band,” 
 and call the lads a “ Troy .” Such was the end 
 of game and contest at Anchises' grave.

Then fortune veered and different aspect wore. 
 For 'ere the sacred funeral games are done, 
 Saturnian Juno from high heaven sent down 
 the light-winged Iris to the ships of Troy , 
 giving her flight good wind—still full of schemes 
 and hungering to avenge her ancient wrong. 
 Unseen of mortal eye, the virgin took 
 her pathway on the thousand-colored bow, 
 and o'er its gliding passage earthward flew. 
 She scanned the vast assemblage; then her gaze 
 turned shoreward, where along the idle bay 
 the Trojan galleys quite unpeopled rode. 
 But far removed, upon a lonely shore, 
 a throng of Trojan dames bewailed aloud 
 their lost Anchises, and with tears surveyed 
 the mighty deep. “O weary waste of seas! 
 What vast, untravelled floods beyond us roll!” 
 So cried they with one voice, and prayed the gods 
 for an abiding city; every heart 
 loathed utterly the long, laborious sea. 
 Then in their midst alighted, not unskilled 
 in working woe, the goddess; though she wore 
 nor garb nor form divine, but made herself 
 one Beroe , Doryclus' aged wife, 
 who in her happier days had lineage fair 
 and sons of noble name; in such disguise 
 she called the Trojan dames: “O ye ill-starred, 
 that were not seized and slain by Grecian foes 
 under your native walls! O tribe accursed, 
 what death is Fate preparing? Since Troy fell 
 the seventh summer flies, while still we rove 
 o'er cruel rocks and seas, from star to star, 
 from alien land to land, as evermore 
 we chase, storm-tossed, that fleeting Italy 
 
 across the waters wide. Behold this land 
 of Eryx , of Acestes, friend and kin; 
 what hinders them to raise a rampart here 
 and build a town? O city of our sires! 
 O venerated gods from haughty foes 
 rescued in vain! Will nevermore a wall 
 rise in the name of Troy ? Shall I not see 
 a Xanthus or a Simois, the streams 
 to Hector dear? Come now! I lead the way. 
 Let us go touch their baneful ships with fire! 
 I saw Cassandra in a dream. Her shade, 
 prophetic ever, gave me firebrands, 
 and cried, ‘Find Ilium so! The home for thee 
 is where thou art.’ Behold, the hour is ripe 
 for our great act! No longer now delay 
 to heed the heavenly omen. Yonder stand 
 four altars unto Neptune. 'T is the god, 
 the god himself, gives courage for the deed, 
 and swift-enkindling fire.” So having said, 
 she seized a dreadful brand; then, lifting high, 
 waved it all flaming, and with furious arm 
 hurled it from far. The Ilian matrons gazed, 
 bewildered and appalled. But one, of all 
 the eldest, Pyrgo, venerated nurse 
 of Priam's numerous sons, exclaimed, “Nay, nay! 
 This is no Beroe , my noble dames. 
 Doryclus knew her not. Behold and see 
 her heavenly beauty and her radiant eyes! 
 What voice of music and majestic mien, 
 what movement like a god! Myself am come 
 from Beroe sick, and left her grieving sore 
 that she, she only, had no gift to bring 
 of mournful honor to Anchises' shade.” 
 She spoke. The women with ill-boding eyes 
 looked on the ships. Their doubting hearts were torn 
 'twixt tearful passion for the beauteous isle 
 their feet then trod, and that prophetic call 
 of Fate to lands unknown. Then on wide wings 
 soared Iris into heaven, and through the clouds 
 clove a vast arch of light. With wonder dazed, 
 the women in a shrieking frenzy rose, 
 took embers from the hearth-stones, stole the fires 
 upon the altars—faggots, branches, brands — 
 and rained them on the ships. The god of fire, 
 through thwarts and oars and bows of painted fir, 
 ran in unbridled flame. Swift to the tomb 
 of Sire Anchises, to the circus-seats, 
 the messenger Eumelus flew, to bring 
 news of the ships on fire; soon every eye 
 the clouds of smoke and hovering flame could see. 
 Ascanius, who had led with smiling brow 
 his troops of horse, accoutred as he was, 
 rode hot-haste to the turmoil of the camp, 
 nor could his guards restrain . “What madness now? 
 What is it ye would do?” he cried. “Alas! 
 Ill-fated women! Not our enemies, 
 nor the dread bulwarks of the Greek ye burn, 
 but all ye have to hope for. Look at me, 
 your own Ascanius!” His helmet then 
 into their midst he flung, which he had worn 
 for pageantry of war. Aeneas, too, 
 with Trojan bands sped thither. But far off, 
 the women, panic-scattered on the shore, 
 fled many ways, and deep in caverned crags 
 or shadowed forests hid them, for they Ioathed 
 their deed and life itself; their thoughts were changed; 
 they knew their kin and husbands, and their hearts 
 from Juno were set free. But none the less 
 the burning and indomitable flames 
 raged without stay; beneath the ships' smeared sides 
 the hempen fuel puffed a lingering smoke, 
 as, through the whole bulk creeping, the slow fire 
 devoured its way; and little it availed 
 that strong men fought the fire with stream on stream. 
 Then good Aeneas from his shoulder rent 
 his garment, and with lifted hands implored 
 the help of Heaven. “O Jove omnipotent! 
 If thou not yet thy wrath implacable 
 on every Trojan pourest, if thou still 
 hast pity, as of old, for what men bear, 
 O, grant my fleet deliverance from this flame! 
 From uttermost destruction, Father, save 
 our desperate Trojan cause! Or even now — 
 last cruelty! thy fatal thunders throw. 
 If this be my just meed, let thy dread arm 
 confound us all.” But scarce the prayer is said, 
 when with a bursting deluge a dark storm 
 falls, marvellous to see; while hills and plains 
 with thunder shake, and to each rim of heaven 
 spreads swollen cloud-rack, black with copious rain 
 and multitudinous gales. The full flood pours 
 on every ship, and all the smouldering beams 
 are drenched, until the smoke and flames expire 
 and (though four ships be lost) the burning fleet 
 rides rescued from its doom. But smitten sore 
 by this mischance, Aeneas doubtfully 
 weighs in his heart its mighty load of cares, 
 and ponders if indeed he may abide 
 in Sicily , not heeding prophet-songs, 
 or seek Italian shores. Thereon uprose 
 Nautes, an aged sire, to whom alone 
 Tritonian Pallas of her wisdom gave 
 and made his skill renowned; he had the power 
 to show celestial anger's warning signs, 
 or tell Fate's fixed decree. The gifted man 
 thus to Aeneas comfortably spoke: 
 “O goddess-born, we follow here or there, 
 as Fate compels or stays. But come what may, 
 he triumphs over Fortune, who can bear 
 whate'er she brings. Behold, Acestes draws 
 from Dardanus his origin divine! 
 Make him thy willing friend, to share with thee 
 thy purpose and thy counsel. Leave with him 
 the crews of the lost ships, and all whose hearts 
 repine at thy high task and great emprise: 
 the spent old men, the women ocean-weary, 
 whate'er is feeble found, or faint of heart 
 in danger's hour,—set that apart, and give 
 such weary ones within this friendly isle 
 a city called Acesta,—if he will.”

Much moved Aeneas was by this wise word 
 of his gray friend, though still his anxious soul 
 was vexed by doubt and care. But when dark night 
 had brought her chariot to the middle sky, 
 the sacred shade of Sire Anchises seemed, 
 from heaven descending, thus to speak aloud: 
 “My son, than life more dear, when life was mine! 
 O son, upon whose heart the Trojan doom 
 has weighed so Iong! Beside thy couch I stand, 
 at pleasure of great Jove, whose hand dispelled 
 the mad fire from thy ships; and now he looks 
 from heaven with pitying brow. I bid thee heed 
 the noble counsels aged Nautes gave. 
 Only with warriors of dauntless breast 
 to Italy repair; of hardy breed, 
 of wild, rough life, thy Latin foes will be. 
 But first the shores of Pluto and the Shades 
 thy feet must tread, and through the deep abyss 
 of dark Avernus come to me, thy sire: 
 for I inhabit not the guilty gloom 
 of Tartarus, but bright Elysian day, 
 where all the just their sweet assemblies hold. 
 Hither the virgin Sibyl, if thou give 
 full offerings of the blood of sable kine, 
 shall lead thee down; and visions I will show 
 of cities proud and nations sprung from thee. 
 Farewell, for dewy Night has wheeled her way 
 far past her middle course; the panting steeds 
 of orient Morn breathe pitiless upon me.” 
 He spoke, and passed, like fleeting clouds of smoke, 
 to empty air. “O, whither haste away?” 
 Aeneas cried. “Whom dost thou fly? What god 
 from my fond yearning and embrace removes?” 
 Then on the altar of the gods of Troy 
 
 he woke the smouldering embers, at the shrine 
 of venerable Vesta, worshipping 
 with hallowed bread and incense burning free.

Straightway he calls assembly of his friends, — 
 Acestes first in honor,—and makes known 
 Jove's will, the counsel of his cherished sire, 
 and his own fresh resolve. With prompt assent 
 they hear his word, nor does Acestes fail 
 the task to share. They people the new town 
 with women; and leave every wight behind 
 who wills it—souls not thirsting for high praise. 
 Themselves re-bench their ships, rebuild, and fit 
 with rope and oar the flame-swept galleys all; 
 a band not large, but warriors bold and true. 
 Aeneas, guiding with his hand a plough, 
 marks out the city's ground, gives separate lands 
 by lot, and bids within this space appear 
 a second Troy . Trojan Acestes takes 
 the kingly power, and with benignant joy 
 appoints a forum, and decrees just laws 
 before a gathered senate. Then they raise 
 on that star-circled Erycinian hill, 
 the temple to Idalian Venus dear; 
 and at Anchises' sepulchre ordain 
 a priesthood and wide groves of hallowed shade.

Now the nine days of funeral pomp are done, 
 and every altar has had honors due 
 from all the folk. Now tranquil-breathing winds 
 have levelled the great deep, while brisk and free, 
 a favoring Auster bids them launch away. 
 But sound of many a wailing voice is heard 
 along the winding shore; for ere they go, 
 in fond embraces for a night and day 
 they linger still. The women—aye, and men! — 
 who hated yesterday the ocean's face 
 and loathed its name, now clamor to set sail 
 and bear all want and woe to exiles known. 
 But good Aeneas with benignant words 
 their sorrow soothes, and, not without a tear, 
 consigns them to Acestes' kindred care. 
 Then bids he sacrifice to Eryx ' shade 
 three bulls, and to the wind-gods and the storm 
 a lamb, then loose the ships in order due. 
 He, with a garland of shorn olive, stood 
 holding aloft the sacrificial bowl 
 from his own vessel's prow, and scattered far 
 the sacred entrails o'er the bitter wave, 
 with gift of flowing wine. Swift at the stern 
 a fair wind rose and thrust them; while the crews 
 with rival strokes swept o'er the spreading sea.

Venus, the while, disturbed with grief and care, 
 to Neptune thus her sorrowing heart outpoured: 
 “Stern Juno's wrath and breast implacable 
 compel me, Neptune, to abase my pride 
 in lowly supplication. Lapse of days, 
 nor prayers, nor virtues her hard heart subdue, 
 nor Jove's command; nor will she rest or yield 
 at Fate's decree. Her execrable grudge 
 is still unfed, although she did consume 
 the Trojan city, Phrygia 's midmost throne, 
 and though she has accomplished stroke on stroke 
 of retribution. But she now pursues 
 the remnant—aye! the ashes and bare bones 
 of perished Ilium ; though the cause and spring 
 of wrath so great none but herself can tell. 
 Wert thou not witness on the Libyan wave 
 what storm she stirred, immingling sea and sky, 
 and with Aeolian whirlwinds made her war, — 
 in vain and insolent invasion, sire, 
 of thine own realm and power? Behold, but now, 
 goading to evil deeds the Trojan dames, 
 she basely burned his ships; he in strange lands 
 must leave the crews of his Iost fleet behind. 
 O, I entreat thee, let the remnant sail 
 in safety o'er thy sea, and end their way 
 in Tiber 's holy stream;—if this my prayer 
 be lawful, and that city's rampart proud 
 be still what Fate intends.” Then Saturn's son, 
 the ruler of the seas profound, replied: 
 “Queen of Cythera , it is meet for thee 
 to trust my waves from which thyself art sprung. 
 Have I not proved a friend, and oft restrained 
 the anger and wild wrath of seas and skies? 
 On land, let Simois and Xanthus tell 
 if I have loved Aeneas! On that day 
 Achilles drove the shuddering hosts of Troy 
 
 in panic to the walls, and hurled to death 
 innumerable foes, until the streams 
 were choked with dead, and Xanthus scarce could find 
 his wonted path to sea; that self-same day, 
 aeneas, spent, and with no help of Heaven, 
 met Peleus' dreadful son:—who else but I 
 in cloudy mantle bore him safe afar? 
 Though 't was my will to cast down utterly 
 the walls of perjured Troy , which my own hands 
 had built beside the sea. And even to-day 
 my favor changes not. Dispel thy fear! 
 Safe, even as thou prayest, he shall ride 
 to Cumae 's haven, where Avernus lies. 
 One only sinks beneath th' engulfing seas, — 
 one life in lieu of many.” Having soothed 
 and cheered her heart divine, the worshipped sire 
 flung o'er his mated steeds a yoke of gold, 
 bridled the wild, white mouths, and with strong hand 
 shook out long, Ioosened reins. His azure car 
 skimmed light and free along the crested waves; 
 before his path the rolling billows all 
 were calm and still, and each o'er-swollen flood 
 sank 'neath his sounding wheel; while from the skies 
 the storm-clouds fled away. Behind him trailed 
 a various company; vast bulk of whales, 
 the hoary band of Glaucus, Ino's son, 
 Palaemon and the nimble Tritons all, 
 the troop of Phorcus; and to leftward ranged 
 Thalia, Thetis, and fair Alelite, 
 with virgin Panopea, and the nymphs 
 Nesaea, Spio and Cymodoce.

Now in Aeneas' ever-burdened breast 
 the voice of hope revived. He bade make haste 
 to raise the masts, spread canvas on the spars; 
 all hands hauled at the sheets, and left or right 
 shook out the loosened sails, or twirled in place 
 the horn-tipped yards. Before a favoring wind 
 the fleet sped on. The line in close array 
 was led by Palinurus, in whose course 
 all ships were bid to follow. Soon the car 
 of dewy Night drew near the turning-point 
 of her celestial round. The oarsmen all 
 yielded their limbs to rest, and prone had fallen 
 on the hard thwarts, in deep, unpillowed slumber. 
 Then from the high stars on light-moving wings, 
 the God of Sleep found passage through the dark 
 and clove the gloom,—to bring upon thy head, 
 O Palinurus, an ill-boding sleep, 
 though blameless thou. Upon thy ship the god 
 in guise of Phorbas stood, thus whispering: 
 “Look, Palinurus, how the flowing tides 
 lift on thy fleet unsteered, and changeless winds 
 behind thee breathe! 'T is now a happy hour 
 take thy rest. Lay down the weary head. 
 Steal tired eyes from toiling. I will do 
 thine office for thee, just a little space.” 
 But Palinurus, lifting scarce his eyes, 
 thus answered him: “Have I not known the face 
 of yonder placid seas and tranquil waves? 
 Put faith in such a monster? Could I trust — 
 I, oft by ocean's treacherous calm betrayed — 
 my lord Aeneas to false winds and skies?”

So saying, he grasped his rudder tight, and clung 
 more firmly, fixing on the stars his eyes. 
 Then waved the god above his brows a branch 
 wet with the dews of Lethe and imbued 
 with power of Stygian dark, until his eyes 
 wavered and slowly sank. The slumberous snare 
 had scarce unbound his limbs, when, leaning o'er, 
 the god upon the waters flung him forth, 
 hands clutching still the helm and ship-rail torn, 
 and calling on his comrades, but in vain. 
 Then soared th' immortal into viewless air; 
 and in swift course across the level sea 
 the fleet sped safe, protected from all fear 
 by Neptune's vow. Yet were they drawing nigh 
 the sirens' island-steep, where oft are seen 
 white, bleaching bones, and to the distant ear 
 the rocks roar harshly in perpetual foam. 
 Then of his drifting fleet and pilot gone 
 Aeneas was aware, and, taking helm, 
 steered through the midnight waves, with many a sigh; 
 and, by his comrade's pitiable death 
 sore-smitten, cried, “O, thou didst trust too far 
 fair skies and seas, and liest without a grave, 
 my Palinurus, in a land unknown!”

After such words and tears, he flung free rein 
 To the swift fleet, which sped along the wave 
 To old Euboean Cumae's sacred shore. 
 They veer all prows to sea; the anchor fluke 
 Makes each ship sure, and shading the long strand 
 The rounded sterns jut o'er. Impetuously 
 The eager warriors leap forth to land 
 Upon Hesperian soil. One strikes the flint 
 To find the seed-spark hidden in its veins; 
 One breaks the thick-branched trees, and steals away 
 The shelter where the woodland creatures bide; 
 One leads his mates where living waters flow. 
 Aeneas, servant of the gods, ascends 
 The templed hill where lofty Phoebus reigns, 
 And that far-off, inviolable shrine 
 Of dread Sibylla, in stupendous cave, 
 O'er whose deep soul the god of Delos breathes 
 Prophetic gifts, unfolding things to come. 
 Here are pale Trivia's golden house and grove.

Here Daedalus, the ancient story tells, 
 Escaping Minos' power, and having made 
 Hazard of heaven on far-mounting wings, 
 Floated to northward, a cold, trackless way, 
 And lightly poised, at last, o'er Cumae 's towers. 
 Here first to earth come down, he gave to thee 
 His gear of wings, Apollo! and ordained 
 Vast temples to thy name and altars fair. 
 On huge bronze doors Androgeos' death was done; 
 And Cecrops' children paid their debt of woe, 
 Where, seven and seven,—0 pitiable sight!— 
 The youths and maidens wait the annual doom, 
 Drawn out by lot from yonder marble urn. 
 Beyond, above a sea, lay carven Crete :— 
 The bull was there; the passion, the strange guile; 
 And Queen Pasiphae's brute-human son, 
 The Minotaur—of monstrous loves the sign. 
 Here was the toilsome, labyrinthine maze, 
 Where, pitying love-lorn Ariadne's tears, 
 The crafty Daedalus himself betrayed 
 The secret of his work; and gave the clue 
 To guide the path of Theseus through the gloom. 
 0 Icarus, in such well-graven scene 
 How proud thy place should be! but grief forbade: 
 Twice in pure gold a father's fingers strove 
 To shape thy fall, and twice they strove in vain. 
 Aeneas long the various work would scan; 
 But now Achates comes, and by his side 
 Deiphobe, the Sibyl, Glaucus' child. 
 Thus to the prince she spoke : 
 “Is this thine hour 
 To stand and wonder? Rather go obtain 
 From young unbroken herd the bullocks seven, 
 And seven yearling ewes, our wonted way.” 
 Thus to Aeneas; his attendants haste 
 To work her will; the priestess, calling loud, 
 Gathers the Trojans to her mountain-shrine.

Deep in the face of that Euboean crag 
 A cavern vast is hollowed out amain, 
 With hundred openings, a hundred mouths, 
 Whence voices flow, the Sibyl's answering songs. 
 While at the door they paused, the virgin cried : 
 “Ask now thy doom!—the god! the god is nigh!” 
 So saying, from her face its color flew, 
 Her twisted locks flowed free, the heaving breast 
 Swelled with her heart's wild blood; her stature seemed 
 Vaster, her accent more than mortal man, 
 As all th' oncoming god around her breathed : 
 “On with thy vows and prayers, 0 Trojan, on! 
 For only unto prayer this haunted cave 
 May its vast lips unclose.” She spake no more. 
 An icy shudder through the marrow ran 
 Of the bold Trojans; while their sacred King 
 Poured from his inmost soul this plaint and prayer : 
 “Phoebus, who ever for the woes of Troy 
 
 Hadst pitying eyes! who gavest deadly aim 
 To Paris when his Dardan shaft he hurled 
 On great Achilles! Thou hast guided me 
 Through many an unknown water, where the seas 
 Break upon kingdoms vast, and to the tribes 
 Of the remote Massyli, whose wild land 
 To Syrtes spreads. But now; because at last 
 I touch Hesperia's ever-fleeting bound, 
 May Troy 's ill fate forsake me from this day! 
 0 gods and goddesses, beneath whose wrath 
 Dardania's glory and great Ilium stood, 
 Spare, for ye may, the remnant of my race! 
 And thou, most holy prophetess, whose soul 
 Foreknows events to come, grant to my prayer 
 (Which asks no kingdom save what Fate decrees) 
 That I may stablish in the Latin land 
 My Trojans, my far-wandering household-gods, 
 And storm-tossed deities of fallen Troy . 
 Then unto Phoebus and his sister pale 
 A temple all of marble shall be given, 
 And festal days to Phoebus evermore. 
 Thee also in my realms a spacious shrine 
 Shall honor; thy dark books and holy songs 
 I there will keep, to be my people's law; 
 And thee, benignant Sibyl for all time 
 A company of chosen priests shall serve. 
 O, not on leaves, light leaves, inscribe thy songs! 
 Lest, playthings of each breeze, they fly afar 
 In swift confusion! Sing thyself, I pray.” 
 So ceased his voice; the virgin through the cave, 
 Scarce bridled yet by Phoebus' hand divine, 
 Ecstatic swept along, and vainly stove 
 To fing its potent master from her breast; 
 But he more strongly plied his rein and curb 
 Upon her frenzied lips, and soon subdued 
 Her spirit fierce, and swayed her at his will. 
 Free and self-moved the cavern's hundred adoors 
 Swung open wide, and uttered to the air 
 The oracles the virgin-priestess sung : 
 “Thy long sea-perils thou hast safely passed; 
 But heavier woes await thee on the land. 
 Truly thy Trojans to Lavinian shore 
 Shall come—vex not thyself thereon—but, oh! 
 Shall rue their coming thither! war, red war! 
 And Tiber stained with bloody foam I see. 
 Simois, Xanthus , and the Dorian horde 
 Thou shalt behold; a new Achilles now 
 In Latium breathes,—he, too, of goddess born; 
 And Juno, burden of the sons of Troy , 
 Will vex them ever; while thyself shalt sue 
 In dire distress to many a town and tribe 
 Through Italy ; the cause of so much ill 
 Again shall be a hostess-queen, again 
 A marriage-chamber for an alien bride. 
 Oh! yield not to thy woe, but front it ever, 
 And follow boldly whither Fortune calls. 
 Thy way of safety, as thou least couldst dream, 
 Lies through a city of the Greeks, thy foes.”

Thus from her shrine Cumaea's prophetess 
 Chanted the dark decrees; the dreadful sound 
 Reverberated through the bellowing cave, 
 Commingling truth with ecstasies obscure. 
 Apollo, as she raged, flung loosened rein, 
 And thrust beneath her heart a quickening spur. 
 When first her madness ceased, and her wild lips 
 Were still at last, the hero thus began : 
 “No tribulations new, 0 Sibyl blest, 
 Can now confront me; every future pain 
 I have foretasted; my prophetic soul 
 Endured each stroke of fate before it fell. 
 One boon I ask. If of th' infernal King 
 This be the portal where the murky wave 
 Of swollen Acheron o'erflows its bound, 
 Here let me enter and behold the face 
 Of my loved sire. Thy hand may point the way; 
 Thy word will open wide yon holy doors. 
 My father through the flames and falling spears, 
 Straight through the centre of our foes, I bore 
 Upon these shoulders. My long flight he shared 
 From sea to sea, and suffered at my side 
 The anger of rude waters and dark skies,— 
 Though weak—0 task too great for old and gray! 
 Thus as a suppliant at thy door to stand, 
 Was his behest and prayer. On son and sire, 
 0 gracious one, have pity,—for thy rule 
 Is over all; no vain authority 
 Hadst thou from Trivia o'er th' Avernian groves. 
 If Orpheus could call back his loved one's shade, 
 Emboldened by the lyre's melodious string : 
 If Pollux by the interchange of death 
 Redeemed his twin, and oft repassed the way : 
 If Theseus—but why name him? why recall 
 Alcides' task? I, too, am sprung from Jove.”

Thus, to the altar clinging, did he pray : 
 The Sibyl thus replied : “Offspring of Heaven, 
 Anchises' son, the downward path to death 
 Is easy; all the livelong night and day 
 Dark Pluto's door stands open for a guest. 
 But 0! remounting to the world of light, 
 This is a task indeed, a strife supreme. 
 Few, very few, whom righteous Jove did bless, 
 Or quenchless virtue carried to the stars, 
 Children of gods, have such a victory won. 
 Grim forests stop the way, and, gliding slow, 
 Cocytus circles through the sightless gloom. 
 But if it be thy dream and fond desire 
 Twice o'er the Stygian gulf to travel, twice 
 On glooms of Tartarus to set thine eyes, 
 If such mad quest be now thy pleasure—hear 
 What must be first fulfilled . A certain tree 
 Hides in obscurest shade a golden bough, 
 Of pliant stems and many a leaf of gold, 
 Sacred to Proserpine, infernal Queen. 
 Far in the grove it hides; in sunless vale 
 Deep shadows keep it in captivity. 
 No pilgrim to that underworld can pass 
 But he who plucks this burgeoned, leafy gold; 
 For this hath beauteous Proserpine ordained 
 Her chosen gift to be. Whene'er it is culled, 
 A branch out-leafing in like golden gleam, 
 A second wonder-stem, fails not to spring. 
 Therefore go seek it with uplifted eyes! 
 And when by will of Heaven thou findest it, 
 Reach forth and pluck; for at a touch it yields, 
 A free and willing gift, if Fate ordain; 
 But otherwise no mortal strength avails, 
 Nor strong, sharp steel, to rend it from the tree. 
 Another task awaits; thy friend's cold clay 
 Lies unentombed. Alas! thou art not ware 
 (While in my house thou lingerest, seeking light) 
 That all thy ships are by his death defiled. 
 Unto his resting-place and sepulchre, 
 Go, carry him! And sable victims bring, 
 In expiation, to his mournful shade. 
 So at the last on yonder Stygian groves, 
 And realms to things that breathe impassable, 
 Thine eye shall gaze.” So closed her lips inspired.

Aeneas then drew forth, with downcast eyes, 
 From that dark cavern, pondering in his heart 
 The riddle of his fate. His faithful friend 
 Achates at his side, with paces slow, 
 Companioned all his care, while their sad souls 
 Made mutual and oft-renewed surmise 
 What comrade dead, what cold and tombless clay, 
 The Sibyl's word would show. 
 
 But as they mused, 
 Behold Misenus on the dry sea-sands, 
 By hasty hand of death struck guiltless down! 
 A son of Aeolus, none better knew 
 To waken heroes by the clarion's call, 
 With war-enkindling sound. Great Hector's friend 
 In happier days, he oft at Hector's side 
 Strode to the fight with glittering lance and horn. 
 But when Achilles stripped his fallen foe, 
 This dauntless hero to Aeneas gave 
 Allegiance true, in not less noble cause. 
 But, on a day, he chanced beside the sea 
 To blow his shell-shaped horn, and wildly dared 
 Challenge the gods themselves to rival song; 
 Till jealous Triton, if the tale be true, 
 Grasped the rash mortal, and out-flung him far 
 'mid surf-beat rocks and waves of whirling foam. 
 Now from all sides, with tumult and loud cry, 
 The Trojans came,—Aeneas leading all 
 In faithful grief; they hasten to fulfil 
 The Sibyl's mandate, and with many a tear 
 Build, altar-wise, a pyre, of tree on tree 
 Heaped high as heaven : then they penetrate 
 The tall, old forest, where wild creatures bide, 
 And fell pitch-pines, or with resounding blows 
 Of axe and wedge, cleave oak and ash-tree through, 
 Or logs of rowan down the mountains roll.

Aeneas oversees and shares the toil, 
 Cheers on his mates, and swings a woodman's steel. 
 But, sad at heart with many a doubt and care, 
 O'erlooks the forest wide; then prays aloud : 
 “0, that the Golden Bough from this vast grove 
 Might o'er me shine! For, 0 Aeolides, 
 The oracle foretold thy fate, too well!” 
 Scarce had he spoken, when a pair of doves 
 Before his very eyes flew down from heaven 
 To the green turf below; the prince of Troy 
 
 Knew them his mother's birds, and joyful cried, 
 “0, guide me on, whatever path there be! 
 In airy travel through the woodland fly, 
 To where yon rare branch shades the blessed ground. 
 Fail thou not me, in this my doubtful hour, 
 0 heavenly mother!” So saying, his steps lie stayed, 
 Close watching whither they should signal give; 
 The lightly-feeding doves flit on and on, 
 Ever in easy ken of following eyes, 
 Till over foul Avernus' sulphurous throat 
 Swiftly they lift them through the liquid air, 
 In silent flight, and find a wished-for rest 
 On a twy-natured tree, where through green boughs 
 Flames forth the glowing gold's contrasted hue. 
 As in the wintry woodland bare and chill, 
 Fresh-budded shines the clinging mistletoe, 
 Whose seed is never from the parent tree 
 O'er whose round limbs its tawny tendrils twine,— 
 So shone th' out-leafing gold within the shade 
 Of dark holm-oak, and so its tinsel-bract 
 Rustled in each light breeze. Aeneas grasped 
 The lingering bough, broke it in eager haste, 
 And bore it straightway to the Sibyl's shrine.

Meanwhile the Trojans on the doleful shore 
 Bewailed Misenus, and brought tribute there 
 Of grief's last gift to his unheeding clay. 
 First, of the full-sapped pine and well-hewn oak 
 A lofty pyre they build; then sombre boughs 
 Around it wreathe, and in fair order range 
 Funereal cypress; glittering arms are piled 
 High over all; on blazing coals they lift 
 Cauldrons of brass brimmed o'er with waters pure; 
 And that cold, lifeless clay lave and anoint 
 With many a moan and cry; on their last couch 
 The poor, dead limbs they lay, and mantle o'er 
 With purple vesture and familiar pall. 
 Then in sad ministry the chosen few, 
 With eyes averted, as our sires did use, 
 Hold the enkindling torch beneath the pyre : 
 They gather up and burn the gifts of myrrh, 
 The sacred bread and bowls of flowing oil; 
 And when in flame the dying embers fall, 
 On thirsty ash they pour the streams of wine. 
 Good Corynaeus, in an urn of brass 
 The gathered relics hides; and three times round, 
 With blessed olive branch and sprinkling dew, 
 Purges the people with ablution cold, 
 In lustral rite; oft chanting, “Hail! Farewell!” 
 Faithful Aeneas for his comrade built 
 A mighty tomb, and dedicated there 
 Trophy of arms, with trumpet and with oar, 
 Beneath a windy hill, which now is called 
 “Misenus,”—for all time the name to bear.

After these toils, they hasten to fulfil 
 What else the Sibyl said. Straightway they find 
 A cave profound, of entrance gaping wide, 
 O'erhung with rock, in gloom of sheltering grove, 
 Near the dark waters of a lake, whereby 
 No bird might ever pass with scathless wing, 
 So dire an exhalation is breathed out 
 From that dark deep of death to upper air :— 
 Hence, in the Grecian tongue, Aornos called. 
 Here first four youthful bulls of swarthy hide 
 Were led for sacrifice; on each broad brow 
 The priestess sprinkled wine; 'twixt the two horns 
 Outplucked the lifted hair, and cast it forth 
 Upon the holy flames, beginning so 
 Her offerings; then loudly sued the power 
 of Hecate, a Queen in heaven and hell. 
 Some struck with knives, and caught in shallow bowls 
 The smoking blood. Aeneas' lifted hand 
 Smote with a sword a sable-fleeced ewe 
 To Night, the mother of th' Eumenides, 
 And Earth, her sister dread; next unto thee, 
 O Proserpine, a curst and barren cow; 
 Then unto Pluto, Stygian King, he built 
 An altar dark, and piled upon the flames 
 The ponderous entrails of the bulls, and poured 
 Free o'er the burning flesh the goodly oil. 
 Then lo! at dawn's dim, earliest beam began 
 Beneath their feet a groaning of the ground : 
 The wooded hill-tops shook, and, as it seemed, 
 She-hounds of hell howled viewless through the shade , 
 To hail their Queen. “Away, 0 souls profane! 
 Stand far away!” the priestess shrieked, “nor dare 
 Unto this grove come near! Aeneas, on! 
 Begin thy journey! Draw thy sheathed blade! 
 Now, all thy courage! now, th' unshaken soul!” 
 She spoke, and burst into the yawning cave 
 With frenzied step; he follows where she leads, 
 And strides with feet unfaltering at her side.

Ye gods! who rule the spirits of the dead! 
 Ye voiceless shades and silent lands of night! 
 0 Phlegethon! 0 Chaos! let my song, 
 If it be lawful, in fit words declare 
 What I have heard; and by your help divine 
 Unfold what hidden things enshrouded lie 
 In that dark underworld of sightless gloom.

They walked exploring the unpeopled night, 
 Through Pluto's vacuous realms, and regions void, 
 As when one's path in dreary woodlands winds 
 Beneath a misty moon's deceiving ray, 
 When Jove has mantled all his heaven in shade, 
 And night seals up the beauty of the world. 
 In the first courts and entrances of Hell 
 Sorrows and vengeful Cares on couches lie : 
 There sad Old Age abides, Diseases pale, 
 And Fear, and Hunger, temptress to all crime; 
 Want, base and vile, and, two dread shapes to see, 
 Bondage and Death : then Sleep, Death's next of kin; 
 And dreams of guilty joy. Death-dealing War 
 Is ever at the doors, and hard thereby 
 The Furies' beds of steel, where wild-eyed Strife 
 Her snaky hair with blood-stained fillet binds.

There in the middle court a shadowy elm 
 Its ancient branches spreads, and in its leaves 
 Deluding visions ever haunt and cling. 
 Then come strange prodigies of bestial kind : 
 Centaurs are stabled there, and double shapes 
 Like Scylla, or the dragon Lerna bred, 
 With hideous scream; Briareus clutching far 
 His hundred hands, Chimaera girt with flame, 
 A crowd of Gorgons, Harpies of foul wing, 
 And giant Geryon's triple-monstered shade. 
 Aeneas, shuddering with sudden fear, 
 Drew sword and fronted them with naked steel; 
 And, save his sage conductress bade him know 
 These were but shapes and shadows sweeping by, 
 His stroke had cloven in vain the vacant air.

Hence the way leads to that Tartarean stream 
 Of Acheron, whose torrent fierce and foul 
 Disgorges in Cocytus all its sands. 
 A ferryman of gruesome guise keeps ward 
 Upon these waters,—Charon, foully garbed, 
 With unkempt, thick gray beard upon his chin, 
 And staring eyes of flame; a mantle coarse, 
 All stained and knotted, from his shoulder falls, 
 As with a pole he guides his craft, tends sail, 
 And in the black boat ferries o'er his dead;— 
 Old, but a god's old age looks fresh and strong. 
 To those dim shores the multitude streams on— 
 Husbands and wives, and pale, unbreathing forms 
 Of high-souled heroes, boys and virgins fair, 
 And strong youth at whose graves fond parents mourned. 
 As numberless the throng as leaves that fall 
 When autumn's early frost is on the grove; 
 Or like vast flocks of birds by winter's chill 
 Sent flying o'er wide seas to lands of flowers. 
 All stood beseeching to begin their voyage 
 Across that river, and reached out pale hands, 
 In passionate yearning for its distant shore. 
 But the grim boatman takes now these, now those, 
 Or thrusts unpitying from the stream away. 
 Aeneas, moved to wonder and deep awe, 
 Beheld the tumult; “Virgin seer!” he cried, . 
 “Why move the thronging ghosts toward yonder stream? 
 What seek they there? Or what election holds 
 That these unwilling linger, while their peers 
 Sweep forward yonder o'er the leaden waves?” 
 To him, in few, the aged Sibyl spoke : 
 “Son of Anchises, offspring of the gods, 
 Yon are Cocytus and the Stygian stream, 
 By whose dread power the gods themselves do fear 
 To take an oath in vain. Here far and wide 
 Thou seest the hapless throng that hath no grave. 
 That boatman Charon bears across the deep 
 Such as be sepulchred with holy care. 
 But over that loud flood and dreadful shore 
 No trav'ler may be borne, until in peace 
 His gathered ashes rest. A hundred years 
 Round this dark borderland some haunt and roam, 
 Then win late passage o'er the longed-for wave.” 
 Aeneas lingered for a little space, 
 Revolving in his soul with pitying prayer 
 Fate's partial way. But presently he sees 
 Leucaspis and the Lycian navy's lord, 
 Orontes; both of melancholy brow, 
 Both hapless and unhonored after death, 
 Whom, while from Troy they crossed the wind-swept seas, 
 A whirling tempest wrecked with ship and crew.

There, too, the helmsman Palinurus strayed : 
 Who, as he whilom watched the Libyan stars, 
 Had fallen, plunging from his lofty seat 
 Into the billowy deep. Aeneas now 
 Discerned his sad face through the blinding gloom, 
 And hailed him thus : “0 Palinurus, tell 
 What god was he who ravished thee away 
 From me and mine, beneath the o'crwhelming wave? 
 Speak on! for he who ne'er had spoke untrue, 
 Apollo's self, did mock my listening mind, 
 And chanted me a faithful oracle 
 That thou shouldst ride the seas unharmed, and touch 
 Ausonian shores. Is this the pledge divine?” 
 Then he, “0 chieftain of Anchises' race, 
 Apollo's tripod told thee not untrue. 
 No god did thrust me down beneath the wave, 
 For that strong rudder unto which I clung, 
 My charge and duty, and my ship's sole guide, 
 Wrenched from its place, dropped with me as I fell. 
 Not for myself—by the rude seas I swear— 
 Did I have terror, but lest thy good ship, 
 Stripped of her gear, and her poor pilot lost, 
 Should fail and founder in that rising flood. 
 Three wintry nights across the boundless main 
 The south wind buffeted and bore me on; 
 At the fourth daybreak, lifted from the surge, 
 I looked at last on Italy , and swam 
 With weary stroke on stroke unto the land. 
 Safe was I then. Alas! but as I climbed 
 With garments wet and heavy, my clenched hand 
 Grasping the steep rock, came a cruel horde 
 Upon me with drawn blades, accounting me— 
 So blind they were!—a wrecker's prize and spoil. 
 Now are the waves my tomb; and wandering winds 
 Toss me along the coast. 0, I implore, 
 By heaven's sweet light, by yonder upper air, 
 By thy lost father, by lulus dear, 
 Thy rising hope and joy, that from these woes, 
 Unconquered chieftain, thou wilt set me free! 
 Give me a grave where Velia 's haven lies, 
 For thou hast power! Or if some path there be, 
 If thy celestial mother guide thee here 
 (For not, I ween, without the grace of gods 
 Wilt cross yon rivers vast, you Stygian pool) 
 Reach me a hand! and bear with thee along! 
 Until (least gift!) death bring me peace and calm.” 
 Such words he spoke: the priestess thus replied: 
 “Why, Palinurus, these unblest desires? 
 Wouldst thou, unsepulchred, behold the wave 
 Of Styx, stern river of th' Eumenides? 
 Wouldst thou, unbidden, tread its fearful strand? 
 Hope not by prayer to change the laws of Heaven! 
 But heed my words, and in thy memory 
 Cherish and keep, to cheer this evil time. 
 Lo, far and wide, led on by signs from Heaven, 
 Thy countrymen from many a templed town 
 Shall consecrate thy dust, and build thy tomb, 
 A tomb with annual feasts and votive flowers, 
 To Palinurus a perpetual fame!” 
 Thus was his anguish stayed, from his sad heart 
 Grief ebbed awhile, and even to this day, 
 Our land is glad such noble name to wear.

The twain continue now their destined way 
 Unto the river's edge. The Ferryman, 
 Who watched them through still groves approach his shore, 
 Hailed them, at distance, from the Stygian wave, 
 And with reproachful summons thus began: 
 “Whoe'er thou art that in this warrior guise 
 Unto my river comest,—quickly tell 
 Thine errand! Stay thee where thou standest now! 
 This is ghosts' land, for sleep and slumbrous dark. 
 That flesh and blood my Stygian ship should bear 
 Were lawless wrong. Unwillingly I took 
 Alcides, Theseus, and Pirithous, 
 Though sons of gods, too mighty to be quelled. 
 One bound in chains yon warder of Hell's door, 
 And dragged him trembling from our monarch's throne: 
 The others, impious, would steal away 
 Out of her bride-bed Pluto's ravished Queen.” 
 Briefly th' Amphrysian priestess made reply: 
 “Not ours, such guile: Fear not! This warrior's arms 
 Are innocent. Let Cerberus from his cave 
 Bay ceaselessly, the bloodless shades to scare; 
 Let Proserpine immaculately keep 
 The house and honor of her kinsman King. 
 Trojan Aeneas, famed for faithful prayer 
 And victory in arms, descends to seek 
 His father in this gloomy deep of death. 
 If loyal goodness move not such as thee, 
 This branch at least” (she drew it from her breast) 
 “Thou knowest well.” 
 Then cooled his wrathful heart; 
 With silent lips he looked and wondering eyes 
 Upon that fateful, venerable wand, 
 Seen only once an age. Shoreward he turned, 
 And pushed their way his boat of leaden hue. 
 The rows of crouching ghosts along the thwarts 
 He scattered, cleared a passage, and gave room 
 To great Aeneas. The light shallop groaned 
 Beneath his weight, and, straining at each seam, 
 Took in the foul flood with unstinted flow. 
 At last the hero and his priestess-guide 
 Came safe across the river, and were moored 
 'mid sea-green sedges in the formless mire.

Here Cerberus, with triple-throated roar, 
 Made all the region ring, as there he lay 
 At vast length in his cave. The Sibyl then, 
 Seeing the serpents writhe around his neck, 
 Threw down a loaf with honeyed herbs imbued 
 And drowsy essences: he, ravenous, 
 Gaped wide his three fierce mouths and snatched the bait, 
 Crouched with his large backs loose upon the ground, 
 And filled his cavern floor from end to end. 
 Aeneas through hell's portal moved, while sleep 
 Its warder buried; then he fled that shore 
 Of Stygian stream, whence travellers ne'er return.

Now hears he sobs, and piteous, lisping cries 
 Of souls of babes upon the threshold plaining; 
 Whom, ere they took their portion of sweet life, 
 Dark Fate from nursing bosoms tore, and plunged 
 In bitterness of death. Nor far from these, 
 The throng of dead by unjust judgment slain. 
 Not without judge or law these realms abide: 
 Wise Minos there the urn of justice moves, 
 And holds assembly of the silent shades, 
 Hearing the stories of their lives and deeds. 
 Close on this place those doleful ghosts abide, 
 Who, not for crime, but loathing life and light 
 With their own hands took death, and cast away 
 The vital essence. Willingly, alas! 
 They now would suffer need, or burdens bear, 
 If only life were given! But Fate forbids. 
 Around them winds the sad, unlovely wave 
 Of Styx: nine times it coils and interflows. 
 Not far from hence, on every side outspread, 
 The Fields of Sorrow lie,—such name they bear; 
 Here all whom ruthless love did waste away 
 Wander in paths unseen, or in the gloom 
 Of dark myrtle grove: not even in death 
 Have they forgot their griefs of long ago. 
 Here impious Phaedra and poor Procris bide; 
 Lorn Eriphyle bares the vengeful wounds 
 Her own son's dagger made; Evadne here, 
 And foul 
 Pasiphae 
 Pasiphaë 
 are seen; hard by, 
 Laodamia, nobly fond and fair; 
 And Caeneus, not a boy, but maiden now, 
 By Fate remoulded to her native seeming. 
 Here Tyrian Dido, too, her wound unhealed, 
 Roamed through a mighty wood. The Trojan's eyes 
 Beheld her near him through the murky gloom, 
 As when, in her young month and crescent pale, 
 One sees th' o'er-clouded moon, or thinks he sees. 
 Down dropped his tears, and thus he fondly spoke: 
 “0 suffering Dido! Were those tidings true 
 That thou didst fling thee on the fatal steel? 
 Thy death, ah me! I dealt it. But I swear 
 By stars above us, by the powers in Heaven, 
 Or whatsoever oath ye dead believe, 
 That not by choice I fled thy shores, 0 Queen! 
 Divine decrees compelled me, even as now 
 Among these ghosts I pass, and thread my way 
 Along this gulf of night and loathsome land. 
 How could I deem my cruel taking leave 
 Would bring thee at the last to all this woe? 
 0, stay! Why shun me? Wherefore haste away? 
 Our last farewell! Our doom! I speak it now!” 
 Thus, though she glared with fierce, relentless gaze, 
 Aaeneas, with fond words and tearful plea, 
 Would soothe her angry soul. But on the ground 
 She fixed averted eyes. For all he spoke 
 Moved her no more than if her frowning brow 
 Were changeless flint or carved in Parian stone. 
 Then, after pause, away in wrath she fled, 
 And refuge took within the cool, dark grove, 
 Where her first spouse, Sichaeus, with her tears 
 Mingled his own in mutual love and true. 
 Aeneas, none the less, her guiltless woe 
 With anguish knew, watched with dimmed eyes her way, 
 And pitied from afar the fallen Queen.

But now his destined way he must be gone; 
 Now the last regions round the travellers lie, 
 Where famous warriors in the darkness dwell: 
 Here Tydeus comes in view, with far-renowned 
 Parthenopaeus and Adrastus pale; 
 Here mourned in upper air with many a moan, 
 In battle fallen, the Dardanidae, 
 Whose long defile Aeneas groans to see: 
 Glaucus and Medon and Thersilochus, 
 Antenor's children three, and Ceres' priest, 
 That Polypoetes, and Idaeus still. 
 Keeping the kingly chariot and spear. 
 Around him left and right the crowding shades 
 Not only once would see, but clutch and cling 
 Obstructive, asking on what quest he goes. 
 Soon as the princes of Argolic blood, 
 With line on line of Agamemnon's men, 
 Beheld the hero and his glittering arms 
 Flash through the dark, they trembled with amaze, 
 Or turned in flight, as if once more they fled 
 To shelter of the ships; some raised aloft 
 A feeble shout, or vainly opened wide 
 Their gaping lips in mockery of sound.

Here Priam's son, with body rent and torn, 
 
 
 Deiphobus 
 Deïphobus 
 is seen,—his mangled face, 
 His face and bloody hands, his wounded head 
 Of ears and nostrils infamously shorn. 
 Scarce could Aeneas know the shuddering shade 
 That strove to hide its face and shameful scar; 
 But, speaking first, he said, in their own tongue: 
 “Deiphobus, strong warrior, nobly born 
 Of Teucer's royal stem, what ruthless foe 
 Could wish to wreak on thee this dire revenge? 
 Who ventured, unopposed, so vast a wrong? 
 The rumor reached me how, that deadly night, 
 Wearied with slaying Greeks, thyself didst fall 
 Prone on a mingled heap of friends and foes. 
 Then my own hands did for thy honor build 
 An empty tomb upon the Trojan shore, 
 And thrice with echoing voice I called thy shade. 
 Thy name and arms are there. But, 0 my friend, 
 Thee could I nowhere find, but launched away, 
 Nor o'er thy bones their native earth could fling.” 
 To him the son of Priam thus replied: 
 “Nay, friend, no hallowed rite was left undone, 
 But every debt to death and pity due 
 The shades of thy Deiphobus received. 
 My fate it was, and Helen's murderous wrong, 
 Wrought me this woe; of her these tokens tell. 
 For how that last night in false hope we passed, 
 Thou knowest,—ah, too well we both recall! 
 When up the steep of Troy the fateful horse 
 Came climbing, pregnant with fierce men-at-arms, 
 't was she, accurst, who led the Phrygian dames 
 In choric dance and false bacchantic song, 
 And, waving from the midst a lofty brand, 
 Signalled the Greeks from Ilium 's central tower 
 In that same hour on my sad couch I lay, 
 Exhausted by long care and sunk in sleep, 
 That sweet, deep sleep, so close to tranquil death. 
 But my illustrious bride from all the house 
 Had stolen all arms; from 'neath my pillowed head 
 She stealthily bore off my trusty sword; 
 Then loud on Menelaus did she call, 
 And with her own false hand unbarred the door; 
 Such gift to her fond lord she fain would send 
 To blot the memory of his ancient wrong! 
 Why tell the tale, how on my couch they broke, 
 While their accomplice, vile Aeolides, 
 Counselled to many a crime. 0 heavenly Powers! 
 Reward these Greeks their deeds of wickedness, 
 If with clean lips upon your wrath I call! 
 But, friend, what fortunes have thy life befallen? 
 Tell point by point. Did waves of wandering seas 
 Drive thee this way, or some divine command? 
 What chastisement of fortune thrusts thee on 
 Toward this forlorn abode of night and cloud?”

While thus they talked, the crimsoned car of Morn 
 Had wheeled beyond the midmost point of heaven, 
 On her ethereal road. The princely pair 
 Had wasted thus the whole brief gift of hours; 
 But Sibyl spoke the warning: “Night speeds by, 
 And we, Aeneas, lose it in lamenting. 
 Here comes the place where cleaves our way in twain. 
 Thy road, the right, toward Pluto's dwelling goes, 
 And leads us to Elysium. But the left 
 Speeds sinful souls to doom, and is their path 
 To Tartarus th' accurst.” 
 Deiphobus 
 Deïphobus 
 
 
 Cried out: “0 priestess, be not wroth with us! 
 Back to the ranks with yonder ghosts I go. 
 0 glory of my race, pass on! Thy lot 
 Be happier than mine!” He spoke, and fled.

Aeneas straightway by the leftward cliff 
 Beheld a spreading rampart, high begirt 
 With triple wall, and circling round it ran 
 A raging river of swift floods of flame, 
 Infernal Phlegethon, which whirls along 
 Loud-thundering rocks. A mighty gate is there 
 Columned in adamant; no human power, 
 Nor even the gods, against this gate prevail. 
 Tall tower of steel it has; and seated there 
 Tisiphone, in blood-flecked pall arrayed, 
 Sleepless forever, guards the entering way. 
 Hence groans are heard, fierce cracks of lash and scourge, 
 Loud-clanking iron links and trailing chains. 
 Aeneas motionless with horror stood 
 o'erwhelmed at such uproar. “0 virgin, say 
 What shapes of guilt are these? What penal woe 
 Harries them thus? What wailing smites the air?” 
 To whom the Sibyl, “Far-famed prince of Troy , 
 The feet of innocence may never pass 
 Into this house of sin. But Hecate, 
 When o'er th' Avernian groves she gave me power, 
 Taught me what penalties the gods decree, 
 And showed me all. There Cretan Rhadamanth 
 His kingdom keeps, and from unpitying throne 
 Chastises and lays bare the secret sins 
 Of mortals who, exulting in vain guile, 
 Elude till death, their expiation due. 
 There, armed forever with her vengeful scourge, 
 Tisiphone, with menace and affront, 
 The guilty swarm pursues; in her left hand 
 She lifts her angered serpents, while she calls 
 A troop of sister-furies fierce as she. 
 Then, grating loud on hinge of sickening sound, 
 Hell's portals open wide. 0, dost thou see 
 What sentinel upon that threshold sits, 
 What shapes of fear keep guard upon that gloom?

Far, far within the dragon Hydra broods 
 With half a hundred mouths, gaping and black; 
 And Tartarus slopes downward to the dark 
 Twice the whole space that in the realms of light 
 Th' Olympian heaven above our earth aspires. — 
 Here Earth's first offspring, the Titanic brood, 
 Roll lightning-blasted in the gulf profound; 
 The twin 
 Aloidae 
 Aloïdae 
 , colossal shades, 
 Came on my view; their hands made stroke at Heaven 
 And strove to thrust Jove from his seat on high. 
 I saw Salmoneus his dread stripes endure, 
 Who dared to counterfeit Olympian thunder 
 And Jove's own fire. In chariot of four steeds, 
 Brandishing torches, he triumphant rode 
 Through throngs of Greeks, o'er Elis ' sacred way, 
 Demanding worship as a god. 0 fool! 
 To mock the storm's inimitable flash— 
 With crash of hoofs and roll of brazen wheel! 
 But mightiest Jove from rampart of thick cloud 
 Hurled his own shaft, no flickering, mortal flame, 
 And in vast whirl of tempest laid him low. 
 Next unto these, on Tityos I looked, 
 Child of old Earth, whose womb all creatures bears: 
 Stretched o'er nine roods he lies; a vulture huge 
 Tears with hooked beak at his immortal side, 
 Or deep in entrails ever rife with pain 
 Gropes for a feast, making his haunt and home 
 In the great Titan bosom; nor will give 
 To ever new-born flesh surcease of woe. 
 Why name Ixion and Pirithous, 
 The Lapithae, above whose impious brows 
 A crag of flint hangs quaking to its fall, 
 As if just toppling down, while couches proud, 
 Propped upon golden pillars, bid them feast 
 In royal glory: but beside them lies 
 The eldest of the Furies, whose dread hands 
 Thrust from the feast away, and wave aloft 
 A flashing firebrand, with shrieks of woe. 
 Here in a prison-house awaiting doom 
 Are men who hated, long as life endured, 
 Their brothers, or maltreated their gray sires, 
 Or tricked a humble friend; the men who grasped 
 At hoarded riches, with their kith and kin 
 Not sharing ever—an unnumbered throng; 
 Here slain adulterers be; and men who dared 
 To fight in unjust cause, and break all faith 
 With their own lawful lords. Seek not to know 
 What forms of woe they feel, what fateful shape 
 Of retribution hath o'erwhelmed them there. 
 Some roll huge boulders up; some hang on wheels, 
 Lashed to the whirling spokes; in his sad seat 
 Theseus is sitting, nevermore to rise; 
 Unhappy Phlegyas uplifts his voice 
 In warning through the darkness, calling loud, 
 ‘0, ere too late, learn justice and fear God!’ 
 Yon traitor sold his country, and for gold 
 Enchained her to a tyrant, trafficking 
 In laws, for bribes enacted or made void; 
 Another did incestuously take 
 His daughter for a wife in lawless bonds. 
 All ventured some unclean, prodigious crime; 
 And what they dared, achieved. I could not tell, 
 Not with a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, 
 Or iron voice, their divers shapes of sin, 
 Nor call by name the myriad pangs they bear.”

So spake Apollo's aged prophetess. 
 “Now up and on!” she cried. “Thy task fulfil! 
 We must make speed. Behold yon arching doors 
 Yon walls in furnace of the Cyclops forged! 
 'T is there we are commanded to lay down 
 Th' appointed offering.” So, side by side, 
 Swift through the intervening dark they strode, 
 And, drawing near the portal-arch, made pause. 
 Aeneas, taking station at the door, 
 Pure, lustral waters o'er his body threw, 
 And hung for garland there the Golden Bough.

Now, every rite fulfilled, and tribute due 
 Paid to the sovereign power of Proserpine, 
 At last within a land delectable 
 Their journey lay, through pleasurable bowers 
 Of groves where all is joy,—a blest abode! 
 An ampler sky its roseate light bestows 
 On that bright land, which sees the cloudless beam 
 Of suns and planets to our earth unknown. 
 On smooth green lawns, contending limb with limb, 
 Immortal athletes play, and wrestle long 
 'gainst mate or rival on the tawny sand; 
 With sounding footsteps and ecstatic song, 
 Some thread the dance divine: among them moves 
 The bard of Thrace , in flowing vesture clad, 
 Discoursing seven-noted melody, 
 Who sweeps the numbered strings with changeful hand, 
 Or smites with ivory point his golden lyre. 
 Here Trojans be of eldest, noblest race, 
 Great-hearted heroes, born in happier times, 
 Ilus, Assaracus, and Dardanus, 
 Illustrious builders of the Trojan town. 
 Their arms and shadowy chariots he views, 
 And lances fixed in earth, while through the fields 
 Their steeds without a bridle graze at will. 
 For if in life their darling passion ran 
 To chariots, arms, or glossy-coated steeds, 
 The self-same joy, though in their graves, they feel. 
 Lo! on the left and right at feast reclined 
 Are other blessed souls, whose chorus sings 
 Victorious paeans on the fragrant air 
 Of laurel groves; and hence to earth outpours 
 Eridanus, through forests rolling free. 
 Here dwell the brave who for their native land 
 Fell wounded on the field; here holy priests 
 Who kept them undefiled their mortal day; 
 And poets, of whom the true-inspired song 
 Deserved Apollo's name; and all who found 
 New arts, to make man's life more blest or fair; 
 Yea! here dwell all those dead whose deeds bequeath 
 Deserved and grateful memory to their kind. 
 And each bright brow a snow-white fillet wears. 
 Unto this host the Sibyl turned, and hailed 
 Musaeus, midmost of a numerous throng, 
 Who towered o'er his peers a shoulder higher: 
 “0 spirits blest! 0 venerable bard! 
 Declare what dwelling or what region holds 
 Anchises, for whose sake we twain essayed 
 Yon passage over the wide streams of hell.” 
 And briefly thus the hero made reply: 
 “No fixed abode is ours. In shadowy groves 
 We make our home, or meadows fresh and fair, 
 With streams whose flowery banks our couches be. 
 But you, if thitherward your wishes turn, 
 Climb yonder hill, where I your path may show.” 
 So saying, he strode forth and led them on, 
 Till from that vantage they had prospect fair 
 Of a wide, shining land; thence wending down, 
 They left the height they trod; for far below 
 Father Anchises in a pleasant vale 
 Stood pondering, while his eyes and thought surveyed 
 A host of prisoned spirits, who there abode 
 Awaiting entrance to terrestrial air. 
 And musing he reviewed the legions bright 
 Of his own progeny and offspring proud— 
 Their fates and fortunes, virtues and great deeds. 
 Soon he discerned Aeneas drawing nigh 
 o'er the green slope, and, lifting both his hands 
 In eager welcome, spread them swiftly forth. 
 Tears from his eyelids rained, and thus he spoke: 
 “Art here at last? Hath thy well-proven love 
 Of me thy sire achieved yon arduous way? 
 Will Heaven, beloved son, once more allow 
 That eye to eye we look? and shall I hear 
 Thy kindred accent mingling with my own? 
 I cherished long this hope. My prophet-soul 
 Numbered the lapse of days, nor did my thought 
 Deceive. 0, o'er what lands and seas wast driven 
 To this embrace! What perils manifold 
 Assailed thee, 0 my son, on every side! 
 How long I trembled, lest that Libyan throne 
 Should work thee woe!” 
 Aeneas thus replied: 
 “Thine image, sire, thy melancholy shade, 
 Came oft upon my vision, and impelled 
 My journey hitherward. Our fleet of ships 
 Lies safe at anchor in the Tuscan seas. 
 Come, clasp my hand! Come, father, I implore, 
 And heart to heart this fond embrace receive!” 
 So speaking, all his eyes suffused with tears; 
 Thrice would his arms in vain that shape enfold. 
 Thrice from the touch of hand the vision fled, 
 Like wafted winds or likest hovering dreams.

After these things Aeneas was aware 
 Of solemn groves in one deep, distant vale, 
 Where trees were whispering, and forever flowed 
 The river Lethe, through its land of calm. 
 Nations unnumbered roved and haunted there: 
 As when, upon a windless summer morn, 
 The bees afield among the rainbow flowers 
 Alight and sip, or round the lilies pure 
 Pour forth in busy swarm, while far diffused 
 Their murmured songs from all the meadows rise. 
 Aeneas in amaze the wonder views, 
 And fearfully inquires of whence and why; 
 What yonder rivers be; what people press, 
 Line after line, on those dim shores along. 
 Said Sire Anchises: “Yonder thronging souls 
 To reincarnate shape predestined move. 
 Here, at the river Lethe's wave, they quaff 
 Care-quelling floods, and long oblivion. 
 Of these I shall discourse, and to thy soul 
 Make visible the number and array 
 Of my posterity; so shall thy heart 
 In Italy , thy new-found home, rejoice.” 
 “0 father,” said Aeneas, “must I deem 
 That from this region souls exalted rise 
 To upper air, and shall once more return 
 To cumbering flesh? 0, wherefore do they feel, 
 Unhappy ones, such fatal lust to live?” 
 “I speak, my son, nor make thee longer doubt,” 
 Anchises said, and thus the truth set forth, 
 In ordered words from point to point unfolding:

“Know first that heaven and earth and ocean's plain, 
 The moon's bright orb, and stars of Titan birth 
 Are nourished by one Life; one primal Mind, 
 Immingled with the vast and general frame, 
 Fills every part and stirs the mighty whole. 
 Thence man and beast, thence creatures of the air, 
 And all the swarming monsters that be found 
 Beneath the level of the marbled sea; 
 A fiery virtue, a celestial power, 
 Their native seeds retain; but bodies vile, 
 With limbs of clay and members born to die, 
 Encumber and o'ercloud; whence also spring 
 Terrors and passions, suffering and joy; 
 For from deep darkness and captivity 
 All gaze but blindly on the radiant world. 
 Nor when to life's last beam they bid farewell 
 May sufferers cease from pain, nor quite be freed 
 From all their fleshly plagues; but by fixed law, 
 The strange, inveterate taint works deeply in. 
 For this, the chastisement of evils past 
 Is suffered here, and full requital paid. 
 Some hang on high, outstretched to viewless winds; 
 For some their sin's contagion must be purged 
 In vast ablution of deep-rolling seas, 
 Or burned away in fire. Each man receives 
 His ghostly portion in the world of dark; 
 But thence to realms Elysian we go free, 
 Where for a few these seats of bliss abide, 
 Till time's long lapse a perfect orb fulfils, 
 And takes all taint away, restoring so 
 The pure, ethereal soul's first virgin fire. 
 At last, when the millennial aeon strikes, 
 God calls them forth to yon Lethaean stream, 
 In numerous host, that thence, oblivious all, 
 They may behold once more the vaulted sky, 
 And willingly to shapes of flesh return.”

So spoke Anchises; then led forth his son, 
 The Sibyl with him, to the assembled shades 
 (A voiceful throng), and on a lofty mound 
 His station took, whence plainly could be seen 
 The long procession, and each face descried.

“Hark now! for of the glories I will tell 
 That wait our Dardan blood; of our sons' sons 
 Begot upon the old Italian breed, 
 Who shall be mighty spirits, and prolong 
 Our names, their heritage. I will unfold 
 The story, and reveal the destined years. 
 Yon princeling, thou beholdest leaning there 
 Upon a royal lance, shall next emerge 
 Into the realms of day. He is the first 
 Of half-Italian strain, the last-born heir 
 To thine old age by fair Lavinia given, 
 Called Silvius, a royal Alban name 
 (Of sylvan birth and sylvan nurture he), 
 A king himself and sire of kings to come, 
 By whom our race in Alba Longa reign. 
 Next Procas stands, our Trojan people's boast; 
 Capys and Numitor, and, named like thee, 
 Aeneas Sylvius, like thee renowned 
 For faithful honor and for deeds of war, 
 When he ascends at last his Alban throne. 
 Behold what warrior youth they be! How strong 
 Their goodly limbs! Above their shaded brows 
 The civic oak they wear! For thee they build 
 Nomentum, and the walls of Gabii , 
 Fidena too, and on the mountains pile 
 Collatia's citadels, Pometii, 
 Bola and Cora , Castrum-Inui— 
 Such be the names the nameless lands shall bear. 
 See, in that line of sires the son of Mars, 
 Great Romulus, of Ilian mother born, 
 From far-descended line of Trojan kings! 
 See from his helm the double crest uprear, 
 While his celestial father in his mien 
 Shows forth his birth divine! Of him, my son, 
 Great Rome shall rise, and, favored of his star, 
 Have power world-wide, and men of godlike mind. 
 She clasps her seven hills in single wall, 
 Proud mother of the brave! So Cybele, 
 The Berecynthian goddess, castle-crowned, 
 On through the Phrygian kingdoms speeds her car, 
 Exulting in her hundred sons divine, 
 All numbered with the gods, all throned on high. 
 “Let now thy visionary glance look long 
 On this thy race, these Romans that be thine. 
 Here Caesar, of Iulus' glorious seed, 
 Behold ascending to the world of light! 
 Behold, at last, that man, for this is he, 
 So oft unto thy listening ears foretold, 
 Augustus Caesar, kindred unto Jove. 
 He brings a golden age; he shall restore 
 Old Saturn's sceptre to our Latin land, 
 And o'er remotest Garamant and Ind 
 His sway extend; the fair dominion 
 outruns th' horizon planets, yea, beyond 
 The sun's bright path, where Atlas' shoulder bears 
 Yon dome of heaven set thick with burning stars. 
 Against his coming the far Caspian shores 
 Break forth in oracles; the Maeotian land 
 Trembles, and all the seven-fold mouths of Nile .

Not o'er domain so wide Alcides passed, 
 Although the brazen-footed doe he slew 
 And stilled the groves of Erymanth, and bade 
 The beast of Lerna at his arrows quail. 
 Nor half so far triumphant Baechus drove, 
 With vine-entwisted reins, his frolic team 
 Of tigers from the tall-topped Indian hill. 
 “Still do we doubt if heroes' deeds can fill 
 A realm so wide? Shall craven fear constrain 
 Thee or thy people from Ausonia's shore? 
 Look, who is he I may discern from far 
 By olive-branch and holy emblems known? 
 His flowing locks and hoary beard, behold! 
 Fit for a Roman king! By hallowed laws 
 He shall found Rome anew—from mean estate 
 In lowly Cures led to mightier sway. 
 But after him arises one whose reign 
 Shall wake the land from slumber: Tullus then 
 Shall stir slack chiefs to battle, rallying 
 His hosts which had forgot what triumphs be. 
 Him boastful Ancus follows hard upon, 
 o'erflushed with his light people's windy praise. 
 Wilt thou see Tarquins now? And haughty hand 
 Of vengeful Brutus seize the signs of power? 
 He first the consul's name shall take; he first 
 Th' inexorable fasces sternly bear. 
 When his own sons in rash rebellion join, 
 The father and the judge shall sentence give 
 In beauteous freedom's cause—unhappy he! 
 Howe'er the age to come the story tell, 
 't will bless such love of honor and of Rome . 
 See Decius, sire and son, the Drusi, see! 
 Behold Torquatus with his axe! Look where 
 Camillus brings the Gallic standards home! 
 “But who are these in glorious armor clad 
 And equal power? In this dark world of cloud 
 Their souls in concord move;—but woe is me! 
 What duel 'twixt them breaks, when by and by 
 The light of life is theirs, and forth they call 
 Their long-embattled lines to carnage dire! 
 Allied by nuptial truce, the sire descends 
 From Alpine rampart and that castled cliff, 
 
 Monoecus by the sea; the son arrays 
 His hostile legions in the lands of morn. 
 Forbear, my children! School not your great souls 
 In such vast wars, nor turn your giant strength 
 Against the bowels of your native land! 
 But be thou first, 0 first in mercy! thou 
 Who art of birth Olympian! Fling away 
 Thy glorious sword, mine offspring and mine heir! 
 “Yonder is one whose chariot shall ascend 
 The laurelled Capitolian steep; he rides 
 In glory o'er Achaea 's hosts laid low, 
 And Corinth overthrown. There, too, is he 
 Who shall uproot proud Argos and the towers 
 Of Agamemnon; vanquishing the heir 
 Even of Aeacus, the warrior seed 
 Of Peleus' son; such vengeance shall be wrought 
 For Troy 's slain sires, and violated shrines! 
 “Or who could fail great Cato's name to tell? 
 Or, Cossus, thine? or in oblivion leave 
 The sons of Gracchus? or the Scipios, 
 Twin thunderbolts of war, and Libya 's bane? 
 Or, more than kingly in his mean abode, 
 Fabricius? or Serranus at the plough? 
 Ye Fabii, how far would ye prolong 
 My weary praise? But see! 'T is Maximus, 
 Who by wise waiting saves his native land. 
 “Let others melt and mould the breathing bronze 
 To forms more fair,—aye! out of marble bring 
 Features that live; let them plead causes well; 
 Or trace with pointed wand the cycled heaven, 
 And hail the constellations as they rise; 
 But thou, 0 Roman, learn with sovereign sway 
 To rule the nations. Thy great art shall be 
 To keep the world in lasting peace, to spare 
 humbled foe, and crush to earth the proud.”

So did Anchises speak, then, after pause, 
 Thus to their wondering ears his word prolonged: 
 “Behold Marcellus, bright with glorious spoil, 
 In lifted triumph through his warriors move! 
 The Roman power in tumultuous days 
 He shall establish; he rides forth to quell 
 Afric and rebel Gaul ; and to the shrine 
 Of Romulus the third-won trophy brings.” 
 Then spoke Aeneas, for he now could see 
 A beauteous youth in glittering dress of war, 
 Though of sad forehead and down-dropping eyes: 
 “Say, father, who attends the prince? a son? 
 Or of his greatness some remoter heir? 
 How his friends praise him, and how matchless he! 
 But mournful night Tests darkly o'er his brow.” 
 With brimming eyes Anchises answer gave: 
 “Ask not, 0 son, what heavy weight of woe 
 Thy race shall bear, when fate shall just reveal 
 This vision to the world, then yield no more. 
 0 gods above, too glorious did ye deem 
 The seed of Rome , had this one gift been sure? 
 The lamentation of a multitude 
 Arises from the field of Mars, and strikes 
 The city's heart. 0 Father Tiber, see 
 What pomp of sorrow near the new-made tomb 
 Beside thy fleeting stream! What Ilian youth 
 Shall e'er his Latin kindred so advance 
 In hope of glory? When shall the proud land 
 Of Romulus of such a nursling boast? 
 Ah, woe' is me! 0 loyal heart and true! 
 0 brave, right arm invincible! What foe 
 Had 'scaped his onset in the shock of arms, 
 Whether on foot he strode, or if he spurred 
 The hot flanks of his war-horse flecked with foam? 
 0 lost, lamented child! If thou evade 
 Thy evil star, Marcellus thou shalt be. 
 0 bring me lilies! Bring with liberal hand! 
 Sad purple blossoms let me throw—the shade 
 Of my own kin to honor, heaping high 
 My gifts upon his grave! So let me pay 
 An unavailing vow!” 
 Then, far and wide 
 Through spacious fields of air, they wander free, 
 Witnessing all; Anchises guides his son 
 From point to point, and quickens in his mind 
 Hunger for future fame. Of wars he tells 
 Soon imminent; of fair Laurentum's tribes; 
 Of King Latinus' town; and shows what way 
 Each task and hardship to prevent, or bear.

Now Sleep has portals twain, whereof the one 
 Is horn, they say, and easy exit gives 
 To visions true; the other, gleaming white 
 With polished ivory, the.dead employ 
 To people night with unsubstantial dreams. 
 Here now Anchises bids his son farewell; 
 And with Sibylla, his companion sage, 
 Up through that ivory portal lets him rise. 
 Back to his fleet and his dear comrades all 
 Aeneas hastes. Then hold they their straight course 
 Into Caieta 's bay. An anchor holds 
 Each lofty prow; the sterns stand firm on shore.

One more immortal name thy death bequeathed, 
 Nurse of Aeneas, to Italian shores, 
 
 Caieta ; there thy honor hath a home; 
 Thy bones a name: and on Hesperia's breast 
 Their proper glory. When Aeneas now 
 The tribute of sepulchral vows had paid 
 Beside the funeral mound, and o'er the seas 
 Stillness had fallen, he flung forth his sails, 
 And leaving port pursued his destined way. 
 Freshly the night-winds breathe; the cloudless moon 
 Outpours upon his path unstinted beam, 
 And with far-trembling glory smites the sea. 
 Close to the lands of Circe soon they fare, 
 Where the Sun's golden daughter in far groves 
 Sounds forth her ceaseless song; her lofty hall 
 Is fragrant every night with flaring brands 
 Of cedar, giving light the while she weaves 
 With shrill-voiced shuttle at her linens fine. 
 From hence are heard the loud lament and wrath 
 Of lions, rebels to their linked chains 
 And roaring all night long; great bristly boars 
 And herded bears, in pinfold closely kept, 
 Rage horribly, and monster-wolves make moan; 
 Whom the dread goddess with foul juices strong 
 From forms of men drove forth, and bade to wear 
 the mouths and maws of beasts in Circe's thrall. 
 But lest the sacred Trojans should endure 
 such prodigy of doom, or anchor there 
 on that destroying shore, kind Neptune filled 
 their sails with winds of power, and sped them on 
 in safety past the perils of that sea.

Now morning flushed the wave, and saffron-garbed 
 Aurora from her rose-red chariot beamed 
 in highest heaven; the sea-winds ceased to stir; 
 a sudden calm possessed the air, and tides 
 of marble smoothness met the laboring oar. 
 Then, gazing from the deep, Aeneas saw 
 a stretch of groves, whence Tiber 's smiling stream, 
 its tumbling current rich with yellow sands, 
 burst seaward forth: around it and above 
 shore-haunting birds of varied voice and plume 
 flattered the sky with song, and, circling far 
 o'er river-bed and grove, took joyful wing. 
 Thither to landward now his ships he steered, 
 and sailed, high-hearted, up the shadowy stream.

Hail, Erato! while olden kings and thrones 
 and all their sequent story I unfold! 
 How Latium 's honor stood, when alien ships 
 brought war to Italy , and from what cause 
 the primal conflict sprang, O goddess, breathe 
 upon thy bard in song. Dread wars I tell, 
 array of battle, and high-hearted kings 
 thrust forth to perish, when Etruria's host 
 and all Hesperia gathered to the fray. 
 Events of grander march impel my song, 
 and loftier task I try. Latinus, then 
 an aged king, held long-accepted sway 
 o'er tranquil vales and towns. He was the son 
 of Faunus, so the legend tells, who wed 
 the nymph Marica of Laurentian stem. 
 Picus was Faunus' father, whence the line 
 to Saturn's Ioins ascends. O heavenly sire, 
 from thee the stem began! But Fate had given 
 to King Latinus' body no heirs male: 
 for taken in the dawning of his day 
 his only son had been; and now his home 
 and spacious palace one sole daughter kept, 
 who was grown ripe to wed and of full age 
 to take a husband. Many suitors tried 
 from all Ausonia and Latium 's bounds; 
 but comeliest in all their princely throng 
 came Turnus, of a line of mighty sires. 
 Him the queen mother chiefly loved, and yearned 
 to call him soon her son. But omens dire 
 and menaces from Heaven withstood her will. 
 A laurel-tree grew in the royal close, 
 of sacred leaf and venerated age, 
 which, when he builded there his wall and tower, 
 Father Latinus found, and hallowed it 
 to Phoebus' grace and power, wherefrom the name 
 Laurentian, which his realm and people bear. 
 Unto this tree-top, wonderful to tell, 
 came hosts of bees, with audible acclaim 
 voyaging the stream of air, and seized a place 
 on the proud, pointing crest, where the swift swarm, 
 with interlacement of close-clinging feet, 
 swung from the leafy bough. “Behold, there comes,” 
 the prophet cried, “a husband from afar! 
 To the same region by the self-same path 
 behold an arm'd host taking lordly sway 
 upon our city's crown!” Soon after this, 
 when, coming to the shrine with torches pure, 
 Lavinia kindled at her father's side 
 the sacrifice, swift seemed the flame to burn 
 along her flowing hair—O sight of woe! 
 Over her broidered snood it sparkling flew, 
 lighting her queenly tresses and her crown 
 of jewels rare: then, wrapt in flaming cloud, 
 from hall to hall the fire-god's gift she flung. 
 This omen dread and wonder terrible 
 was rumored far: for prophet-voices told 
 bright honors on the virgin's head to fall 
 by Fate's decree, but on her people, war.

The King, sore troubled by these portents, sought 
 oracular wisdom of his sacred sire, 
 Faunus, the fate-revealer, where the groves 
 stretch under high Albunea, and her stream 
 roars from its haunted well, exhaling through 
 vast, gloomful woods its pestilential air. 
 Here all Oenotria's tribes ask oracles 
 in dark and doubtful days: here, when the priest 
 has brought his gifts, and in the night so still, 
 couched on spread fleeces of the offered flock, 
 awaiting slumber lies, then wondrously 
 a host of flitting shapes he sees, and hears 
 voices that come and go: with gods he holds 
 high converse, or in deep Avernian gloom 
 parleys with Acheron. Thither drew near 
 Father Latinus, seeking truth divine. 
 Obedient to the olden rite, he slew 
 a hundred fleecy sheep, and pillowed lay 
 upon their outstretched skins. Straightway a voice 
 out of the lofty forest met his prayer. 
 “Seek not in wedlock with a Latin lord 
 to join thy daughter, O my son and seed! 
 Beware this purposed marriage! There shall come 
 sons from afar, whose blood shall bear our name 
 starward; the children of their mighty loins, 
 as far as eve and morn enfold the seas, 
 shall see a subject world beneath their feet 
 submissive lie.” This admonition given 
 Latinus hid not. But on restless wing 
 rumor had spread it, when the men of Troy 
 
 along the river-bank of mounded green 
 their fleet made fast. Aeneas and his chiefs, 
 with fair Iulus, under spreading boughs 
 of one great tree made resting-place, and set 
 the banquet on. Thin loaves of altar-bread 
 along the sward to bear their meats were laid 
 (such was the will of Jove), and wilding fruits 
 rose heaping high, with Ceres' gift below. 
 Soon, all things else devoured, their hunger turned 
 to taste the scanty bread, which they attacked 
 with tooth and nail audacious, and consumed 
 both round and square of that predestined leaven. 
 “Look, how we eat our tables even!” cried 
 Iulus, in a jest. Such was the word 
 which bade their burdens fall. From his boy's lip 
 the father caught this utterance of Fate, 
 silent with wonder at the ways of Heaven; 
 then swift he spoke: “Hail! O my destined shore, 
 protecting deities of Ilium , hail! 
 Here is our home, our country here! This day 
 I publish the mysterious prophecy 
 by Sire Anchises given: ‘My son,’ said he, 
 ‘When hunger in strange lands shall bid devour 
 the tables of thy banquet gone, then hope 
 for home, though weary, and take thought to build 
 a dwelling and a battlement.’ Behold! 
 This was our fated hunger! This last proof 
 will end our evil days. Up, then! For now 
 by morning's joyful beam we will explore 
 what men, what cities, in this region be, 
 and, leaving ship, our several errands ply. 
 Your gift to Jove outpour! Make thankful prayer 
 unto Anchises' shade! To this our feast 
 bring back the flowing wine!” Thereat he bound 
 his forehead with green garland, calling loud 
 upon the Genius of that place, and Earth, 
 eldest of names divine; the Nymphs he called, 
 and river-gods unknown; his voice invoked 
 the night, the omen-stars through night that roll. 
 Jove, Ida's child, and Phrygia 's fertile Queen: 
 he called his mother from Olympian skies, 
 and sire from Erebus. Lo, o'er his head 
 three times unclouded Jove omnipotent 
 in thunder spoke, and, with effulgent ray 
 from his ethereal tract outreaching far, 
 shook visibly the golden-gleaming air. 
 Swift, through the concourse of the Trojans, spread 
 news of the day at hand when they should build 
 their destined walls. So, with rejoicing heart 
 at such vast omen, they set forth a feast 
 with zealous emulation, ranging well 
 the wine-cups fair with many a garland crowned.

Soon as the morrow with the lamp of dawn 
 looked o'er the world, they took their separate ways, 
 exploring shore and towns; here spread the pools 
 and fountain of Numicius; here they see 
 the river Tiber , where bold Latins dwell. 
 Anchises' son chose out from his brave band 
 a hundred envoys, bidding them depart 
 to the King's sacred city, each enwreathed 
 with Pallas' silver leaf; and gifts they bear 
 to plead for peace and friendship at his throne. 
 While on this errand their swift steps are sped, 
 Aeneas, by a shallow moat and small, 
 his future city shows, breaks ground, and girds 
 with mound and breastwork like a camp of war 
 the Trojans' first abode. Soon, making way 
 to where the Latin citadel uprose, 
 the envoys scanned the battlements, and paused 
 beneath its wall. Outside the city gates 
 fair youths and striplings in life's early bloom 
 course with swift steeds, or steer through dusty cloud 
 the whirling chariot, or stretch stout bows, 
 or hurl the seasoned javelin, or strive 
 in boxing-bout and foot-race: one of these 
 made haste on horseback to the aged King, 
 with tidings of a stranger company 
 in foreign garb approaching. The good King 
 bade call them to his house, and took his seat 
 in mid-court on his high, ancestral throne.

Large and majestical the castle rose: 
 a hundred columns lifted it in air 
 upon the city's crown—the royal keep 
 of Picus of Laurentum; round it lay 
 deep, gloomy woods by olden worship blest. 
 Here kings took sceptre and the fasces proud 
 with omens fair; the selfsame sacred place 
 was senate-house and temple; here was found 
 a hall for hallowed feasting, where a ram 
 was offered up, and at long banquet-boards 
 the nation's fathers sat in due array. 
 Here ranged ancestral statues roughly hewn 
 of ancient cedar-wood: King Italus; 
 Father Sabinus, planter of the vine, 
 a curving sickle in his sculptured hand; 
 gray-bearded Saturn; and the double brow 
 of Janus' head; and other sires and kings 
 were wardens of the door, with many a chief 
 wounded in battle for his native land. 
 Trophies of arms in goodly order hung 
 along the columns: chariots of war 
 from foeman taken, axes of round blade, 
 plumed helmets, bolts and barriers of steel 
 from city-gates, shields, spears, and beaks of bronze 
 from captured galleys by the conqueror torn. 
 Here, wielding his Quirinal augur-staff, 
 girt in scant shift, and bearing on his left 
 the sacred oval shield, appeared enthroned 
 Picus, breaker of horses, whom his bride, 
 enamoured Circe, smote with golden wand, 
 and, raining o'er him potent poison-dew, 
 changed to a bird of pied and dappled wings.

In such a temple of his gods did Sire 
 Latinus, on hereditary throne, 
 welcome the Trojans to his halls, and thus 
 with brow serene gave greeting as they came: 
 “O sons of Dardanus, think not unknown 
 your lineage and city! Rumored far 
 your venturous voyage has been. What seek ye here? 
 What cause, what quest, has brought your barks and you 
 o'er the blue waters to Ausonia's hills? 
 What way uncharted, or wild stress of storm, 
 or what that sailors suffer in mid-sea, 
 unto this river bank and haven bore? 
 Doubt not our welcome! We of Latin land 
 are Saturn's sons, whose equitable minds, 
 not chained by statute or compulsion, keep 
 in freedom what the god's good custom gave. 
 Now I bethink me our Ausonian seers 
 have dark, dim lore that 't was this land gave birth 
 to Dardanus, who after took his way 
 through Phrygian Ida's towns and Samothrace . 
 Once out of Tuscan Corythus he fared; 
 but now in golden house among the stars 
 he has a throne, and by his altars blest 
 adds to the number of the gods we praise.”

He spoke; Ilioneus this answer made: 
 “O King, great heir of Faunus! No dark storm 
 impelled us o'er the flood thy realm to find. 
 Nor star deceived, nor strange, bewildering shore 
 threw out of our true course; but we are come 
 by our free choice and with deliberate aim 
 to this thy town, though exiled forth of realms 
 once mightiest of all the sun-god sees 
 when moving from his utmost eastern bound. 
 From Jove our line began; the sons of Troy 
 
 boast Jove to be their sire, and our true King 
 is of Olympian seed. To thine abode 
 Trojan Aeneas sent us. How there burst 
 o'er Ida's vales from dread Mycenae 's kings 
 a tempest vast, and by what stroke of doom 
 all Asia 's world with Europe clashed in war, 
 that lone wight hears whom earth's remotest isle 
 has banished to the Ocean's rim, or he 
 whose dwelling is the ample zone that burns 
 betwixt the changeful sun-god's milder realms, 
 far severed from the world. We are the men 
 from war's destroying deluge safely borne 
 over the waters wide. We only ask 
 some low-roofed dwelling for our fathers' gods, 
 some friendly shore, and, what to all is free, 
 water and air. We bring no evil name 
 upon thy people; thy renown will be 
 but wider spread; nor of a deed so fair 
 can grateful memory die. Ye ne'er will rue 
 that to Ausonia's breast ye gathered Troy . 
 I swear thee by the favored destinies 
 of great Aeneas, by his strength of arm 
 in friendship or in war, that many a tribe 
 (O, scorn us not, that, bearing olive green, 
 with suppliant words we come), that many a throne 
 has sued us to be friends. But Fate's decree 
 to this thy realm did guide. Here Dardanus 
 was born; and with reiterate command 
 this way Apollo pointed to the stream 
 of Tiber and Numicius' haunted spring. 
 Lo, these poor tributes from his greatness gone 
 Aeneas sends, these relics snatched away 
 from Ilium burning: with this golden bowl 
 Anchises poured libation when he prayed; 
 and these were Priam's splendor, when he gave 
 laws to his gathered states; this sceptre his, 
 this diadem revered, and beauteous pall, 
 handwork of Asia 's queens.” So ceased to speak 
 Ilioneus. But King Latinus gazed 
 unanswering on the ground, all motionless 
 save for his musing eyes. The broidered pall 
 of purple, and the sceptre Priam bore, 
 moved little on his kingly heart, which now 
 pondered of giving to the bridal bed 
 his daughter dear. He argues in his mind 
 the oracle of Faunus:—might this be 
 that destined bridegroom from an alien land, 
 to share his throne, to get a progeny 
 of glorious valor, which by mighty deeds 
 should win the world for kingdom? So at last 
 with joyful brow he spoke: “Now let the gods 
 our purpose and their own fair promise bless! 
 Thou hast, O Trojan, thy desire. Thy gifts 
 I have not scorned; nor while Latinus reigns 
 shall ye lack riches in my plenteous land, 
 not less than Trojan store. But where is he, 
 Aeneas' self? If he our royal love 
 so much desire, and have such urgent mind 
 to be our guest and friend, let him draw near, 
 nor turn him from well-wishing looks away! 
 My offering and pledge of peace shall be 
 to clasp your monarch's hand. Bear back, I pray, 
 this answer to your King: my dwelling holds 
 a daughter, whom with husband of her blood 
 great signs in heaven and from my father's tomb 
 forbid to wed. A son from alien shores 
 they prophesy for Latium 's heir, whose seed 
 shall lift our glory to the stars divine. 
 I am persuaded this is none but he, 
 that man of destiny; and if my heart 
 be no false prophet, I desire it so.” 
 Thus having said, the sire took chosen steeds 
 from his full herd, whereof, well-groomed and fair, 
 three hundred stood within his ample pale. 
 Of these to every Teucrian guest he gave 
 a courser swift and strong, in purple clad 
 and broidered housings gay; on every breast 
 hung chains of gold; in golden robes arrayed, 
 they champed the red gold curb their teeth between. 
 For offering to Aeneas, he bade send 
 a chariot, with chargers twain of seed 
 ethereal, their nostrils breathing fire: 
 the famous kind which guileful Circe bred, 
 cheating her sire, and mixed the sun-god's team 
 with brood-mares earthly born. The sons of Troy , 
 such gifts and greetings from Latinus bearing, 
 rode back in pomp his words of peace to bring.

But lo! from Argos on her voyage of air 
 rides the dread spouse of Jove. She, sky-enthroned 
 above the far Sicilian promontory, 
 pachynus, sees Dardania's rescued fleet, 
 and all Aeneas' joy. The prospect shows 
 houses a-building, lands of safe abode, 
 and the abandoned ships. With bitter grief 
 she stands at gaze: then with storm-shaken brows, 
 thus from her heart lets loose the wrathful word: 
 “O hated race! O Phrygian destinies — 
 to mine forevermore (unhappy me!) 
 a scandal and offense! Did no one die 
 on Troy 's embattled plain? Could captured slaves 
 not be enslaved again? Was Ilium's flame 
 no warrior's funeral pyre? Did they walk safe 
 through serried swords and congregated fires? 
 At last, methought, my godhead might repose, 
 and my full-fed revenge in slumber lie. 
 But nay! Though flung forth from their native land, 
 I o'er the waves, with enmity unstayed, 
 dared give them chase, and on that exiled few 
 hurled the whole sea. I smote the sons of Troy 
 
 with ocean's power and heaven's. But what availed 
 Syrtes, or Scylla, or Charybdis' waves? 
 The Trojans are in Tiber ; and abide 
 within their prayed-for land delectable, 
 safe from the seas and me! Mars once had power 
 the monstrous Lapithae to slay; and Jove 
 to Dian's honor and revenge gave o'er 
 the land of Calydon. What crime so foul 
 was wrought by Lapithae or Calydon? 
 But I, Jove's wife and Queen, who in my woes 
 have ventured each bold stroke my power could find, 
 and every shift essayed,—behold me now 
 outdone by this Aeneas! If so weak 
 my own prerogative of godhead be, 
 let me seek strength in war, come whence it will! 
 If Heaven I may not move, on Hell I call. 
 To bar him from his Latin throne exceeds 
 my fated power. So be it! Fate has given 
 Lavinia for his bride. But long delays 
 I still can plot, and to the high event 
 deferment and obstruction. I can smite 
 the subjects of both kings. Let sire and son 
 buy with their people's blood this marriage-bond! 
 Let Teucrian and Rutulian slaughter be 
 thy virgin dower, and Bellona's blaze 
 light thee the bridal bed! Not only teemed 
 the womb of Hecuba with burning brand, 
 and brought forth nuptial fires; but Venus, too, 
 such offspring bore, a second Paris, who 
 to their new Troy shall fatal wedlock bring.”

So saying, with aspect terrible she sped 
 earthward her way; and called from gloom of hell 
 Alecto, woeful power, from cloudy throne 
 among the Furies, where her heart is fed 
 with horrid wars, wrath, vengeance, treason foul, 
 and fatal feuds. Her father Pluto loathes 
 the creature he engendered, and with hate 
 her hell-born sister-fiends the monster view. 
 A host of shapes she wears, and many a front 
 of frowning black brows viper-garlanded. 
 Juno to her this goading speech addressed: 
 “O daughter of dark Night, arouse for me 
 thy wonted powers and our task begin! 
 Lest now my glory fail, my royal name 
 be vanquished, while Aeneas and his crew 
 cheat with a wedlock bond the Latin King 
 and seize Italia 's fields. Thou canst thrust on 
 two Ioving brothers to draw sword and slay, 
 and ruin homes with hatred, calling in 
 the scourge of Furies and avenging fires. 
 A thousand names thou bearest, and thy ways 
 of ruin multiply a thousand-fold. 
 Arouse thy fertile breast! Go, rend in twain 
 this plighted peace! Breed calumnies and sow 
 causes of battle, till yon warrior hosts 
 cry out for swords and leap to gird them on.”

Straightway Alecto, through whose body flows 
 the Gorgon poison, took her viewless way 
 to Latium and the lofty walls and towers 
 of the Laurentian King. Crouching she sate 
 in silence on the threshold of the bower 
 where Queen Amata in her fevered soul 
 pondered, with all a woman's wrath and fear, 
 upon the Trojans and the marriage-suit 
 of Turnus. From her Stygian hair the fiend 
 a single serpent flung, which stole its way 
 to the Queen's very heart, that, frenzy-driven, 
 she might on her whole house confusion pour. 
 Betwixt her smooth breast and her robe it wound 
 unfelt, unseen, and in her wrathful mind 
 instilled its viper soul. Like golden chain 
 around her neck it twined, or stretched along 
 the fillets on her brow, or with her hair 
 enwrithing coiled; then on from limb to limb 
 slipped tortuous. Yet though the venom strong 
 thrilled with its first infection every vein, 
 and touched her bones with fire, she knew it not, 
 nor yielded all her soul, but made her plea 
 in gentle accents such as mothers use; 
 and many a tear she shed, about her child, 
 her darling, destined for a Phrygian's bride: 
 “O father! can we give Lavinia's hand 
 to Trojan fugitives? why wilt thou show 
 no mercy on thy daughter, nor thyself; 
 nor unto me, whom at the first fair wind 
 that wretch will leave deserted, bearing far 
 upon his pirate ship my stolen child? 
 Was it not thus that Phrygian shepherd came 
 to Lacedaemon , ravishing away 
 Helen, the child of Leda, whom he bore 
 to those false Trojan lands? Hast thou forgot 
 thy plighted word? Where now thy boasted love 
 of kith and kin, and many a troth-plight given 
 unto our kinsman Turnus? If we need 
 an alien son, and Father Faunus' words 
 irrevocably o'er thy spirit brood, 
 I tell thee every land not linked with ours 
 under one sceptre, but distinct and free, 
 is alien; and 't is thus the gods intend. 
 Indeed, if Turnus' ancient race be told, 
 it sprang of Inachus, Acrisius, 
 and out of mid- Mycenae .” But she sees 
 her lord Latinus resolute, her words 
 an effort vain; and through her body spreads 
 the Fury's deeply venomed viper-sting. 
 Then, woe-begone, by dark dreams goaded on, 
 she wanders aimless, fevered and unstrung 
 along the public ways; as oft one sees 
 beneath the twisted whips a leaping top 
 sped in long spirals through a palace-close 
 by lads at play: obedient to the thong, 
 it weaves wide circles in the gaping view 
 of its small masters, who admiring see 
 the whirling boxwood made a living thing 
 under their lash. So fast and far she roved 
 from town to town among the clansmen wild. 
 Then to the wood she ran, feigning to feel 
 the madness Bacchus loves; for she essays 
 a fiercer crime, by fiercer frenzy moved. 
 Now in the leafy dark of mountain vales 
 she hides her daughter, ravished thus away 
 from Trojan bridegroom and the wedding-feast. 
 “Hail, Bacchus! Thou alone,” she shrieked and raved, 
 “art worthy such a maid. For thee she bears 
 the thyrsus with soft ivy-clusters crowned, 
 and trips ecstatic in thy beauteous choir. 
 For thee alone my daughter shall unbind 
 the glory of her virgin hair.” Swift runs 
 the rumor of her deed; and, frenzy-driven, 
 the wives of Latium to the forests fly, 
 enkindled with one rage. They leave behind 
 their desolated hearths, and let rude winds 
 o'er neck and tresses blow; their voices fill 
 the welkin with convulsive shriek and wail; 
 and, with fresh fawn-skins on their bodies bound, 
 they brandish vine-clad spears. The Queen herself 
 lifts high a blazing pine tree, while she sings 
 a wedding-song for Turnus and her child. 
 With bloodshot glance and anger wild, she cries: 
 “Ho! all ye Latin wives, if e'er ye knew 
 kindness for poor Amata, if ye care 
 for a wronged mother's woes, O, follow me! 
 Cast off the matron fillet from your brows, 
 and revel to our mad, voluptuous song.” 
 Thus, through the woodland haunt of creatures wild, 
 Alecto urges on the raging Queen 
 with Bacchus' cruel goad. But when she deemed 
 the edge of wrath well whetted, and the house 
 of wise Latinus of all reason reft, 
 then soared the black-winged goddess to the walls 
 of the bold Rutule, to the city built 
 (So runs the tale) by beauteous Danae 
 and her Acrisian people, shipwrecked there 
 by south wind strong. Its name was Ardea 
 
 in language of our sires, and that proud name 
 of Ardea still it wears, though proud no more. 
 Here Turnus in the gloom of midnight lay 
 half-sleeping in his regal hall. For him 
 Alecto her grim fury-guise put by, 
 and wore an old crone's face, her baleful brow 
 delved deep with wrinkled age, her hoary hair 
 in sacred fillet bound, and garlanded 
 with leaf of olive: Calybe she seemed, 
 an aged servitress ot Juno's shrine, 
 and in this seeming thus the prince addressed:— 
 “O Turnus, wilt thou tamely see thy toil 
 lavished in vain? and thy true throne consigned 
 to Trojan wanderers? The King repels 
 thy noble wooing and thy war-won dower. 
 He summons him a son of alien stem 
 to take his kingdom. Rouse thee now, and front, 
 scorned and without reward, these perilous days. 
 Tread down that Tuscan host! Protect the peace 
 of Latium from its foe! Such is the word 
 which, while in night and slumber thou wert laid, 
 
 Saturnia 's godhead, visibly revealed, 
 bade me declare. Up, therefore, and array 
 thy warriors in arms! Swift sallying forth 
 from thy strong city-gates, on to the fray 
 exultant go! Assail the Phrygian chiefs 
 who tent them by thy beauteous river's marge, 
 and burn their painted galleys! 't is the will 
 of gods above that speaks. Yea, even the King 
 Latinus, if he will not heed thy plea, 
 or hear thy wooing, shall be taught too late 
 what Turnus is in panoply of war.”

In mocking answer to the prophetess 
 the warrior thus replied: “That stranger fleet 
 in Tiber moored, not, as thy folly prates, 
 of me unnoted lies. Vex me no more 
 with thy fantastic terror. Juno's power 
 is watchful of my cause. 'T is mere old age, 
 gone to decay and dotage, fills thy breast 
 with vain foreboding, and, while kings contend, 
 scares and deceives thy visionary eye. 
 Guard thou in yonder temple's holy shade 
 the images divine! Of peace and war 
 let men and warriors the burden bear!”

So kindled he Alecto's wrath to flame; 
 and even as he spoke a shudder thrilled 
 the warrior's body, and his eyeballs stood 
 stonily staring at the hydra hair 
 which hissed and writhed above the grisly head 
 of the large-looming fiend. With eyes of fire 
 horribly rolling, she repelled him far, 
 while he but faltered speechless. She upraised 
 two coiling snakes out of her tresses, cracked 
 the lashes of her scourge, and wrathfully, 
 with raving lips replied: “Look well on me, 
 gone to decay and dotage of old age! 
 And mocked with foolish fear while kings contend! 
 Wilt hearken now! Behold me, hither flown 
 from where my sister-furies dwell! My hands 
 bring bloody death and war.” She spoke, and hurled 
 her firebrand at the hero, thrusting deep 
 beneath his heart her darkly smouldering flame. 
 Then horror broke his sleep, and fearful sweat 
 dripped from his every limb. He shrieked aloud 
 for arms; and seized the ready arms that lay 
 around his couch and hall. Then o'er his soul 
 the lust of battle and wild curse of war 
 broke forth in angry power, as when the flames 
 of faggots round the bubbling cauldron sing, 
 and up the waters leap; the close-kept flood 
 brims over, streaming, foaming, breaking bound, 
 and flings thick clouds in air. He, summoning 
 his chieftains, bade them on Latinus move, 
 break peace, take arms, and, over Italy 
 
 their shields extending, to thrust forth her foe: 
 himself for Teucrian with Latin joined 
 was more than match. He called upon the gods 
 in witness of his vows: while, nothing loth, 
 Rutulia's warriors rushed into array; 
 some by his youth and noble beauty moved, 
 some by his kingly sires and fame in arms.

While Turnus stirred Rutulia's valiant souls, 
 Alecto on her Stygian pinions sped 
 to where the Teucrians lay. She scanned the ground 
 with eager guile, where by the river's marge 
 fair-browed Iulus with his nets and snares 
 rode fiercely to the chase. Then o'er his hounds 
 that hell-born virgin breathed a sudden rage, 
 and filled each cunning nostril with the scent 
 of stags, till forth in wild pursuit they flew. 
 Here all the woe began, and here awoke 
 in rustic souls the swift-enkindling war. 
 For a fair stag, tall-antlered, stolen away 
 even from its mother's milk, had long been kept 
 by Tyrrhus and his sons—the shepherd he 
 of all the royal flocks, and forester 
 of a wide region round. With fondest care 
 their sister Silvia entwined its horns 
 with soft, fresh garlands, tamed it to run close, 
 and combed the creature, or would bring to bathe 
 at a clear, crystal spring. It knew the hands 
 of all its gentle masters, and would feed 
 from their own dish; or wandering through the wood, 
 come back unguided to their friendly door, 
 though deep the evening shade. Iulus' dogs 
 now roused this wanderer in their ravening chase, 
 as, drifted down-stream far from home it lay, 
 on a green bank a-cooling. From bent bow 
 Ascanius, eager for a hunter's praise, 
 let go his shaft; nor did Alecto fail 
 his aim to guide: but, whistling through the air, 
 the light-winged reed pierced deep in flank and side. 
 Swift to its cover fled the wounded thing, 
 and crept loud-moaning to its wonted stall, 
 where, like a blood-stained suppliant, it seemed 
 to fill that shepherd's house with plaintive prayer. 
 Then Silvia the sister, smiting oft 
 on breast and arm, made cry for help, and called 
 the sturdy rustics forth in gathering throng. 
 These now (for in the silent forest couched 
 the cruel Fury) swift to battle flew. 
 One brandished a charred stake, another swung 
 a knotted cudgel, as rude anger shapes 
 its weapon of whate'er the searching eye 
 first haps to fall on. Tyrrhus roused his clans, 
 just when by chance he split with blows of wedge 
 an oak in four; and, panting giant breath, 
 shouldered his woodman's axe. Alecto then, 
 prompt to the stroke of mischief, soared aloft 
 from where she spying sate, to the steep roof 
 of a tall byre, and from its peak of straw 
 blew a wild signal on a shepherd's horn, 
 outflinging her infernal note so far 
 that all the forest shuddered, and the grove 
 throbbed to its deepest glen. Cold Trivia's lake 
 from end to end gave ear, and every wave 
 of the white stream of Nar, the lonely pools 
 of still Velinus heard: while at the sound 
 pale mothers to their breasts their children drew. 
 Swift to the signal of the dreadful horn, 
 snatching their weapons rude, the freeborn swains 
 assembled for the fray; the Trojan bands 
 poured from their bivouac with instant aid 
 for young Ascanius. In array of war 
 both stand confronting. Not mere rustic brawl 
 with charred oak-staff and cudgel is the fight, 
 but with the two-edged steel; the naked swords 
 wave like dark-bladed harvest-field, while far 
 the brazen arms flash in the smiting sun, 
 and skyward fling their beam: so some wide sea, 
 at first but whitened in the rising wind, 
 swells its slow-rolling mass and ever higher 
 its billows rears, until the utmost deep 
 lifts in one surge to heaven. The first to fall 
 was Almo, eldest-born of Tyrrhus' sons, 
 whom, striding in the van, a loud-winged shaft 
 laid low in death; deep in his throat it clung, 
 and silenced with his blood the dying cry 
 of his frail life. Around him fell the forms 
 of many a brave and strong; among them died 
 gray-haired Galaesus pleading for a truce: 
 righteous he was, and of Ausonian fields 
 a prosperous master; five full flocks had he 
 of bleating sheep, and from his pastures came 
 five herds of cattle home; his busy churls 
 turned with a hundred ploughs his fruitful glebe.

While o'er the battle-field thus doubtful swung 
 the scales of war, the Fury (to her task 
 now equal proven) having dyed the day 
 a deep-ensanguined hue, and opened fight 
 with death and slaughter, made no tarrying 
 within Hesperia, but skyward soared, 
 and, Ioud in triumph, insolently thus 
 to Juno called: “See, at thy will, their strife 
 full-blown to war and woe! Could even thyself 
 command them now to truce and amity? 
 But I, that with Ausonia's blood befoul 
 their Trojan hands, yet more can do, if thou 
 shift not thy purpose. For with dire alarms 
 I will awake the bordering states to war 
 enkindling in their souls the frenzied lust 
 the war-god breathes; till from th' horizon round 
 the reinforcement pours—I scattering seeds 
 of carnage through the land.” In answer spoke 
 juno: “Enough of artifice and fear! 
 Thy provocation works. Now have they joined 
 in close and deadly combat, and warm blood 
 those sudden-leaping swords incarnadines, 
 which chance put in their hands. Such nuptial joys, 
 such feast of wedlock, let the famous son 
 of Venus with the King Latinus share! 
 But yon Olympian Sire and King no more 
 permits thee freely in our skies to roam. 
 Go, quit the field! Myself will take control 
 of hazards and of labors yet to be.” 
 Thus Saturn's daughter spoke. Alecto then, 
 unfolding far her hissing, viperous wings, 
 turned toward her Stygian home, and took farewell 
 of upper air. Deep in Italia lies 
 a region mountain-girded, widely famed, 
 and known in olden songs from land to land: 
 the valley of Amsanctus; deep, dark shades 
 enclose it between forest-walls, whereby 
 through thunderous stony channel serpentines 
 a roaring fall. Here in a monstrous cave 
 are breathing-holes of hell, a vast abyss 
 where Acheron opes wide its noisome jaws: 
 in this Alecto plunged, concealing so 
 her execrable godhead, while the air 
 of earth and heaven felt the curse removed.

Forthwith the sovereign hands of Juno haste 
 to consummate the war. The shepherds bear 
 back from the field of battle to the town 
 the bodies of the slain: young Almo's corse 
 and gray Galaesus' bleeding head. They call 
 just gods in heaven to Iook upon their wrong, 
 and bid Latinus see it. Turnus comes, 
 and, while the angry mob surveys the slain, 
 adds fury to the hour. “Shall the land 
 have Trojan lords? Shall Phrygian marriages 
 debase our ancient, royal blood—and I 
 be spurned upon the threshold?” Then drew near 
 the men whose frenzied women-folk had held 
 bacchantic orgies in the pathless grove, 
 awed by Amata's name: these, gathering, 
 sued loud for war. Yea, all defied the signs 
 and venerable omens; all withstood 
 divine decrees, and clamored for revenge, 
 prompted by evil powers. They besieged 
 the house of King Latinus, shouting-loud 
 with emulous rage. But like a sea-girt rock 
 unmoved he stood; like sea-girt rock when surge 
 of waters o'er it sweeps, or howling waves 
 surround; it keeps a ponderous front of power, 
 though foaming cliffs around it vainly roar; 
 from its firm base the broken sea-weeds fall. 
 But when authority no whit could change 
 their counsels blind, and each event fulfilled 
 dread Juno's will, then with complaining prayer 
 the aged sire cried loud upon his gods 
 and on th' unheeding air: “Alas,” said he, 
 “My doom is shipwreck, and the tempest bears 
 my bark away! O wretches, your own blood 
 shall pay the forfeit for your impious crime. 
 O Turnus! O abominable deed! 
 Avenging woes pursue thee; to deaf gods 
 thy late and unavailing prayer shall rise. 
 Now was my time to rest. But as I come 
 close to my journey's end, thou spoilest me 
 of comfort in my death.” With this the King 
 fled to his house and ceased his realm to guide.

A sacred custom the Hesperian land 
 of Latium knew, by all the Alban hills 
 honored unbroken, which wide-ruling Rome 
 
 keeps to this day, when to new stroke she stirs 
 the might of Mars; if on the Danube 's wave 
 resolved to fling the mournful doom of war, 
 or on the Caspian folk or Arabs wild; 
 or chase the morning far as India 's verge, 
 ind from the Parthian despot wrest away 
 our banners Iost. Twin Gates of War there be, 
 of fearful name, to Mars' fierce godhead vowed: 
 a hundred brass bars shut them, and the strength 
 of uncorrupting steel; in sleepless watch 
 Janus the threshold keeps. 'T is here, what time 
 the senate's voice is war, the consul grave 
 in Gabine cincture and Quirinal shift 
 himself the griding hinges backward moves, 
 and bids the Romans arm; obedient then 
 the legionary host makes Ioud acclaim, 
 and hoarse consent the brazen trumpets blow. 
 Thus King Latinus on the sons of Troy 
 
 was urged to open war, and backward roll 
 those gates of sorrow: but the aged king 
 recoiled, refused the loathsome task, and fled 
 to solitary shades. Then from the skies 
 the Queen of gods stooped down, and her sole hand 
 the lingering portal moved; Saturnia 
 
 swung on their hinges the barred gates of war. 
 ausonia from its old tranquillity 
 bursts forth in flame. Foot-soldiers through the field 
 run to and fro; and mounted on tall steeds 
 the cavaliers in clouds of dust whirl by. 
 All arm in haste. Some oil the glittering shield 
 or javelin bright, or on the whetstone wear 
 good axes to an edge, while joyful bands 
 uplift the standards or the trumpets blow. 
 Five mighty cities to their anvils bring 
 new-tempered arms: Atina—martial name — 
 proud Tibur , Ardea , Crustumium, 
 and river-walled Antemnae, crowned with towers 
 strong hollow helmets on their brows they draw 
 and weave them willow-shields; or melt and mould 
 corselets of brass or shining silver greaves; 
 none now for pruning-hook or sacred plough 
 have love or care: but old, ancestral swords 
 for hardier tempering to the smith they bring. 
 Now peals the clarion; through the legions pass 
 the watchwords: the impatient yeoman takes 
 his helmet from the idle roof-tree hung; 
 while to his chariot the master yokes 
 the mettled war-horse, dons a shining shield 
 and golden mail, and buckles his good sword.

Virgins of Helicon, renew my song! 
 Instruct me what proud kings to battle flown 
 with following legions throng the serried plain. 
 Tell me what heroes and illustrious arms 
 
 Italia 's bosom in her dawning day 
 benignant bore: for your celestial minds, 
 have memory of the past, but faint and low 
 steals glory's whisper on a mortal ear.

Foremost in fight, from shores Etrurian came 
 Mezentius, scornful rebel against Heaven, 
 his people all in arms; and at his side 
 Lausus his heir (no fairer youth than he, 
 save Turnus of Laurentum), Lausus, skilled 
 o break proud horses and wild beasts to quell; 
 who from Agylla's citadel in vain 
 led forth his thousand warriors: worthy he 
 to serve a nobler sire, and happier far 
 he had ne'er been born Mezentius' son.

Next after these, conspicuous o'er the plain, 
 with palm-crowned chariot and victorious steeds, 
 rode forth well-moulded Aventinus, sprung 
 from shapely Hercules; upon the shield 
 his blazon was a hundred snakes, and showed 
 his father's hydra-cincture serpentine; 
 him deep in Aventine 's most secret grove 
 the priestess Rhea bore—a mortal maid 
 clasped in a god's embrace the wondrous day 
 when, flushed with conquest of huge Geryon, 
 the lord of Tiryns to Laurentum drove, 
 and washed in Tiber 's wave th' Iberian kine. 
 His followers brandished pointed pikes and staves, 
 or smooth Sabellian bodkin tipped with steel; 
 but he, afoot, swung round him as he strode 
 a monstrous lion-skin, its bristling mane 
 and white teeth crowning his ferocious brow: 
 for garbed as Hercules he sought his King.

Then came twin brethren, leaving Tibur 's keep 
 (named from Tiburtus, brother of them twain) 
 Catillus and impetuous Coras, youth 
 of Argive seed, who foremost in the van 
 pressed ever where the foemen densest throng: 
 as when two centaurs, children of the cloud, 
 from mountain-tops descend in swift career, 
 the snows of Homole and Othrys leaving, 
 while crashing thickets in their pathway fall.

Nor was Praeneste 's founder absent there, 
 by Vulcan sired, among the herds and hinds, 
 and on a hearth-stone found (so runs the tale 
 each pious age repeats) King Caeculus 
 with rustic legions gathered from afar: 
 from steep Praeneste and the Gabian vale 
 to Juno dear, from Anio's cold stream, 
 from upland Hernic rocks and foaming rills, 
 from rich Anagnia 's pastures, and the plain 
 whence Amasenus pours his worshipped wave. 
 Not all of armor boast, and seldom sound 
 the chariot and shield; but out of slings 
 they hurl blue balls of lead, or in one hand 
 a brace of javelins bear; pulled o'er their brows 
 are hoods of tawny wolf-skin; as they march 
 the left foot leaves a barefoot track behind, 
 a rawhide sandal on the right they wear.

Messapus came, steed-tamer, Neptune's son, 
 by sword and fire invincible: this day, 
 though mild his people and unschooled in war, 
 he calls them to embattled lines, and draws 
 no lingering sword. Fescennia musters there, 
 Aequi Falisci, and what clans possess 
 Soracte's heights, Flavinia's fruitful farms, 
 Ciminian lake and mountain, and the groves 
 about Capena . Rank on rank they move, 
 loud singing of their chieftain's praise: as when 
 a flock of snowy swans through clouded air 
 return from feeding, and make tuneful cry 
 from their long throats, while Asia 's rivers hear, 
 and lone Cayster's startled moorland rings: 
 for hardly could the listening ear discern 
 the war-cry of a mail-clad host; the sound 
 was like shrill-calling birds, when home from sea 
 their soaring flock moves shoreward like a cloud.

Then, one of far-descended Sabine name, 
 Clausus advanced, the captain of a host, 
 and in himself an equal host he seemed; 
 from his proud loins the high-born Claudian stem 
 through Latium multiplies, since Roman power 
 with Sabine first was wed. A cohort came 
 from Amiternum and the olden wall 
 of Cures, called Quirites even then; 
 Eretum answered and Mutusca's hill 
 with olives clad, Velinus' flowery field, 
 nomentum's fortress, the grim precipice 
 of Tetrica, Severus' upland fair, 
 Casperia, Foruli, Himella's waves, 
 
 Tiber and Fabaris, and wintry streams 
 of Nursia ; to the same proud muster sped 
 Tuscan with Latin tribes, and loyal towns 
 beside whose walls ill-omened Allia flows. 
 As numerous they moved as rolling waves 
 that stir smooth Libyan seas, when in cold floods 
 sinks grim Orion's star; or like the throng 
 of clustering wheat-tops in the summer sun, 
 near Hermus or on Lycia 's yellowing plain: 
 shields clashed; their strong tramp smote the trembling ground.

Now Agamemnon's kinsman, cruel foe 
 to the mere name of Troy , Halaesus , yokes 
 the horses of his car and summons forth 
 a thousand savage clans at Turnus' call : 
 rude men whose mattocks to the Massic hills 
 bring Bacchus' bounty, or by graybeard sires 
 sent from Auruncan upland and the mead 
 of Sidicinum; out of Cales came 
 its simple folk; and dwellers by the stream 
 of many-shoaled Volturnus, close-allied 
 with bold Saticulan or Oscan swains. 
 Their arms are tapered javelins, which they wear 
 bound by a coiling thong; a shield conceals 
 the left side, and they fight with crooked swords.

Nor shalt thou, Oebalus, depart unsung, 
 whom minstrels say the nymph Sebethis bore 
 to Telon, who in Capri was a king 
 when old and gray; but that disdaining son 
 quitted so small a seat, and conquering sway 
 among Sarrastian folk and those wide plains 
 watered by Sarnus' wave, became a king 
 over Celenna, Rufrae, Batulum, 
 and where among her apple-orchards rise 
 Abella's walls. All these, as Teutons use, 
 hurl a light javelin; for helm they wear 
 stripped cork-tree bark; the crescent of their shields 
 is gleaming bronze, and gleaming bronze the sword.

Next Ufens, mountain-bred, from Nersae came 
 to join the war; of goodly fame was he 
 for prosperous arms: his Aequian people show 
 no gentle mien, but scour the woods for prey, 
 or, ever-armed, across the stubborn glebe 
 compel the plough; though their chief pride and joy 
 are rapine, violence, and plundered store.

Next after these, his brows and helmet bound 
 with noble olive, from Marruvium came 
 a priest, brave Umbro, ordered to the field 
 by King Archippus: o'er the viper's brood, 
 and venomed river-serpents he had power 
 to scatter slumber with wide-waving hands 
 and wizard-songs. His potent arts could soothe 
 their coiling rage and heal the mortal sting: 
 but 'gainst a Trojan sword no drug had he, 
 nor could his drowsy spells his flesh repair, 
 nor gathered simples from the Marsic hills. 
 Thee soon in wailing woods Anguitia mourned, 
 thee, Fucinus , the lake of crystal wave, 
 thee, many a mountain-tarn!

Next, Virbius in martial beauty rode, 
 son of Hippolytus, whose mother, proud 
 
 Aricia , sent him in his flower of fame 
 out of Egeria's hills and cloudy groves 
 where lies Diana's gracious, gifted fane. 
 For legend whispers that Hippolytus, 
 by step-dame's plot undone, his life-blood gave 
 to sate his vengeful father, and was rent 
 in sunder by wild horses; but the grave 
 to air of heaven and prospect of the stars 
 restored him;—for Diana's love and care 
 poured out upon him Paeon's healing balm. 
 But Jove, almighty Sire, brooked not to see 
 a mortal out of death and dark reclimb 
 to light of life, and with a thunderbolt 
 hurled to the Stygian river Phoebus' son, 
 who dared such good elixir to compound. 
 But pitying Trivia hid Hippolytus 
 in her most secret cave, and gave in ward 
 to the wise nymph Egeria in her grove; 
 where he lived on inglorious and alone, 
 ranging the woods of Italy , and bore 
 the name of Virbius. 'T is for this cause 
 the hallowed woods to Trivia's temple vowed 
 forbid loud-footed horses, such as spilled 
 stripling and chariot on the fatal shore, 
 scared by the monsters peering from the sea. 
 Yet did the son o'er that tumultuous plain 
 his battle-chariot guide and plunging team.

Lo, Turnus strides conspicuous in the van, 
 full armed, of mighty frame, his lordly head 
 high o'er his peers emerging! His tall helm 
 with flowing triple crest for ensign bears 
 Chimaera, whose terrific lips outpour 
 volcanic fires; where'er the menace moves 
 of her infernal flames and wrathful frown, 
 there wildest flows the purple flood of war. 
 On his smooth shield deep graven in the gold 
 is horned Io—wondrous the device!— 
 a shaggy heifer-shape the maiden shows; 
 Argus is watching her, while Inachus 
 pours forth his river from the pictured urn. 
 A storm of tramping troops, to Turnus sworn, 
 throngs all the widespread plain with serried shields: 
 warriors of Argos , and Auruncan bands, 
 Sicani, Rutuli, Sacranian hosts, 
 Labicum's painted shields; all who till 
 thy woodland vales, O Tiber ! or the shore 
 Numicius hallows; all whose ploughs upturn 
 Rutulia's hills, or that Circaean range 
 where Jove of Anxur guards, and forests green 
 make fair Feronia glad; where lie the fens 
 of Satura , and Ufens' icy wave 
 through lowland valleys seeks his seaward way.

Last came Camilla, of the Volscians bred, 
 leading her mail-clad, radiant chivalry; 
 a warrior-virgin, of Minerva's craft 
 of web and distaff, fit for woman's toil, 
 no follower she; but bared her virgin breast 
 to meet the brunt of battle, and her speed 
 left even the winds behind; for she would skim 
 an untouched harvest ere the sickle fell, 
 nor graze the quivering wheat-tops as she ran; 
 or o'er the mid-sea billows' swollen surge 
 so swiftly race, she wet not in the wave 
 her flying feet. For sight of her the youth 
 from field and fortress sped, and matrons grave 
 stood wondering as she passed, well-pleased to see 
 her royal scarf in many a purple fold 
 float off her shining shoulder, her dark hair 
 in golden clasp caught fast, and how she bore 
 for arms a quiver of the Lycian mode, 
 and shepherd's shaft of myrtle tipped with steel.

When Turnus from Laurentum's bastion proud 
 published the war, and roused the dreadful note 
 of the harsh trumpet's song; when on swift steeds 
 the lash he laid and clashed his sounding arms; 
 then woke each warrior soul; all Latium stirred 
 with tumult and alarm; and martial rage 
 enkindled youth's hot blood. The chieftains proud, 
 Messapus, Ufens, and that foe of Heaven, 
 Mezentius, compel from far and wide 
 their loyal hosts, and strip the field and farm 
 of husbandmen. To seek auxiliar arms 
 they send to glorious Diomed's domain 
 the herald Venulus, and bid him cry: 
 “ Troy is to Latium come; Aeneas' fleet 
 has come to land. He brings his vanquished gods, 
 and gives himself to be our destined King. 
 Cities not few accept him, and his name 
 through Latium waxes large. But what the foe 
 by such attempt intends, what victory 
 is his presumptuous hope, if Fortune smile, 
 
 Aetolia 's lord will not less wisely fear 
 than royal Turnus or our Latin King.”

Thus Latium 's cause moved on. Meanwhile the heir 
 of great Laomedon, who knew full well 
 the whole wide land astir, was vexed and tossed 
 in troubled seas of care. This way and that 
 his swift thoughts flew, and scanned with like dismay 
 each partial peril or the general storm. 
 Thus the vexed waters at a fountain's brim, 
 smitten by sunshine or the silver sphere 
 of a reflected moon, send forth a beam 
 of flickering light that leaps from wall to wall, 
 or, skyward lifted in ethereal flight, 
 glances along some rich-wrought, vaulted dome. 
 Now night had fallen, and all weary things, 
 all shapes of beast or bird, the wide world o'er, 
 lay deep in slumber. So beneath the arch 
 of a cold sky Aeneas laid him down 
 upon the river-bank, his heart sore tried 
 by so much war and sorrow, and gave o'er 
 his body to its Iong-delayed repose. 
 There, 'twixt the poplars by the gentle stream, 
 the River-Father, genius of that place, 
 old Tiberinus visibly uprose; 
 a cloak of gray-green lawn he wore, his hair 
 o'erhung with wreath of reeds. In soothing words 
 thus, to console Aeneas' cares, he spoke:

“Seed of the gods! who bringest to my shore 
 thy Trojan city wrested from her foe, 
 a stronghold everlasting, Latium 's plain 
 and fair Laurentum long have looked for thee. 
 Here truly is thy home. Turn not away. 
 Here the true guardians of thy hearth shall be. 
 Fear not the gathering war. The wrath of Heaven 
 has stilled its swollen wave. A sign I tell: 
 Lest thou shouldst deem this message of thy sleep 
 a vain, deluding dream, thou soon shalt find 
 in the oak-copses on my margent green, 
 a huge sow, with her newly-littered brood 
 of thirty young; along the ground she lies, 
 snow-white, and round her udders her white young. 
 There shall thy city stand, and there thy toil 
 shall find untroubled rest. After the lapse 
 of thrice ten rolling years, Ascanius 
 shall found a city there of noble name, 
 White-City, Alba; 't is no dream I sing! 
 But I instruct thee now by what wise way 
 th' impending wars may bring thee victory: 
 receive the counsel, though the words be few: 
 within this land are men of Arcady, 
 of Pallas' line, who, following in the train 
 of King Evander and his men-at-arms, 
 built them a city in the hills, and chose 
 (honoring Pallas, their Pelasgian sire), 
 the name of Pallanteum. They make war 
 incessant with the Latins. Therefore call 
 this people to thy side and bind them close 
 in federated power. My channel fair 
 and shaded shore shall guide thee where they dwell, 
 and thy strong oarsmen on my waters borne 
 shall mount my falling stream. Rise, goddess-born, 
 and ere the starlight fade give honor due 
 to Juno, and with supplicating vow 
 avert her wrath and frown. But unto me 
 make offering in thy victorious hour, 
 in time to come. I am the copious flood 
 which thou beholdest chafing at yon shores 
 and parting fruitful fields: cerulean stream 
 of Tiber , favored greatly of high Heaven. 
 here shall arise my house magnificent, 
 a city of all cities chief and crown.”

So spake the river-god, and sank from view 
 down to his deepest cave; then night and sleep 
 together from Aeneas fled away. 
 He rose, and to the orient beams of morn 
 his forehead gave; in both his hollowed palms 
 he held the sacred waters of the stream, 
 and called aloud: “O ye Laurentian nymphs, 
 whence flowing rills be born, and chiefly thou, 
 O Father Tiber , worshipped stream divine, 
 accept Aeneas, and from peril save! 
 If in some hallowed lake or haunted spring 
 thy power, pitying my woes, abides, 
 or wheresoe'er the blessed place be found 
 whence first thy beauty flows, there evermore 
 my hands shall bring thee gift and sacrifice. 
 O chief and sovereign of Hesperian streams, 
 O river-god that hold'st the plenteous horn, 
 protect us, and confirm thy words divine!” 
 He spoke; then chose twin biremes from the fleet, 
 gave them good gear and armed their loyal crews.

But, lo! a sudden wonder met his eyes: 
 white gleaming through the grove, with all her brood 
 white like herself, on the green bank the Sow 
 stretched prone. The good Aeneas slew her there, 
 Great Juno, for a sacrifice to thee, 
 himself the priest, and with the sucklings all 
 beside shine altar stood. So that whole night 
 the god of Tiber calmed his swollen wave, 
 ebbing or lingering in silent flow, 
 till like some gentle lake or sleeping pool 
 his even waters lay, and strove no more 
 against the oarsmen's toil. Upon their way 
 they speed with joyful sound; the well-oiled wood 
 slips through the watery floor; the wondering waves, 
 and all the virgin forests wondering, 
 behold the warriors in far-shining arms 
 their painted galleys up the current drive. 
 O'er the long reaches of the winding flood 
 their sturdy oars outweary the slow course 
 of night and day. Fair groves of changeful green 
 arch o'er their passage, and they seem to cleave 
 green forests in the tranquil wave below. 
 Now had the flaming sun attained his way 
 to the mid-sphere of heaven, when they discerned 
 walls and a citadel in distant view, 
 with houses few and far between; 't was there, 
 where sovran Rome to-day has rivalled Heaven, 
 Evander's realm its slender strength displayed: 
 swiftly they turned their prows and neared the town.

It chanced th' Arcadian King had come that day 
 to honor Hercules, Amphitryon's son, 
 and to the powers divine pay worship due 
 in groves outside the wall. Beside him stood 
 Pallas his son, his noblest men-at-arms, 
 and frugal senators, who at the shrines 
 burnt incense, while warm blood of victims flowed. 
 But when they saw the tall ships in the shade 
 of that dark forest plying noiseless oars, 
 the sudden sight alarmed, and all the throng 
 sprang to its feet and left the feast divine. 
 But dauntless Pallas bade them give not o'er 
 the sacred festival, and spear in hand 
 flew forward to a bit of rising ground, 
 and cried from far: “Hail, warriors! what cause 
 drives you to lands unknown, and whither bound? 
 Your kin, your country? Bring ye peace or war?” 
 Father Aeneas then held forth a bough 
 of peaceful olive from the lofty ship, 
 thus answering : “Men Trojan-born are we, 
 foes of the Latins, who have driven us forth 
 with insolent assault. We fain would see 
 Evander. Pray, deliver this, and say 
 that chosen princes of Dardania 
 sue for his help in arms.” So wonder fell 
 on Pallas, awestruck at such mighty name. 
 O, come, whoe'er thou art,” he said, “and speak 
 in presence of my father. Enter here, 
 guest of our hearth and altar.” He put forth 
 his right hand in true welcome, and they stood 
 with lingering clasp; then hand in hand advanced 
 up the steep woodland, leaving Tiber 's wave.

Aeneas to Evander speaking fair, 
 these words essayed: “O best of Grecian-born! 
 whom Fortune's power now bids me seek and sue, 
 lifting this olive-branch with fillets bound, 
 I have not feared thee, though I know thou art 
 a Greek, and an Arcadian king, allied 
 to the two sons of Atreus. For behold, 
 my conscious worth, great oracles from Heaven, 
 the kinship of our sires, thy own renown 
 spread through the world—all knit my cause with thine, 
 all make me glad my fates have so decreed. 
 The sire and builder of the Trojan town 
 was Dardanus; but he, Electra's child, 
 came over sea to Teucria; the sire 
 of fair Electra was great Atlas, he 
 whose shoulder carries the vast orb of heaven. 
 But thy progenitor was Mercury, 
 and him conceiving, Maia, that white maid, 
 on hoar Cyllene's frosty summit bore. 
 But Maia's sire, if aught of truth be told, 
 was Atlas also, Atlas who sustains 
 the weight of starry skies. Thus both our tribes 
 are one divided stem. Secure in this, 
 no envoys have I sent, nor tried thy mind 
 with artful first approaches, but myself, 
 risking my person and my life, have come 
 a suppliant here. For both on me and thee 
 the house of Daunus hurls insulting war. 
 If us they quell, they doubt not to obtain 
 lordship of all Hesperia, and subdue 
 alike the northern and the southern sea. 
 Accept good faith, and give! Behold, our hearts 
 quail not in battle; souls of fire are we, 
 and warriors proved in many an action brave.”

Aeneas ceased. The other long had scanned 
 the hero's face, his eyes, and wondering viewed 
 his form and mien divine; in answer now 
 he briefly spoke: “With hospitable heart, 
 O bravest warrior of all Trojan-born, 
 I know and welcome thee. I well recall 
 thy sire Anchises, how he looked and spake. 
 For I remember Priam, when he came 
 to greet his sister, Queen Hesione, 
 in Salamis , and thence pursued his way 
 to our cool uplands of Arcadia . 
 The bloom of tender boyhood then was mine, 
 and with a wide-eyed wonder I did view 
 those Teucrian lords, Laomedon's great heir, 
 and, towering highest in their goodly throng, 
 Anchises, whom my warm young heart desired 
 to speak with and to clasp his hand in mine. 
 So I approached, and joyful led him home 
 to Pheneus' olden wall. He gave me gifts 
 the day he bade adieu; a quiver rare 
 filled with good Lycian arrows, a rich cloak 
 inwove with thread of gold, and bridle reins 
 all golden, now to youthful Pallas given. 
 Therefore thy plea is granted, and my hand 
 here clasps in loyal amity with thine. 
 To-morrow at the sunrise thou shalt have 
 my tribute for the war, and go thy way 
 my glad ally. But now this festival, 
 whose solemn rite 't were impious to delay, 
 I pray thee celebrate, and bring with thee 
 well-omened looks and words. Allies we are! 
 Use this our sacred feast as if your own.”

So saying, he bade his followers renew 
 th' abandoned feast and wine; and placed each guest 
 on turf-built couch of green, most honoring 
 Aeneas by a throne of maple fair 
 decked with a lion's pelt and flowing mane. 
 Then high-born pages, with the altar's priest, 
 bring on the roasted beeves and load the board 
 with baskets of fine bread; and wine they bring — 
 of Ceres and of Bacchus gift and toil. 
 While good Aeneas and his Trojans share 
 the long whole ox and meats of sacrifice.

When hunger and its eager edge were gone, 
 Evander spoke: “This votive holiday, 
 yon tables spread and altar so divine, 
 are not some superstition dark and vain, 
 that knows not the old gods, O Trojan King! 
 But as men saved from danger and great fear 
 this thankful sacrifice we pay. Behold, 
 yon huge rock, beetling from the mountain wall, 
 hung from the cliff above. How lone and bare 
 the hollowed mountain looks! How crag on crag 
 tumbled and tossed in huge confusion lie! 
 A cavern once it was, which ran deep down 
 into the darkness. There th' half-human shape 
 of Cacus made its hideous den, concealed 
 from sunlight and the day. The ground was wet 
 at all times with fresh gore; the portal grim 
 was hung about with heads of slaughtered men, 
 bloody and pale—a fearsome sight to see. 
 Vulcan begat this monster, which spewed forth 
 dark-fuming flames from his infernal throat, 
 and vast his stature seemed. But time and tide 
 brought to our prayers the advent of a god 
 to help us at our need. For Hercules, 
 divine avenger, came from laying low 
 three-bodied Geryon, whose spoils he wore 
 exultant, and with hands victorious drove 
 the herd of monster bulls, which pastured free 
 along our river-valley. Cacus gazed 
 in a brute frenzy, and left not untried 
 aught of bold crime or stratagem, but stole 
 four fine bulls as they fed, and heifers four, 
 all matchless; but, lest hoof-tracks point his way, 
 he dragged them cave-wards by the tails, confusing 
 the natural trail, and hid the stolen herd 
 in his dark den; and not a mark or sign 
 could guide the herdsmen to that cavern-door. 
 But after, when Amphitryon's famous son, 
 preparing to depart, would from the meads 
 goad forth the full-fed herd, his lingering bulls 
 roared loud, and by their lamentable cry 
 filled grove and hills with clamor of farewell: 
 one heifer from the mountain-cave lowed back 
 in answer, so from her close-guarded stall 
 foiling the monster's will. Then hadst thou seen 
 the wrath of Hercules in frenzy blaze 
 from his exasperate heart. His arms he seized, 
 his club of knotted oak, and climbed full-speed 
 the wind-swept hill. Now first our people saw 
 Cacus in fear, with panic in his eyes. 
 Swift to the black cave like a gale he flew, 
 his feet by terror winged. Scarce had he passed 
 the cavern door, and broken the big chains, 
 and dropped the huge rock which was pendent there 
 by Vulcan's well-wrought steel; scarce blocked and barred 
 the guarded gate: when there Tirynthius stood, 
 with heart aflame, surveying each approach, 
 rolling this way and that his wrathful eyes, 
 gnashing his teeth. Three times his ire surveyed 
 the slope of Aventine ; three times he stormed 
 the rock-built gate in vain; and thrice withdrew 
 to rest him in the vale. But high above 
 a pointed peak arose, sheer face of rock 
 on every side, which towered into view 
 from the long ridge above the vaulted cave, 
 fit haunt for birds of evil-boding wing. 
 This peak, which leftward toward the river leaned, 
 he smote upon its right—his utmost blow — 
 breaking its bases Ioose; then suddenly 
 thrust at it: as he thrust, the thunder-sound 
 filled all the arching sky, the river's banks 
 asunder leaped, and Tiber in alarm 
 reversed his flowing wave. So Cacus' lair 
 lay shelterless, and naked to the day 
 the gloomy caverns of his vast abode 
 stood open, deeply yawning, just as if 
 the riven earth should crack, and open wide 
 th' infernal world and fearful kingdoms pale, 
 which gods abhor; and to the realms on high 
 the measureless abyss should be laid bare, 
 and pale ghosts shrink before the entering sun. 
 Now upon Cacus, startled by the glare, 
 caged in the rocks and howling horribly, 
 Alcides hurled his weapons, raining down 
 all sorts of deadly missiles—trunks of trees, 
 and monstrous boulders from the mountain torn. 
 But when the giant from his mortal strait 
 no refuge knew, he blew from his foul jaws 
 a storm of smoke—incredible to tell — 
 and with thick darkness blinding every eye, 
 concealed his cave, uprolling from below 
 one pitch-black night of mingled gloom and fire. 
 This would Alcides not endure, but leaped 
 headlong across the flames, where densest hung 
 the rolling smoke, and through the cavern surged 
 a drifting and impenetrable cloud. 
 With Cacus, who breathed unavailing flame, 
 he grappled in the dark, locked limb with limb, 
 and strangled him, till o'er the bloodless throat 
 the starting eyeballs stared. Then Hercules 
 burst wide the doorway of the sooty den, 
 and unto Heaven and all the people showed 
 the stolen cattle and the robber's crimes, 
 and dragged forth by the feet the shapeless corpse 
 of the foul monster slain. The people gazed 
 insatiate on the grewsome eyes, the breast 
 of bristling shag, the face both beast and man, 
 and that fire-blasted throat whence breathed no more 
 the extinguished flame. 'T is since that famous day 
 we celebrate this feast, and glad of heart 
 each generation keeps the holy time. 
 Potitius began the worship due, 
 and our Pinarian house is vowed to guard 
 the rites of Hercules. An altar fair 
 within this wood they raised; 't is called ‘the Great,’ 
 and Ara Maxima its name shall be. 
 Come now, my warriors, and bind your brows 
 with garlands worthy of the gift of Heaven. 
 Lift high the cup in every thankful hand, 
 and praise our people's god with plenteous wine.” 
 He spoke; and of the poplar's changeful sheen, 
 sacred to Hercules, wove him a wreath 
 to shade his silvered brow. The sacred cup 
 he raised in his right hand, while all the rest 
 called on the gods and pure libation poured.

Soon from the travelling heavens the western star 
 glowed nearer, and Potitius led forth 
 the priest-procession, girt in ancient guise 
 with skins of beasts and carrying burning brands. 
 new feasts are spread, and altars heaped anew 
 with gifts and laden chargers. Then with song 
 the Salian choir surrounds the blazing shrine, 
 their foreheads wreathed with poplar. Here the youth, 
 the elders yonder, in proud anthem sing 
 the glory and the deeds of Hercules: 
 how first he strangled with strong infant hand 
 two serpents, Juno's plague; what cities proud, 
 
 Troy and Oechalia, his famous war 
 in pieces broke; what labors numberless 
 as King Eurystheus' bondman he endured, 
 by cruel Juno's will. “Thou, unsubdued, 
 didst strike the twy-formed, cloud-bred centaurs down, 
 Pholus and tall Hylaeus. Thou hast slain 
 the Cretan horror, and the lion huge 
 beneath the Nemean crag. At sight of thee 
 the Stygian region quailed, and Cerberus, 
 crouching o'er half-picked bones in gory cave. 
 Nothing could bid thee fear. Typhoeus towered 
 in his colossal Titan-panoply 
 o'er thee in vain; nor did thy cunning fail 
 when Lema's wonder-serpent round thee drew 
 its multudinous head. Hail, Jove's true son! 
 New glory to the gods above, come down, 
 and these thine altars and thy people bless!” 
 Such hymns they chanted, telling oft the tale 
 of Cacus' cave and blasting breath of fire: 
 while hills and sacred grove the note prolong.

Such worship o'er, all take the homeward way 
 back to the town. The hospitable King, 
 though bowed with weight of years, kept at his side 
 Aeneas and his son, and as they fared, 
 with various discourse beguiled the way. 
 Aeneas scanned with quick-admiring eyes 
 the region wide, and lingered with delight 
 now here, now there, inquiring eagerly 
 of each proud monument of heroes gone. 
 Then King Evander, he who builded first 
 On Palatine , spoke thus: “These groves erewhile 
 their native nymphs and fauns enjoyed, with men 
 from trees engendered and stout heart of oak. 
 Nor laws nor arts they knew; nor how to tame 
 burls to the yoke, nor fill great barns with store 
 and hoard the gathered grain; but rudely fared 
 on wild fruits and such food as hunters find. 
 Then Saturn from Olympian realms came down, 
 in flight from Jove's dread arms, his sceptre lost, 
 and he an exiled King. That savage race 
 he gathered from the mountain slopes; and gave 
 wise laws and statutes; so that latent land 
 was Latium , ‘hid land’, where he hid so long. 
 The golden centuries by legends told 
 were under that good King, whose equal sway 
 untroubled peace to all his peoples gave. 
 But after slow decline arrived an age 
 degenerate and of a darker hue, 
 prone to insensate war and greed of gain. 
 Then came Sicanian and Ausonian tribes, 
 and oft the land of Saturn lost its name. 
 New chieftains rose, and Thybris, giant King 
 and violent, from whom th' Italians named 
 the flooding Tiber , which was called no more 
 the Albula, its true and ancient style. 
 Myself, in exile from my fatherland 
 sailing uncharted seas, was guided here 
 by all-disposing Chance and iron laws 
 of Destiny. With prophecy severe 
 Carmentis, my nymph-mother, thrust me on, 
 warned by Apollo's word.” He scarce had said, 
 when near their path he showed an altar fair 
 and the Carmental gate, where Romans see 
 memorial of Carmentis, nymph divine, 
 the prophetess of fate, who first foretold 
 what honors on Aeneas' sons should fall 
 and lordly Pallanteum, where they dwell. 
 Next the vast grove was seen, where Romulus 
 ordained inviolable sanctuary; 
 then the Lupercal under its cold crag, 
 Wolf-hill, where old Arcadians revered 
 their wolf-god, the Lycaean Pan. Here too 
 the grove of Argiletum, sacred name, 
 where good Evander told the crime and death 
 of Argus, his false guest. From this they climbed 
 the steep Tarpeian hill, the Capitol, 
 all gold to-day, but then a tangled wild 
 of thorny woodland. Even then the place 
 woke in the rustics a religious awe, 
 and bade them fear and tremble at the view 
 of that dread rock and grove. “This leafy wood, 
 which crowns the hill-top, is the favored seat 
 of some great god,” said he, “but of his name 
 we know not surely. The Arcadians say 
 jove's dread right hand here visibly appears 
 to shake his aegis in the darkening storm, 
 the clouds compelling. Yonder rise in view 
 two strongholds with dismantled walls, which now 
 are but a memory of great heroes gone: 
 one father Janus built, and Saturn one; 
 their names, Saturnia and Janiculum.” 
 'Mid such good parley to the house they came 
 of King Evander, unadorned and plain, 
 whence herds of browsing cattle could be seen 
 ranging the Forum, and loud-bellowing 
 in proud Carinae. As they entered there, 
 “Behold,” said he, “the threshold that received 
 Alcides in his triumph! This abode 
 he made his own. Dare, O illustrious guest, 
 to scorn the pomp of power. Shape thy soul 
 to be a god's fit follower. Enter here, 
 and free from pride our frugal welcome share.” 
 So saying, 'neath his roof-tree scant and low 
 he led the great Aeneas, offering him 
 a couch of leaves with Libyan bear-skin spread. 
 Now night drew near, enfolding the wide world 
 in shadowy wings. But Venus, sore disturbed, 
 vexed not unwisely her maternal breast, 
 fearing Laurentum's menace and wild stir 
 of obstinate revolt, and made her plea 
 to Vulcan in their nuptial bower of gold, 
 outbreathing in the music of her words 
 celestial love: “When warring Argive kings 
 brought ruin on Troy 's sacred citadel 
 and ramparts soon to sink in hostile flames, 
 I asked not thee to help that hopeless woe, 
 nor craved thy craft and power. For, dearest lord, 
 I would not tax in vain shine arduous toil, 
 though much to Priam's children I was bound, 
 and oft to see Aeneas burdened sore 
 I could but weep. But now by will of Jove 
 he has found foothold in Rutulian lands. 
 Therefore I come at last with lowly suit 
 before a godhead I adore, and pray 
 for gift of arms,—a mother for her son. 
 Thou wert not unrelenting to the tears 
 of Nereus' daughter or Tithonus' bride. 
 Behold what tribes conspire, what cities strong 
 behind barred gates now make the falchion keen 
 to ruin and blot out both me and mine!” 
 So spake the goddess, as her arms of snow 
 around her hesitating spouse she threw 
 in tender, close embrace. He suddenly 
 knew the familiar fire, and o'er his frame 
 its wonted ardor unresisted ran, 
 swift as the glittering shaft of thunder cleaves 
 the darkened air and on from cloud to cloud 
 the rift of lightning runs. She, joyful wife; 
 felt what her beauty and her guile could do; 
 as, thralled by love unquenchable, her spouse 
 thus answered fair: “Why wilt thou labor so 
 with far-fetched pleas? my goddess, hast thou lost 
 thy faith in me? Had such a prayer been shine, 
 I could have armed the Teucrians. Neither Jove 
 nor Destiny had grudged ten added years 
 of life to Troy and Priam. If to-day 
 thou hast a war in hand, and if thy heart 
 determine so, I willingly engage 
 to lend thee all my cunning; whatsoever 
 molten alloy or welded iron can, 
 whate'er my roaring forge and flames achieve, 
 I offer thee. No more in anxious prayer 
 distrust thy beauty's power.” So saying, he gave 
 embrace of mutual desire, and found 
 deep, peaceful sleep, on her fond heart reclined.

Night's course half run, soon as the first repose 
 had banished sleep,—what time some careful wife 
 whose distaff and Minerva's humble toil 
 must earn her bread, rekindling her warm hearth, 
 adds a night-burden to her laboring day, 
 and by the torch-light cheers her maidens on 
 to their long tasks; that so her husband's bed 
 she may in honor keep, and train to power 
 her dear men-children—at such prime of morn, 
 with not less eager mind the Lord of Fire 
 fled his soft couch and to his forges tried. 
 An island near Aeolian Lipara 
 not far from a Sicilian headland lies, 
 where smoking rocks precipitously tower 
 above a vast vault, which the Cyclops' skill 
 outhollowed large as Aetna 's thunderous caves. 
 There ring the smitten anvils, and the roof 
 re-echoes, roaring loud. Chalybian ores 
 hiss in the gloom, and from the furnace mouths 
 puff the hot-panting fires. 'T is Vulcan's seat, 
 and all that island is Vulcania. 
 Thither descended now the god of fire 
 from height of heaven. At their task were found 
 the Cyclops in vast cavern forging steel, 
 naked Pyracmon and gigantic-limbed 
 Brontes and Steropes; beneath their blows 
 a lightning-shaft, half-shaped, half-burnished lay, 
 such as the Thunderer is wont to fling 
 in numbers from the sky, but formless still. 
 Three strands of whirling storm they wove with three 
 of bursting cloud, and three did interfuse 
 of ruddy-gleaming fires and winged winds; 
 then fearful lightnings on the skilful forge 
 they welded with loud horror, and with flames 
 that bear swift wrath from Jove. Elsewhere a crew 
 toiled at the chariot and winged wheel 
 wherewith the war-god wakens from repose 
 heroes and peopled cities. Others wrought 
 the awful Aegis, herald of dismay, 
 by angry Pallas worn; they burnished bright 
 the golden serpent-scales and wreathing snakes, 
 till from the corselet of the goddess glared 
 the Gorgon's severed head and rolling eyes. 
 “Cyclops of Aetna ,” Vulcan cried, “have done! 
 Leave ev'ry task unfinished, and receive 
 my new command! Good armor must be forged 
 for warrior brave. For this I need to use 
 your utmost sinew and your swiftest hand, 
 with all your master skill. No lingering now!” 
 Swift the command, and swiftly they divide 
 to each his portion, and united urge 
 the common task. Forth fow the molten streams 
 of brass and gold, and, melted in fierce fiame, 
 the deeply-wounding steel like liquid flows. 
 A mighty shield took shape, its single orb 
 sufficient to withstand the gathered shock 
 of all the Latin arms; for seven times 
 they welded ring with ring. Some deftly ply 
 the windy bellows, which receive and give 
 the roaring blasts; some plunge in cooling pond 
 the hissing metal, while the smithy floor 
 groans with the anvil's weight, as side by side 
 they lift their giant arms in numbered blows 
 and roll with gripe of tongs the ponderous bars.

While thus the Lemnian god his labor sped 
 in far Aeolian isle, the cheerful morn 
 with voice of swallows round his lowly eaves 
 summoned Evander. From his couch arose 
 the royal sire, and o'er his aged frame 
 a tunic threw, tying beneath his feet 
 the Tuscan sandals: an Arcadian sword, 
 girt at his left, was over one shoulder slung, 
 his cloak of panther trailing from behind. 
 A pair of watch-dogs from the lofty door 
 ran close, their lord attending, as he sought 
 his guest Aeneas; for his princely soul 
 remembered faithfully his former word, 
 and promised gift. Aeneas with like mind 
 was stirring early. King Evander's son 
 Pallas was at his side; Achates too 
 accompanied his friend. All these conjoin 
 in hand-clasp and good-morrow, taking seats 
 in midcourt of the house, and give the hour 
 to converse unrestrained. First spoke the King:

“Great leader of the Teucrians, while thy life 
 in safety stands, I call not Trojan power 
 vanquished or fallen. But to help thy war 
 my small means match not thy redoubled name. 
 Yon Tuscan river is my bound. That way 
 Rutulia thrusts us hard and chafes our wall 
 with loud, besieging arms. But I propose 
 to league with thee a numerous array 
 of kings and mighty tribes, which fortune strange 
 now brings to thy defence. Thou comest here 
 because the Fates intend. Not far from ours 
 a city on an ancient rock is seen, 
 Agylla, which a warlike Lydian clan 
 built on the Tuscan hills. It prospered well 
 for many a year, then under the proud yoke 
 of King Mezentius it came and bore 
 his cruel sway. Why tell the loathsome deeds 
 and crimes unspeakable the despot wrought? 
 May Heaven requite them on his impious head 
 and on his children! For he used to chain 
 dead men to living, hand on hand was laid 
 and face on face,—torment incredible! 
 Till, locked in blood-stained, horrible embrace, 
 a lingering death they found. But at the last 
 his people rose in furious despair, 
 and while he blasphemously raged, assailed 
 his life and throne, cut down his guards 
 and fired his regal dwellings; he, the while, 
 escaped immediate death and fied away 
 to the Rutulian land, to find defence 
 in Turnus hospitality. To-day 
 Etruria, to righteous anger stirred, 
 demands with urgent arms her guilty King. 
 To their large host, Aeneas, I will give 
 an added strength, thyself. For yonder shores 
 re-echo with the tumult and the cry 
 of ships in close array; their eager lords 
 are clamoring for battle. But the song 
 of the gray omen-giver thus declares 
 their destiny: ‘O goodly princes born 
 of old Maeonian lineage! Ye that are 
 the bloom and glory of an ancient race, 
 whom just occasions now and noble rage 
 enflame against Mezentius your foe, 
 it is decreed that yonder nation proud 
 shall never submit to chiefs Italian-born. 
 Seek ye a king from far!’ So in the field 
 inert and fearful lies Etruria's force, 
 disarmed by oracles. Their Tarchon sent 
 envoys who bore a sceptre and a crown 
 even to me, and prayed I should assume 
 the sacred emblems of Etruria's king, 
 and lead their host to war. But unto me 
 cold, sluggish age, now barren and outworn, 
 denies new kingdoms, and my slow-paced powers 
 run to brave deeds no more. Nor could I urge 
 my son, who by his Sabine mother's line 
 is half Italian-born. Thyself art he, 
 whose birth illustrious and manly prime 
 fate favors and celestial powers approve. 
 Therefore go forth, O bravest chief and King 
 of Troy and Italy ! To thee I give 
 the hope and consolation of our throne, 
 pallas, my son, and bid him find in thee 
 a master and example, while he learns 
 the soldier's arduous toil. With thy brave deeds 
 let him familiar grow, and reverence thee 
 with youthful love and honor. In his train 
 two hundred horsemen of Arcadia , 
 our choicest men-at-arms, shall ride; and he 
 in his own name an equal band shall bring 
 to follow only thee.” Such the discourse. 
 With meditative brows and downcast eyes 
 Aeneas and Achates, sad at heart, 
 mused on unnumbered perils yet to come. 
 But out of cloudless sky Cythera's Queen 
 gave sudden signal: from th' ethereal dome 
 a thunder-peal and flash of quivering fire 
 tumultuous broke, as if the world would fall, 
 and bellowing Tuscan trumpets shook the air. 
 All eyes look up. Again and yet again 
 crashed the terrible din, and where the sky 
 looked clearest hung a visionary cloud, 
 whence through the brightness blazed resounding arms. 
 All hearts stood still. But Troy 's heroic son 
 knew that his mother in the skies redeemed 
 her pledge in sound of thunder: so he cried, 
 “Seek not, my friend, seek not thyself to read 
 the meaning of the omen. 'T is to me 
 
 Olympus calls. My goddess-mother gave 
 long since her promise of a heavenly sign 
 if war should burst; and that her power would bring 
 a panoply from Vulcan through the air, 
 to help us at our need. Alas, what deaths 
 over Laurentum's ill-starred host impend! 
 O Turnus, what a reckoning thou shalt pay 
 to me in arms! O Tiber , in thy wave 
 what helms and shields and mighty soldiers slain 
 shall in confusion roll! Yea, let them lead 
 their lines to battle, and our league abjure!”

He said: and from the lofty throne uprose. 
 Straightway he roused anew the slumbering fire 
 sacred to Hercules, and glad at heart 
 adored, as yesterday, the household gods 
 revered by good Evander, at whose side 
 the Trojan company made sacrifice 
 of chosen lambs, with fitting rites and true. 
 Then to his ships he tried him, and rejoined 
 his trusty followers, of whom he took 
 the best for valor known, to lend him aid 
 in deeds of war. Others he bade return 
 down stream in easy course, and tidings bear 
 to young Ascanius of the new event, 
 and of his father. Horses then were brought 
 for all the Teucrians to Etruria bound; 
 and for Aeneas one of rarest breed, 
 o'er whom a tawny robe descended low, 
 of lion-skin, with claws of gleaming gold.

Noised swiftly through the little town it flies 
 that to the precinct of the Tuscan King 
 armed horsemen speed. Pale mothers in great fear 
 unceasing pray; for panic closely runs 
 in danger's steps; the war-god drawing nigh 
 looms larger; and good sire Evander now 
 clings to the hand of his departing son 
 and, weeping without stay, makes sad farewell: 
 “O, that great Jove would give me once again 
 my vanished years! O, if such man I were, 
 as when beneath Praeneste's wall I slew 
 the front ranks of her sons, and burned for spoil 
 their gathered shields on my triumph day; 
 or when this right hand hurled king Erulus 
 to shades below, though—terrible to tell — 
 Feronia bore him with three lives, that thrice 
 he might arise from deadly strife o'erthrown, 
 and thrice be slain—yet all these lives took I, 
 and of his arms despoiled him o'er and o'er: 
 not now, sweet son (if such lost might were mine), 
 should I from thy beloved embrace be torn; 
 nor could Mezentius with insulting sword 
 do murder in my sight and make my land 
 depopulate and forlorn. O gods in Heaven, 
 and chiefly thou whom all the gods obey, 
 have pity, Jove, upon Arcadia's King, 
 and hear a father's prayer: if your intent 
 be for my Pallas a defence secure, 
 if it be writ that long as I shall live, 
 my eyes may see him, and my arms enfold, 
 I pray for life, and all its ills I bear. 
 But if some curse, too dark to tell, impend 
 from thee, O Fortune blind! I pray thee break 
 my thread of miserable life to-day; 
 to-day, while fear still doubts and hope still smiles 
 on the unknown to-morrow, as I hold 
 thee to my bosom, dearest child, who art 
 my last and only joy; to-day, before 
 th' intolerable tidings smite my ears.” 
 Such grief the royal father's heart outpoured 
 at this last parting; the strong arms of slaves 
 lifted him, fallen in swoon, and bore him home.

Now forth beneath the wide-swung city-gates 
 the mounted squadron poured; Aeneas rode, 
 companioned of Achates, in the van; 
 then other lords of Troy . There Pallas shone 
 conspicuous in the midmost line, with cloak 
 and blazoned arms, as when the Morning-star 
 (To Venus dearest of all orbs that burn), 
 out of his lucent bath in ocean wave 
 lifts to the skies his countenance divine, 
 and melts the shadows of the night away. 
 Upon the ramparts trembling matrons stand 
 and follow with dimmed eyes the dusty cloud 
 whence gleam the brazen arms. The warriors ride 
 straight on through brake and fell, the nearest way; 
 loud ring the war-cries, and in martial line 
 the pounding hoof-beats shake the crumbling ground. 
 By Caere's cold flood lies an ample grove 
 revered from age to age. The hollowing hills 
 enclasp it in wide circles of dark fir, 
 and the Pelasgians, so the legends tell, 
 primaeval settlers of the Latin plains, 
 called it the haunt of Silvan, kindly god 
 of flocks and fields, and honoring the grove 
 gave it a festal day. Hard by this spot 
 had Tarchon with the Tuscans fortified 
 his bivouac, and from the heights afar 
 his legions could be seen in wide array 
 outstretching through the plain. To meet them there 
 Aeneas and his veteran chivalry 
 made sure advance, and found repose at eve 
 for warrior travel-worn and fainting steed.

But now athwart the darkening air of heaven 
 came Venus gleaming bright, to bring her son 
 the gifts divine. In deep, sequestered vale 
 she found him by a cooling rill retired, 
 and hailed him thus: “Behold the promised gift, 
 by craft and power of my Olympian spouse 
 made perfect, that my son need never fear 
 Laurentum's haughty host, nor to provoke 
 fierce Turnus to the fray.” Cythera's Queen 
 so saying, embraced her son, and hung the arms, 
 all glittering, on an oak that stood thereby. 
 The hero, with exultant heart and proud, 
 gazing unwearied at his mother's gift, 
 surveys them close, and poises in his hands 
 the helmet's dreadful crest and glancing flame, 
 the sword death-dealing, and the corselet strong, 
 impenetrable brass, blood-red and large, 
 like some dark-lowering, purple cloud that gleams 
 beneath the smiting sun and flashes far 
 its answering ray; and burnished greaves were there, 
 fine gold and amber; then the spear and shield — 
 the shield—of which the blazonry divine 
 exceeds all power to tell. Thereon were seen 
 
 Italia 's story and triumphant Rome , 
 wrought by the Lord of Fire, who was not blind 
 to lore inspired and prophesying song, 
 fore-reading things to come. He pictured there 
 Iulus' destined line of glorious sons 
 marshalled for many a war. In cavern green, 
 haunt of the war-god, lay the mother-wolf; 
 the twin boy-sucklings at her udders played, 
 nor feared such nurse; with long neck backward thrown 
 she fondled each, and shaped with busy tongue 
 their bodies fair. Near these were pictured well 
 the walls of Rome and ravished Sabine wives 
 in the thronged theatre violently seized, 
 when the great games were done; then, sudden war 
 of Romulus against the Cures grim 
 and hoary Tatius; next, the end of strife 
 between the rival kings, who stood in arms 
 before Jove's sacred altar, cup in hand, 
 and swore a compact o'er the slaughtered swine. 
 Hard by, behold, the whirling chariots tore 
 Mettus asunder (would thou hadst been true, 
 false Alban, to thy vow!); and Tullus trailed 
 the traitor's mangled corse along the hills, 
 the wild thorn dripping gore. Porsenna, next, 
 sent to revolted Rome his proud command 
 to take her Tarquin back, and with strong siege 
 assailed the city's wall; while unsubdued 
 Aeneas' sons took arms in freedom's name. 
 there too the semblance of the frustrate King, 
 a semblance of his wrath and menace vain, 
 when Cocles broke the bridge, and Cloelia burst 
 her captive bonds and swam the Tiber 's wave. 
 Lo, on the steep Tarpeian citadel 
 stood Manlius at the sacred doors of Jove, 
 holding the capitol, whereon was seen 
 the fresh-thatched house of Romulus the King. 
 There, too, all silver, through arcade of gold 
 fluttered the goose, whose monitory call 
 revealed the foeman at the gate: outside 
 besieging Gauls the thorny pathway climbed, 
 ambushed in shadow and the friendly dark 
 of night without a star; their flowing hair 
 was golden, and their every vesture gold; 
 their cloaks were glittering plaid; each milk-white neck 
 bore circlet of bright gold; in each man's hand 
 two Alpine javelins gleamed, and for defence 
 long shields the wild northern warriors bore. 
 There, graven cunningly, the Salian choir 
 went leaping, and in Lupercalian feast 
 the naked striplings ran; while others, crowned 
 with peaked cap, bore shields that fell from heaven; 
 and, bearing into Rome their emblems old, 
 chaste priestesses on soft-strewn litters passed. 
 But far from these th' artificer divine 
 had wrought a Tartarus, the dreadful doors 
 of Pluto, and the chastisements of sin; 
 swung o'er a threatening precipice, was seen 
 thy trembling form, O Catiline, in fear 
 of fury-faces nigh: and distant far 
 th' assemblies of the righteous, in whose midst 
 was Cato, giving judgment and decree.

Encircled by these pictures ran the waves 
 of vast, unrestful seas in flowing gold, 
 where seemed along the azure crests to fly 
 the hoary foam, and in a silver ring 
 the tails of swift, emerging dolphins lashed 
 the waters bright, and clove the tumbling brine. 
 For the shield's central glory could be seen 
 great fleets of brazen galleys, and the fight 
 at Actium ; where, ablaze with war's array, 
 Leucate's peak glowed o'er the golden tide. 
 Caesar Augustus led Italia 's sons 
 to battle: at his side concordant moved 
 Senate and Roman People, with their gods 
 of hearth and home, and all Olympian Powers. 
 Uplifted on his ship he stands; his brows 
 beneath a double glory smile, and bright 
 over his forehead beams the Julian star. 
 in neighboring region great Agrippa leads, 
 by favor of fair winds and friendly Heaven, 
 his squadron forth: upon his brows he wears 
 the peerless emblem of his rostral crown. 
 Opposing, in barbaric splendor shine 
 the arms of Antony: in victor's garb 
 from nations in the land of morn he rides, 
 and from the Red Sea , bringing in his train 
 
 Egypt and Syria , utmost Bactria 's horde, 
 and last—O shameless!—his Egyptian spouse. 
 All to the fight make haste; the slanted oars 
 and triple beaks of brass uptear the waves 
 to angry foam, as to the deep they speed 
 like hills on hill-tops hurled, or Cyclades 
 
 drifting and clashing in the sea: so vast 
 that shock of castled ships and mighty men! 
 Swift, arrowy steel and balls of blazing tow 
 rain o'er the waters, till the sea-god's world 
 flows red with slaughter. In the midst, the Queen, 
 sounding her native timbrel, wildly calls 
 her minions to the fight, nor yet can see 
 two fatal asps behind. Her monster-gods, 
 barking Anubis, and his mongrel crew, 
 on Neptune, Venus, and Minerva fling 
 their impious arms; the face of angry Mars, 
 carved out of iron, in the centre frowns, 
 grim Furies fill the air; Discordia strides 
 in rent robe, mad with joy; and at her side, 
 bellona waves her sanguinary scourge. 
 There Actian Apollo watched the war, 
 and o'er it stretched his bow; which when they knew, 
 Egyptian, Arab, and swart Indian slave, 
 and all the sons of Saba fled away 
 in terror of his arm. The vanquished Queen 
 made prayer to all the winds, and more and more 
 flung out the swelling sail: on wind-swept wave 
 she fled through dead and dying; her white brow 
 the Lord of Fire had cunningly portrayed 
 blanched with approaching doom. Beyond her lay 
 the large-limbed picture of the mournful Nile , 
 who from his bosom spread his garments wide, 
 and offered refuge in his sheltering streams 
 and broad, blue breast, to all her fallen power. 
 But Caesar in his triple triumph passed 
 the gates of Rome , and gave Italia 's gods, 
 for grateful offering and immortal praise, 
 three hundred temples; all the city streets 
 with game and revel and applauding song 
 rang loud; in all the temples altars burned 
 and Roman matrons prayed; the slaughtered herds 
 strewed well the sacred ground. The hero, throned 
 at snow-white marble threshold of the fane 
 to radiant Phoebus, views the gift and spoil 
 the nations bring, and on the portals proud 
 hangs a perpetual garland: in long file 
 the vanquished peoples pass, of alien tongues, 
 of arms and vesture strange. Here Vulcan showed 
 ungirdled Afric chiefs and Nomads bold, 
 Gelonian bowmen, men of Caria , 
 and Leleges. Euphrates seemed to flow 
 with humbler wave; the world's remotest men, 
 Morini came, with double-horned Rhine , 
 and Dahae, little wont to bend the knee, 
 and swift Araxes, for a bridge too proud.

Such was the blazoned shield his mother gave 
 from Vulcan's forge; which with astonished eyes 
 Aeneas viewed, and scanned with joyful mind 
 such shadows of an unknown age to be; 
 then on his shoulder for a burden bore 
 the destined mighty deeds of all his sons.

While thus in distant region moves the war, 
 down to bold Turnus Saturn's daughter sends 
 celestial Iris. In a sacred vale, 
 the seat of worship at his grandsire's tomb, 
 Pilumnus, Faunus' son, the hero mused. 
 And thus the wonder-child of Thaumas called 
 with lips of rose: “O Turnus, what no god 
 dared give for reward of thy fondest vow, 
 has come unbidden on its destined day. 
 Behold, Aeneas, who has left behind 
 the city with his fleet and followers, 
 is gone to kingly Palatine , the home 
 of good Evander. Yea, his march invades 
 the far Etrurian towns, where now he arms 
 the Lydian rustics. Wilt thou longer muse? 
 Call for thy chariot and steeds! Away! 
 Take yonder tents by terror and surprise!” 
 She spoke; and heavenward on poising wings 
 soared, cleaving as she fled from cloud to cloud 
 a vast, resplendent bow. The warrior saw, 
 and, lifting both his hands, pursued with prayer 
 the fading glory: “Beauteous Iris, hail! 
 Proud ornament of heaven! who sent thee here 
 across yon cloud to earth, and unto me? 
 Whence may this sudden brightness fall? I see 
 the middle welkin lift, and many a star, 
 far-wandering in the sky. Such solemn sign 
 I shall obey, and thee, O god unknown!” 
 So saying, he turned him to a sacred stream, 
 took water from its brim, and offered Heaven 
 much prayer, with many an importuning vow.

Soon o'er the spreading fields in proud array 
 the gathered legions poured; no lack was there 
 of steeds all fire, and broidered pomp and gold. 
 Messapus led the van; in rearguard rode 
 the sons of Tyrrheus; kingly Turnus towered 
 from the mid-column eminent: the host 
 moved as great Ganges lifting silently 
 his seven peaceful streams, or when the flood 
 of fructifying Nile from many a field 
 back to his channel flows. A swift-blown cloud 
 of black, uprolling dust the Teucrians see 
 o'ershadowing the plain; Calcus calls 
 from lofty outpost: “O my countrymen, 
 I see a huge, black ball of rolling smoke. 
 Your swords and lances! Man the walls! To arms! 
 The foe is here! What ho!” With clamors loud 
 the Teucrians through the city-gates retire, 
 and muster on the walls. For, wise in war, 
 Aeneas, ere he went, had left command 
 they should not range in battle-line, nor dare, 
 whate'er might hap, to risk in open plain 
 the bold sortie, but keep them safe entrenched 
 in mounded walls. So now, though rage and shame 
 prick to a close fight, they defensive bar 
 each portal strong, and, patient of control, 
 from hollow towers expect th' encircling foe.

Turnus, at full speed, had outridden far 
 his laggard host, and, leading in his train 
 a score of chosen knights, dashed into view 
 hard by the walls. A barb of Thracian breed 
 dappled with white he rode; a crimson plume 
 flamed over his golden helmet. “Who,” he cries, 
 “Is foremost at the foe? Who follows me? 
 Behold!” And, with the word, he hurled in air 
 a javelin, provoking instant war: 
 and, towering from his horse, charged o'er the field. 
 With answering shout his men-at-arms pursue, 
 and war-cries terrible. They laugh to scorn 
 “the craven hearts of Troy , that cannot give 
 fair, equal vantage, matching man to man, 
 but cuddle into camp.” This way and that 
 Turnus careers, and stormily surveys 
 the frowning rampart, and where way is none 
 some entering breach would find: so prowls a wolf 
 nigh the full sheepfold, and through wind and rain 
 stands howling at the postern all night long; 
 beneath the ewes their bleating lambs lie safe; 
 but he, with undesisting fury, more 
 rages from far, made frantic for his prey 
 by hunger of long hours, his foaming jaws 
 athirst for blood: not less the envy burned 
 of the Rutulian, as he scanned in vain 
 the stronghold of his foe. Indignant scorn 
 thrilled all his iron frame. But how contrive 
 to storm the fortress or by force expel 
 the Trojans from the rampart, and disperse 
 along the plain? Straightway he spied the ships, 
 in hiding near the camp, defended well 
 by mounded river-bank and fleeting wave. 
 On these he fell; while his exultant crew 
 brought firebrands, and he with heart aflame 
 grasped with a vengeful hand the blazing pine. 
 To the wild work his followers sped; for who 
 could prove him craven under Turnus' eye? 
 The whole troop for the weapon of their rage 
 seized smoking coals, of many a hearth the spoil; 
 red glare of fuming torches burned abroad, 
 and Vulcan starward flung a sparkling cloud.

What god, O Muses, saved the Trojans then 
 from wrathful flame? Who shielded then the fleet, 
 I pray you tell, from bursting storm of fire? 
 From hoary eld the tale, but its renown 
 sings on forever. When Aeneas first 
 on Phrygian Ida hewed the sacred wood 
 for rib and spar, and soon would put to sea, 
 that mighty mother of the gods, they say, 
 the Berecynthian goddess, thus to Jove 
 addressed her plea: “Grant, O my son, a boon, 
 which thy dear mother asks, who aided thee 
 to quell Olympian war. A grove I have 
 of sacred pine, long-loved from year to year. 
 On lofty hill it grew, and thither came 
 my worshippers with gifts, in secret gloom 
 of pine-trees dark and shadowing maple-boughs.; 
 these on the Dardan warrior at his need 
 I, not unwilling, for his fleet bestowed. 
 But I have fears. O, Iet a parent's prayer 
 in this prevail, and bid my care begone! 
 Let not rude voyages nor the shock of storm 
 my ships subdue, but let their sacred birth 
 on my charmed hills their strength and safety be!” 
 Then spake her son, who guides the wheeling spheres: 
 “Wouldst thou, my mother, strive to oversway 
 the course of Fate? What means this prayer of thine? 
 Can it be granted ships of mortal mould 
 to wear immortal being? Wouldst thou see 
 Aeneas pass undoubting and secure 
 through doubtful strait and peril? On what god 
 was e'er such power bestowed? Yet will I grant 
 a different boon. Whatever ships shall find 
 a safe Ausonian haven, and convey 
 safe through the seas to yon Laurentian plain 
 the Dardan King, from such I will remove 
 their perishable shapes, and bid them be 
 sea-nymphs divine, like Nereus' daughters fair, 
 Doto and Galatea, whose white breasts 
 divide the foaming wave.” He said, and swore 
 by his Tartarean brother's mournful stream, 
 the pitch-black floods and dark engulfing shore 
 of Styx; then great Jove bowed his head, and all 
 
 Olympus quaked at his consenting brow.

Now was the promised day at hand (for Fate 
 had woven the web so far) when Turnus' rage 
 stirred the divine progenitress to save 
 her sacred ships from fire. Then sudden shone 
 a strange effulgence in the eastern air; 
 and in a storm-cloud wafted o'er the sky 
 were Corybantic choirs, whose dreadful song 
 smote both on Teucrian and Rutulian ear: 
 “O Teucrians, fear not for the sure defence 
 of all the ships, nor arm your mortal hands. 
 Yon impious Turnus shall burn up the seas 
 before my pine-trees blest. Arise! Be free, 
 ye goddesses of ocean, and obey 
 your mother's mighty word.” Then instant broke 
 the hawsers of the sterns; the beaked prows 
 went plunging like great dolphins from the shore 
 down to the deeps, and, wonderful to tell, 
 the forms of virgin goddesses uprose, 
 one for each ship, and seaward sped away.

The hearts of the Rutulian host stood still 
 in panic, and Messapus terrified 
 his trembling horses reined; the sacred stream 
 of Father Tiber, harshly murmuring, 
 held back his flood and checked his seaward way. 
 But Turnus' courage failed not; he alone 
 his followers roused, and with reproachful words 
 alone spoke forth: “These signs and prodigies 
 threaten the Trojan only. Jove himself 
 has stripped them of their wonted strength: no more 
 can they abide our deadly sword and fire. 
 The Trojan path to sea is shut. What hope 
 of flight is left them now? The half their cause 
 is fallen. The possession of this land 
 is ours already; thousands of sharp swords 
 
 Italia 's nations bring. Small fear have I 
 of Phrygia 's boasted omens. What to me 
 their oracles from heaven? The will of Fate 
 and Venus have achieved their uttermost 
 in casting on Ausonia's fruitful shore 
 yon sons of Troy . I too have destinies: 
 and mine, good match for theirs, with this true blade 
 will spill the blood of all the baneful brood, 
 in vengeance for my stolen wife. Such wrongs 
 move not on Atreus' sons alone, nor rouse 
 only Mycenae to a righteous war. 
 Say you, ‘ Troy falls but once?’ One crime, say I, 
 should have contented them; and now their souls 
 should little less than loathe all womankind. 
 These are the sort of soldiers that be brave 
 behind entrenchment, where the moated walls 
 may stem the foe and make a little room 
 betwixt themselves and death. Did they not see 
 how Troy 's vast bulwark built by Neptune's hand 
 crumbled in flame? Forward, my chosen brave! 
 Who follows me to cleave his deadly way 
 through yonder battlement, and leap like storm 
 upon its craven guard? I have no need 
 of arms from Vulcan's smithy; nor of ships 
 a thousand strong against our Teucrian foes, 
 though all Etruria's league enlarge their power. 
 Let them not fear dark nights, nor coward theft 
 of Pallas' shrine, nor murdered sentinels 
 on their acropolis. We shall not hide 
 in blinding belly of a horse. But I 
 in public eye and open day intend 
 to compass their weak wall with siege and fire. 
 I'll prove them we be no Pelasgic band, 
 no Danaan warriors, such as Hector's arm 
 ten years withstood. But look! this day hath spent 
 its better part. In what remains, rejoice 
 in noble deeds well done; let weary flesh 
 have rest and food. My warriors, husband well 
 your strength against to-morrow's hopeful war.” 
 Meanwhile to block their gates with wakeful guard 
 is made Messapus' work, and to gird round 
 their camp with watchfires. Then a chosen band, 
 twice seven Rutulian chieftains, man the walls 
 with soldiery; each leads a hundred men 
 crested with crimson, armed with glittering gold. 
 Some post to separate sentries, and prepare 
 alternate vigil; others, couched on grass, 
 laugh round the wine and lift the brazen bowls. 
 The camp-fires cheerly burn; the jovial guard 
 spend the long, sleepless night in sport and game.

The Trojans peering from the lofty walls 
 survey the foe, and arm for sure defence 
 of every point exposed. They prove the gates 
 with fearful care, bind bridge with tower, and bring 
 good store of javelins. Serestus bold 
 and Mnestheus to their labors promptly fly, 
 whom Sire Aeneas bade in time of stress 
 to have authority and free command 
 over his warriars. Along the walls 
 the legions, by the cast of lots, divide 
 the pain and peril, giving each his due 
 of alternating vigil and repose.

Nisus kept sentry at the gate: a youth 
 of eager heart for noble deeds, the son 
 of Hyrtacus, whom in Aeneas' train 
 Ida the huntress sent; swift could he speed 
 the spear or light-winged arrow to its aim. 
 Beside him was Euryalus, his friend: 
 of all th' Aeneadae no youth more fair 
 wore Trojan arms; upon his cheek unshorn 
 the tender bloom of boyhood lingered still. 
 Their loving hearts were one, and oft in war 
 they battled side by side, as in that hour 
 a common sentry at the gate they shared. 
 Said Nisus: “Is it gods above that breathe 
 this fever in my soul, Euryalus? 
 or is the tyrant passion of each breast 
 the god it serves? Me now my urgent mind 
 to battles or some mighty deed impels, 
 and will not give me rest. Look yonder, where 
 the Rutuli in dull security 
 the siege maintain. Yet are their lights but few. 
 They are asleep or drunk, and in their line 
 is many a silent space. O, hear my thought, 
 and what my heart is pondering. To recall 
 Aeneas is the dearest wish to-night 
 of all, both high and low. They need true men 
 to find him and bring tidings. If our chiefs 
 but grant me leave to do the thing I ask 
 (Claiming no reward save what honor gives), 
 methinks I could search out by yonder hill 
 a path to Pallanteum.” The amazed 
 Euryalus, flushed warm with eager love 
 for deeds of glory, instantly replied 
 to his high-hearted friend: “Dost thou refuse, 
 my Nisus, to go with me hand in hand 
 when mighty deeds are done? Could I behold 
 thee venturing alone on danger? Nay! 
 Not thus my sire Opheltes, schooled in war, 
 taught me his true child, 'mid the woes of Troy 
 
 and Argive terrors reared; not thus with thee 
 have I proved craven, since we twain were leal 
 to great Aeneas, sharing all his doom. 
 In this breast also is a heart which knows 
 contempt of life, and deems such deeds, such praise, 
 well worth a glorious death.” Nisus to him: 
 “I have not doubted thee, nor e'er could have 
 one thought disloyal. May almighty Jove, 
 or whatsoe'er good power my purpose sees, 
 bring me triumphant to thy arms once more! 
 But if, as oft in doubtful deeds befalls, 
 some stroke of chance, or will divine, should turn 
 to adverse, 't is my fondest prayer that thou 
 shouldst live the longer of us twain. Thy years 
 suit better with more life. Oh! let there be 
 one mourner true to carry to its grave 
 my corpse, recaptured in the desperate fray, 
 or ransomed for a price. Or if this boon 
 should be—'t is Fortune's common way—refused, 
 then pay the debt of grief and loyal woe 
 unto my far-off dust, and garlands leave 
 upon an empty tomb. No grief I give 
 to any sorrowing mother; one alone, 
 of many Trojan mothers, had the heart 
 to follow thee, her child, and would not stay 
 in great Acestes' land.” His friend replied: 
 “Thou weavest but a web of empty words 
 and reasons vain, nor dost thou shake at all 
 my heart's resolve. Come, let us haste away!” 
 He answered so, and summoned to the gate 
 a neighboring watch, who, bringing prompt relief, 
 the sentry-station took; then quitted he 
 his post assigned; at Nisus' side he strode, 
 and both impatient sped them to the King.

Now in all lands all creatures that have breath 
 lulled care in slumber, and each heart forgot 
 its load of toil and pain. But they who led 
 the Teucrian cause, with all their chosen brave, 
 took counsel in the kingdom's hour of need 
 what action to command or whom dispatch 
 with tidings to Aeneas. In mid-camp 
 on long spears leaning and with ready shield 
 to leftward slung, th' assembled warriors stood. 
 Thither in haste arrived the noble pair, 
 brave Nisus with Euryalus his friend, 
 and craved a hearing, for their suit, they said, 
 was urgent and well-worth a patient ear. 
 Iulus to the anxious striplings gave 
 a friendly welcome, bidding Nisus speak. 
 The son of Hyrtacus obeyed: “O, hear, 
 Princes of Teucria, with impartial mind, 
 nor judge by our unseasoned youth the worth 
 of what we bring. Yon Rutule watch is now 
 in drunken sleep, and all is silent there. 
 With our own eyes we picked out a good place 
 to steal a march, that cross-road by the gate 
 close-fronting on the bridge. Their lines of fire 
 are broken, and a murky, rolling smoke 
 fills all the region. If ye grant us leave 
 by this good luck to profit, we will find 
 Aeneas and the walls of Palatine , 
 and after mighty slaughter and huge spoil 
 ye soon shall see us back. Nor need ye fear 
 we wander from the way. Oft have we seen 
 that city's crest loom o'er the shadowy vales, 
 where we have hunted all day long and know 
 each winding of yon river.” Then uprose 
 aged Aletes, crowned with wisdom's years: 
 “Gods of our fathers, who forevermore 
 watch over Troy , ye surely had no mind 
 to blot out Teucria's name, when ye bestowed 
 such courage on young hearts, and bade them be 
 so steadfast and so leal.” Joyful he clasped 
 their hands in his, and on their shoulders leaned, 
 his aged cheek and visage wet with tears. 
 “What reward worthy of such actions fair, 
 dear heroes, could be given? Your brightest prize 
 will come from Heaven and your own hearts. The rest 
 Aeneas will right soon bestow; nor will 
 Ascanius, now in youth's unblemished prime, 
 ever forget your praise.” Forthwith replied 
 Aeneas' son, “By all our household gods, 
 by great Assaracus, and every shrine 
 of venerable Vesta, I confide 
 my hopes, my fortunes, and all future weal 
 to your heroic hearts. O, bring me back 
 my father! Set him in these eyes once more! 
 That day will tears be dry; and I will give 
 two silver wine-cups graven and o'erlaid 
 with clear-cut figures, which my father chose 
 out of despoiled Arisbe; also two 
 full talents of pure gold, and tripods twain, 
 and ancient wine-bowl, Tyrian Dido's token. 
 But if indeed our destiny shall be 
 to vanquish Italy in prosperous war, 
 to seize the sceptre and divide the spoil, — 
 saw you that steed of Turnus and the arms 
 in which he rode, all golden? That same steed, 
 that glittering shield and haughty crimson crest 
 I will reserve thee, e'er the lots are cast, 
 and, Nisus, they are thine. Hereto my sire 
 will add twelve captive maids of beauty rare, 
 and slaves in armor; last, thou hast the fields 
 which now Latinus holds. But as for thee, 
 to whom my youth but binds me closer still, 
 thee, kingly boy, my whole heart makes my own, 
 and through all changeful fortune we shall be 
 inseparable peers: nor will I seek 
 renown and glory, or in peace or war, 
 forgetting thee: but trust thee from this day 
 in deed and word.” To him in answer spoke 
 euryalus, “O, may no future show 
 this heart unworthy thy heroic call! 
 And may our fortune ever prosperous prove, 
 not adverse. But I now implore of thee 
 a single boon worth all beside. I have 
 a mother, from the venerated line 
 of Priam sprung, whom not the Trojan shore 
 nor King Acestes' city could detain, 
 alas! from following me. I leave her now 
 without farewell; nor is her love aware 
 of my supposed peril. For I swear 
 by darkness of this night and thy right hand, 
 that all my courage fails me if I see 
 a mother's tears. O, therefore, I implore, 
 be thou her sorrow's comfort and sustain 
 her solitary day. Such grace from thee 
 equip me for my war, and I shall face 
 with braver heart whatever fortune brings.” 
 With sudden sorrow thrilled, the veteran lords 
 of Teucria showed their tears. But most of all 
 such likeness of his own heart's filial love 
 on fair Iulus moved, and thus he spoke: 
 “Promise thyself what fits thy generous deeds. 
 Thy mother shall be mine, Creusa's name 
 alone not hers; nor is the womb unblest 
 that bore a child like thee. Whate'er success 
 may follow, I make oath immutable 
 by my own head, on which my father swore, 
 that all I promise thee of gift or praise 
 if home thou comest triumphing, shall be 
 the glory of thy mother and thy kin.” 
 Weeping he spoke, and from his shoulder drew 
 the golden sword, well-wrought and wonderful, 
 which once in Crete Lycaon's cunning made 
 and sheathed in ivory. On Nisus then 
 Mnestheus bestowed a shaggy mantle torn 
 from a slain lion; good Aletes gave 
 exchange of crested helms. In such array 
 they hastened forth; and all the princely throng, 
 young men and old, ran with them to the gates, 
 praying all gods to bless. Iulus then, 
 a fair youth, but of grave, heroic soul 
 beyond his years, gave them in solemn charge 
 full many a message for his sire, but these 
 the hazard of wild winds soon scattered far, 
 and flung them fruitless on the darkening storm.

Forth through the moat they climb, and steal away 
 through midnight shades, to where their foemen lie 
 encamped in arms; of whom, before these fall, 
 a host shall die. Along the turf were seen, 
 laid low in heavy slumber and much wine, 
 a prostrate troop; the horseless chariots 
 stood tilted on the shore, 'twixt rein and wheel 
 the drivers dozed, wine-cups and idle swords 
 strewn round them without heed. The first to speak 
 was Nisus. “Look, Euryalus,” he cried, 
 “Now boldly strike. The hour to do the deed 
 is here, the path this way. Keep wide-eyed watch 
 that no man smite behind us. I myself 
 will mow the mighty fieid, and lead thee on 
 in a wide swath of slaughter.” With this word 
 he shut his lips; and hurled him with his sword 
 on haughty Rhamnes, who lay propped at ease 
 on pillows huge, and from his heaving breast 
 poured slumber loud: of royal stem was he 
 and honored of King Turnus for his skill 
 in augury; yet could no augur's charm 
 that bloody stroke forefend. And Nisus slew 
 three slaves near by, that lay in reckless sleep 
 upon their spears; then him that bore the shield 
 of Remus, then the driver of his car 
 close to the horses caught; his sword cut through 
 their prostrate necks; then their great master's head 
 he lifted high, and left decapitate 
 the huge corpse spilling forth its crimson gore 
 o'er couch and ground. Like stroke on Lamus fell 
 and Lamyrus, with young Serranus, who 
 had gamed the midnight through and sleeping lay, 
 his fair young body to the wine-god given; 
 but happier now had that long-revelling night 
 been merry till the dawn! Thus round full folds 
 of sheep a famished lion fiercely prowls; 
 mad hunger moves him; he devours and rends 
 with bloody, roaring mouth, the feeble flock 
 that trembles and is dumb. Nor was the sword 
 of fair Euryalus less fatal found; 
 but fiercely raging on his path of death, 
 he pressed on through a base and nameless throng, 
 Rhoetus, Herbesus, Fadus, Abaris; 
 surprising all save Rhoetus, who awake 
 saw every stroke, and crouched in craven fear 
 behind a mighty wine-bowl; but not less 
 clean through his bare breast as he started forth 
 the youth thrust home his sword, then drew it back 
 death-dripping, while the bursting purple stream 
 of life outflowed, with mingling blood and wine. 
 Then, flushed with stealthy slaughter, he crept near 
 the followers of Messapus, where he saw 
 their camp-fire dying down, and tethered steeds 
 upon the meadow feeding. Nisus then 
 knew the hot lust of slaughter had swept on 
 too far, and cried, “Hold off! For, lo, 
 the monitory dawn is nigh. Revenge 
 has fed us to the full. We have achieved 
 clean passage through the foe.” Full many a prize 
 was left untaken: princely suits of mail 
 enwrought with silver pure, huge drinking-bowls, 
 and broideries fair. Yet grasped Euryalus 
 the blazonry at Rhamnes' corselet hung, 
 and belt adorned with gold: which were a gift 
 to Remulus of Tibur from the store 
 of opulent Caedicus, who sued from far 
 to be a friend; and these in death he gave 
 to his son's son, who slain in battle fell, 
 and proud Rutulians seized them with the spoil. 
 Euryalus about his shoulder strong 
 this booty slung—unprofitable gain! — 
 and fitted on a gorgeous, crested helm 
 which once Messapus wore. So from the camp, 
 escaping danger, the two champions ran.

But horsemen from the Latin city sent 
 to join the serried legions of the plain 
 had come at Turnus' call, three hundred strong 
 all bearing shields, and under the command 
 of Volscens. Nigh the camp and walls they drew; 
 and soon they spied upon the leftward path 
 th' heroic pair, where in dim shades of night 
 the helmet of Euryalus betrayed 
 the heedless boy, and with a glancing beam 
 flashed on the foe. Nor was it seen in vain. 
 Loud from the line the voice of Volscens called: 
 “Stand, gentlemen! What business brings you here? 
 Whose your allegiance? Whither speed so fast?” 
 No answer gave they save to fly in haste 
 to cover of the forest and deep gloom 
 of the defensive night. The horsemen then 
 blocked every crossway known, and, scattering wide, 
 kept sentry at the entrance. The great wood 
 was all of tangled brush and blinding shade 
 of flex-boughs. Impenetrable thorns 
 had thickly overgrown, and seldom showed 
 a pathway through the maze. Euryalus, 
 by the black branches and his ponderous spoil 
 impeded, groped along in fearful doubt, 
 deceived and quite astray. Nisus his friend 
 had quit him, and incautiously had forced 
 a sally through the close-encircling foe, 
 into that region which should after bear 
 the name of Alba—a rude shelter then 
 for King Latinus' herds. He stayed him there 
 and looked, but vainly, for the comrade gone. 
 “Euryalus, ill-fated boy!” he cried, 
 “Where have I lost thee in the pathless wild? 
 How find thee? How retrace the blinding maze 
 of yonder treacherous wood?” Yet ere he said, 
 on his own path he turns him back, and scans 
 his own light footprints through the tangled thorn, 
 so dark and still. But suddenly he hears 
 the tread of horses, with confusing din 
 and tumult of pursuit. Nor was it long 
 he tarried ere upon his anguished ear 
 smote a great cry: and, lo! Euryalus, 
 trapped by the dark night, the deceptive ground, 
 faced the whole onset, and fell back o'erwhelmed 
 by a loud mob of foes, while his sole sword 
 tried many a thrust in vain. O, what defence 
 may Nisus bring? With what audacious arms 
 his chosen comrade save? Shall he make bare 
 his dying breast to all their swords, and run 
 to honorable death that bloody way? 
 he swung his spear with lifted arm, then looked 
 to the still moon, in heaven, and thus implored: 
 “O goddess, aid me in my evil case. 
 O glory of the stars, Latona's child! 
 O guardian of groves, if in my name 
 my father Hyrtacus made offerings 
 on burning altars, if my own right hand, 
 successful in the chase, ere hung its gift 
 beneath thy dome or on thy sacred wall, 
 grant me yon troop to scatter. Guide my spear 
 along its path in air.” He spoke, and hurled 
 with all his gathered strength the shaft of steel. 
 the swift spear clove the shades of night, and struck 
 full in the back of Sulmo, where it split, 
 but tore through to his very heart. The breast 
 poured forth life's glowing stream, and he, o'erthrown 
 lay cold in death, while his huge, heaving sides 
 gave lingering throes. The men about him stared 
 this way and that. But Nisus, fiercer still, 
 poised level with his ear a second shaft, 
 and, while the foeman paused, the whizzing spear 
 straight through the brows of Tagus drove, and clung 
 deep in the cloven brain. In frenzy rose 
 Volscens, but nowhere could espy what hand 
 the shaft had hurled, nor whither his wild rage 
 could make reply. “But thou,” he cried, “shalt feed 
 with thy hot blood my honor and revenge 
 for both the slain.” Then with a sword unsheathed 
 upon Euryalus he fell. Loud shrieked 
 Nisus, of reason reft, who could not bear 
 such horror, nor in sheltering gloom of night 
 longer abide: “'T is I, 't is I!” he said. 
 look on the man who slew them! Draw on me 
 your swords, Rutulians! The whole stratagem 
 was mine, mine only, and the lad ye slay 
 dared not, and could not. O, by Heaven above 
 and by the all-beholding stars I swear, 
 he did but love his hapless friend too well.” 
 But while he spoke, the furious-thrusting sword 
 had pierced the tender body, and run through 
 the bosom white as snow. Euryalus 
 sank prone in death; upon his goodly limbs 
 the life-blood ran unstopped, and low inclined 
 the drooping head; as when some purpled flower, 
 cut by the ploughshare, dies, or poppies proud 
 with stem forlorn their ruined beauty bow 
 before the pelting storm. Then Nisus flew 
 straight at his foes; but in their throng would find 
 Volscens alone, for none but Volscens stayed: 
 they gathered thickly round and grappled him 
 in shock of steel with steel. But on he plunged, 
 swinging in ceaseless circles round his head 
 his lightning-sword, and thrust it through the face 
 of shrieking Volscens, with his own last breath 
 striking his foeman down; then cast himself 
 upon his fallen comrade's breast; and there, 
 stabbed through, found tranquil death and sure repose.

Heroic pair and blest! If aught I sing 
 have lasting music, no remotest age 
 shall blot your names from honor's storied scroll: 
 not while the altars of Aeneas' line 
 shall crown the Capitol's unshaken hill, 
 nor while the Roman Father's hand sustains 
 its empire o'er the world.

The Rutules seized the spoils of victory, 
 and slowly to their camp, with wail and cry, 
 bore Volscens' corse; and in the eamp they made 
 like wailing over Rhamnes lifeless found, 
 o'er Numa and Serranus, and a throng 
 of princes dead. The gazing people pressed 
 around the slain, the dying, where the earth 
 ran red with slaughter and full many a stream 
 of trickling gore; nor did they fail to know 
 Messapus' glittering helm, his baldric fair, 
 recaptured now with lavish sweat and pain.

Now, from Tithonus' saffron couch set free, 
 Aurora over many a land outpoured 
 the rising morn; the sun's advancing beam 
 unveiled the world; and Turnus to his host 
 gave signal to stand forth, while he arrayed 
 himself in glorious arms. Then every chief 
 awoke his mail-clad company, and stirred 
 their slumbering wrath with tidings from the foe. 
 Tumultuously shouting, they impaled 
 on lifted spears—O pitiable sight! — 
 the heads of Nisus and Euryalus. 
 Th' undaunted Trojans stood in battle-line 
 along the wall to leftward (for the right 
 the river-front defended) keeping guard 
 on the broad moat; upon the ramparts high 
 sad-eyed they stood, and shuddered as they saw 
 the hero-faces thrust aloft; too well 
 their loyal grief the blood-stained features knew.

On restless pinions to the trembling town 
 had voiceful Rumor hied, and to the ears 
 of that lone mother of Euryalus 
 relentless flown. Through all her feeble frame 
 the chilling sorrow sped. From both her hands 
 dropped web and shuttle; she flew shrieking forth, 
 ill-fated mother! and with tresses torn, 
 to the wide ramparts and the battle-line 
 ran frantic, heeding naught of men-at-arms, 
 nor peril nor the rain of falling spears; 
 and thus with loud and lamentable cry 
 filled all the air: “Is it in yonder guise, 
 Euryalus, thou comest? Art thou he, 
 last comfort of my life? O cruel one! 
 Couldst thou desert me? When they thrust thee forth 
 to death and danger, did they dare refuse 
 a wretched mother's last embrace? But now — 
 O woe is me!—upon this alien shore 
 thou liest for a feast to Latin dogs 
 and carrion birds. Nor did thy mother lead 
 the mourners to thy grave, nor shut those eyes, 
 nor wash the dreadful wounds, nor cover thee 
 with the fair shroud, which many a night and day 
 I swiftly wove, and at my web and loom 
 forgot my years and sorrows. Whither now 
 to seek and follow thee? What spot of earth 
 holds the torn body and the mangled limbs? 
 Is all the gift thou bringest home, dear child, 
 this? O, was this the prize for which I came 
 o'er land and sea? O, stab me very deep, 
 if ye have any pity; hurl on me 
 your every spear, Rutulians; make of me 
 your swords' first work. Or, Father of the gods! 
 Show mercy, thou! and with thy lightning touch 
 this head accurst, and let it fall by thee 
 down to the dark. For else what power is mine 
 my tortured life to end?” Her agony 
 smote on their listening souls; a wail of woe 
 along the concourse ran. Stern men-at-arms 
 felt valor for a moment sleep, and all 
 their rage of battle fail. But while she stirred 
 the passion of her grief, Ilioneus 
 and young Iulus, weeping filial tears, 
 bade Actor and Idaeus, lifting her 
 in both their reverent arms, to bear her home.

But now the brazen trumpet's fearsome song 
 blares loud, and startled shouts of soldiery 
 spread through the roaring sky. The Volscian band 
 press to the siege, and, locking shield with shield, 
 fill the great trenches, tear the palisades, 
 or seek approach by ladders up the walls, 
 where'er the line of the defenders thins, and light 
 through their black circle shines. The Trojans pour 
 promiscuous missiles down, and push out hard 
 with heavy poles—so well have they been schooled 
 to fight against long sieges. They fling down 
 a crushing weight of rocks, in hope to break 
 th' assailing line, where roofed in serried shields 
 the foe each charge repels. But not for long 
 the siegers stand; along their dense array 
 the crafty Teucrians down the rampart roll 
 a boulder like a hill-top, laying low 
 the Rutule troop and crashing through their shields. 
 Nor may the bold Rutulian longer hope 
 to keep in cover, but essays to storm 
 only with far-flung shafts the bastion strong. 
 Here grim Mezentius, terrible to see, 
 waved an Etrurian pine, and made his war 
 with smoking firebrands; there, in equal rage, 
 Messapus, the steed-tamer, Neptune's son, 
 ripped down the palisade, and at the breach 
 strung a steep path of ladders up the wall.

Aid, O Calliope, the martial song! 
 Tell me what carnage and how many deaths 
 the sword of Turnus wrought: what peer in arms 
 each hero to the world of ghosts sent down. 
 Unroll the war's great book before these eyes.

A tower was there, well-placed and looming large, 
 with many a lofty bridge, which desperately 
 th' Italians strove to storm, and strangely plied 
 besieging enginery to cast it down: 
 the Trojans hurled back stones, or, standing close, 
 flung through the loopholes a swift shower of spears. 
 But Turnus launched a firebrand, and pierced 
 the wooden wall with flame, which in the wind 
 leaped larger, and devoured from floor to floor, 
 burning each beam away. The trembling guards 
 sought flight in vain; and while they crowded close 
 into the side unkindled yet, the tower 
 bowed its whole weight and fell, with sudden crash 
 that thundered through the sky. Along the ground 
 half dead the warriors fell (the crushing mass 
 piled over them) by their own pointed spears 
 pierced to the heart, or wounded mortally 
 by cruel splinters of the wreck. Two men, 
 Helenor one, and Lyeus at his side, 
 alone get free. Helenor of the twain 
 was a mere youth; the slave Lycymnia 
 bore him in secret to the Lydian King, 
 and, arming him by stealth, had sent away 
 to serve the Trojan cause. One naked sword 
 for arms had he, and on his virgin shield 
 no blazon of renown; but when he saw 
 the hosts of Turnus front him, and the lines 
 this way and that of Latins closing round, — 
 as a fierce, forest-creature, brought to bay 
 in circling pack of huntsmen, shows its teeth 
 against the naked spears, and scorning death 
 leaps upward on the javelins,—even so, 
 not loth to die, the youthful soldier flew 
 straight at the centre of his foes, and where 
 the shining swords looked thickest, there he sprung. 
 But Lyeus, swifter-footed, forced his way 
 past the opposing spears and made escape 
 far as the ciity-wall, where he would fain 
 clutch at the coping and climb up to clasp 
 some friend above: but Turnus, spear in hand, 
 had hotly followed, and exulting loud 
 thus taunted him, “Hadst thou the hope, rash fool, 
 beyond this grasp to fly?” So, as he clung, 
 he tore him down; and with him broke and fell 
 a huge piece of the wall: not otherwise 
 a frail hare, or a swan of snow-white wing, 
 is clutched in eagle-talons, when the bird 
 of Jove soars skyward with his prey; or tender lamb 
 from bleating mother and the broken fold 
 is stolen by the wolf of Mars. Wild shouts 
 on every side resound. In closer siege 
 the foe press on, and heap the trenches full, 
 or hurl hot-flaming torches at the towers. 
 Ilioneus with mountain-mass of stone 
 struck down Lucetius, as he crept with fire 
 too near the city-gate. Emathion fell 
 by Liger's hand, and Corynteus' death 
 Asilas dealt: one threw the javelin well; 
 th' insidious arrow was Asilas' skill. 
 Ortygius was slain by Caeneus, then 
 victorious Geneus fell by Turnus' ire. 
 Then smote he Dioxippus, and laid low 
 Itys and Promolus and Sagaris 
 and Clonius, and from the lofty tower 
 shot Idas down. The shaft of Capys pierced 
 Privernus, whom Themilla's javelin 
 but now had lightly grazed, and he, too bold, 
 casting his shield far from him, had outspread 
 his left hand on the wound: then sudden flew 
 the feathered arrow, and the hand lay pinned 
 against his left side, while the fatal barb 
 was buried in his breathing life. The son 
 of Arcens now stood forth in glittering arms. 
 His broidered cloak was red Iberian stain, 
 and beautiful was he. Arcens his sire 
 had sent him to the war; but he was bred 
 in a Sicilian forest by a stream 
 to his nymph-mother dear, where rose the shrine 
 of merciful Palicus, blest and fair. 
 But, lo! Mezentius his spear laid by, 
 and whirled three times about his head the thong 
 of his loud sling: the leaden bullet clove 
 the youth's mid-forehead, and his towering form 
 fell prostrate its full length along the ground.

'T was then Ascanius first shot forth in war 
 the arrow swift from which all creatures wild 
 were wont to fly in fear: and he struck down 
 with artful aim Numanus, sturdy foe, 
 called Remulus, who lately was espoused 
 to Turnus' younger sister. He had stalked 
 before the van, and made vociferous noise 
 of truths and falsehoods foul and base, his heart 
 puffed up with new-found greatness. Up and down 
 he strode, and swelled his folly with loud words: 
 “No shame have ye this second time to stay 
 cooped close within a rampart's craven siege, 
 O Phrygians twice-vanquished? Is a wall 
 your sole defence from death? Are such the men 
 who ask our maids in marriage? Say what god, 
 what doting madness, rather, drove ye here 
 to Italy ? This way ye will not find 
 the sons of Atreus nor the trickster tongue 
 of voluble Ulysses. Sturdy stock 
 are we; our softest new-born babes we dip 
 in chilling rivers, till they bear right well 
 the current's bitter cold. Our slender lads 
 hunt night and day and rove the woods at large, 
 or for their merriment break stubborn steeds, 
 or bend the horn-tipped bow. Our manly prime 
 in willing labor lives, and is inured 
 to poverty and scantness; we subdue 
 our lands with rake and mattock, or in war 
 bid strong-walled cities tremble. Our whole life 
 is spent in use of iron; and we goad 
 the flanks of bullocks with a javelin's end. 
 Nor doth old age, arriving late, impair 
 our brawny vigor, nor corrupt the soul 
 to frail decay. But over silvered brows 
 we bind the helmet. Our unfailing joy 
 is rapine, and to pile the plunder high. 
 But ye! your gowns-are saffron needlework 
 or Tyrian purple; ye love shameful ease, 
 or dancing revelry. Your tunics fiow 
 long-sleeved, and ye have soft caps ribbon-bound. 
 Aye, Phrygian girls are ye, not Phrygian men! 
 Hence to your hill of Dindymus! Go hear 
 the twy-mouthed piping ye have loved so long. 
 The timbrel, hark! the Berecynthian flute 
 calls you away, and Ida's goddess calls. 
 Leave arms to men, true men! and quit the sword!”

Of such loud insolence and words of shame 
 Ascanius brooked no more, but laid a shaft 
 athwart his bowstring, and with arms stretched wide 
 took aim, first offering suppliant vow to Jove: 
 “Almighty Jupiter, thy favor show 
 to my bold deed! So to thy shrine I bear 
 gifts year by year, and to thine altars lead 
 a bull with gilded brows, snow-white, and tall 
 as his own dam, what time his youth begins 
 to lower his horns and fling the sand in air.” 
 The Father heard, and from a cloudless sky 
 thundered to leftward, while the deadly bow 
 resounded and the arrow's fearful song 
 hissed from the string; it struck unswervingly 
 the head of Remulus and clove its way 
 deep in the hollows of his brow. “Begone! 
 Proud mocker at the brave! Lo, this reply 
 twice-vanquished Phrygians to Rutulia send.” 
 Ascanius said no more. The Teucrians 
 with deep-voiced shout of joy applaud, and lift 
 their exultation starward. Then from heaven 
 the flowing-haired Apollo bent his gaze 
 upon Ausonia's host, and cloud-enthroned 
 looked downward o'er the city, speaking thus 
 to fair Iulus in his victory: 
 “Hail to thy maiden prowess, boy! This way 
 the starward path to dwelling-place divine. 
 O sired of gods and sire of gods to come, 
 all future storms of war by Fate ordained 
 shall into peace and lawful calm subside 
 beneath the offspring of Assaracus. 
 No Trojan destinies thy glory bound.” 
 So saying, from his far, ethereal seat 
 he hied him down, and, cleaving the quick winds 
 drew near Ascanius. He wore the guise 
 of aged Butes, who erewhile had borne 
 Anchises, armor and kept trusty guard 
 before his threshold, but attended now 
 Ascanius, by commandment of his sire. 
 Clad in this graybeard's every aspect, moved 
 apollo forth,—his very voice and hue, 
 his hoary locks and grimly sounding shield, — 
 and to the flushed Iulus spoke this word: 
 “Child of Aeneas, be content that now 
 Numanus unavenged thine arrows feels. 
 Such dawn of glory great Apollo's will 
 concedes, nor envies thee the fatal shaft 
 so like his own. But, tender youth, refrain 
 hereafter from this war!” So said divine 
 Apollo, who, while yet he spoke, put by 
 his mortal aspect, and before their eyes 
 melted to viewless air. The Teucrians knew 
 the vocal god with armament divine 
 of arrows; for his rattling quiver smote 
 their senses as he fled. Obedient 
 to Phoebus' voice they held back from the fray 
 Iulus' fury, and their eager souls 
 faced the fresh fight and danger's darkest frown. 
 From tower to tower along the bastioned wall 
 their war-cry flew: they bend with busy hand 
 the cruel bow, or swing the whirling thong 
 of javelins. The earth on every side 
 is strewn with spent shafts, the reverberant shield 
 and hollow helmet ring with blows; the fight 
 more fiercely swells; not less the bursting storm 
 from watery Kid-stars in the western sky 
 lashes the plain, or multitudinous hail 
 beats upon shallow seas, when angry Jove 
 flings forth tempestuous and-boundless rain, 
 and splits the bellied clouds in darkened air.

The brothers Pandarus and Bitias, 
 of whom Alcanor was the famous sire, 
 on Ida born, and whom Iaera bred 
 in sacred wood of Jove, an oread she, 
 twin warriors, like their native hills and trees 
 of stature proud, now burst those portals wide 
 to them in ward consigned, and sword in hand 
 challenge the foe to enter. Side by side, 
 steel-clad, their tall heads in bright crested helms, 
 to left and right, like towers, the champions stand 
 as when to skyward, by the gliding waves 
 of gentle Athesis or Padus wide, 
 a pair of oaks uprise, and lift in air 
 their shaggy brows and nodding crests sublime. 
 In burst the Rutules where the onward way 
 seemed open wide; Quercens no tarrying knows, 
 nor proud Aquiculus in well-wrought arms; 
 Tmarus sweeps on impetuous, and the host 
 of Haemon, child of Mars. Some routed fly; 
 some lay their lives-down at the gate. Wild rage 
 o'erflows each martial breast, and gathered fast 
 the Trojans rally to one point, and dare 
 close conflict, or long sallies o'er the plain.

To Turnus, who upon a distant field 
 was storming with huge havoc, came the news 
 that now his foe, before a gate thrown wide, 
 was red with slaughter. His own fight he stays, 
 and speeds him, by enormous rage thrust on, 
 to those proud brethren at the Dardan wall. 
 There first Antiphates, who made his war 
 far in the van (a Theban captive's child 
 to great Sarpedon out of wedlock born), 
 he felled to earth with whirling javelin: 
 th' Italic shaft of cornel lightly flew 
 along the yielding air, and through his throat 
 pierced deep into the breast; a gaping wound 
 gushed blood; the hot shaft to his bosom clung. 
 Then Erymas and Merops his strong hand 
 laid low: Aphidnus next, then came the turn 
 of Bitias, fiery-hearted, furious-eyed: 
 but not by javelin,—such cannot fall 
 by flying javelin,—the ponderous beam 
 of a phalaric spear, with mighty roar, 
 like thunderbolt upon him fell; such shock 
 neither the bull's-hides of his double shield 
 nor twofold corselet's golden scales could stay 
 but all his towering frame in ruin fell. 
 Earth groaned, and o'er him rang his ample shield. 
 so crashes down from Baiae 's storied shore 
 a rock-built mole, whose mighty masonry, 
 piled up with care, men cast into the sea; 
 it trails its wreckage far, and fathoms down 
 lies broken in the shallows, while the waves 
 whirl every way, and showers of black sand 
 are scattered on the air: with thunder-sound 
 steep Prochyta is shaken, and that bed 
 of cruel stone, Inarime , which lies 
 heaped o'er Typhoeus by revenge of Jove.

Now to the Latins Mars, the lord of war, 
 gave might and valor, and to their wild hearts 
 his spur applied, but on the Teucrians breathed 
 dark fear and flight. From every quarter came 
 auxiliar hosts, where'er the conflict called, 
 and in each bosom pulsed the god of war. 
 When Pandarus now saw his brother's corse 
 low Iying, and which way the chance and tide 
 of battle ran, he violently moved 
 the swinging hinges of the gate, and strained 
 with both his shoulders broad. He shut outside 
 not few of his own people, left exposed 
 in fiercest fight but others with himself 
 he barred inside and saved them as they fled; 
 nor noted, madman, how the Rutule King 
 had burst in midmost of the line, and now 
 stood prisoned in their wall, as if he were 
 some monstrous tiger among helpless kine. 
 His eyeballs strangely glared; his armor rang 
 terrific, his tall crest shook o'er his brows 
 blood-red, and lightnings glittered from his shield 
 familiar loomed that countenance abhorred 
 and frame gigantic on the shrinking eyes 
 of the Aeneadae. Then Pandarus 
 sprang towering forth, all fever to revenge 
 his brother's slaughter. “Not this way,” he cried 
 “Amata's marriage-gift! No Ardea here 
 mews Turnus in his fathers' halls. Behold 
 thy foeman's castle! Thou art not allowed 
 to take thy leave.” But Turnus looked his way, 
 and smiled with heart unmoved. “Begin! if thou 
 hast manhood in thee, and meet steel with steel! 
 Go tell dead Priam thou discoverest here 
 Achilles!” For reply, the champion tall 
 hurled with his might and main along the air 
 his spear of knotted wood and bark untrimmed. 
 But all it wounded was the passing wind, 
 for Saturn's daughter turned its course awry, 
 and deep in the great gate the spear-point drove. 
 “Now from the stroke this right arm means for thee 
 thou shalt not fly. Not such the sender of 
 this weapon and this wound.” He said, and towered 
 aloft to his full height; the lifted sword 
 clove temples, brows, and beardless cheeks clean through 
 with loudly ringing blow; the ground beneath 
 shook with the giant's ponderous fall, and, lo, 
 with nerveless limbs, and brains spilt o'er his shield, 
 dead on the earth he lay! in equal halves 
 the sundered head from either shoulder swung.

In horror and amaze the Trojans all 
 dispersed and fled; had but the conqueror thought 
 to break the barriers of the gates and call 
 his followers through, that fatal day had seen 
 an ending of the Teucrians and their war. 
 But frenzied joy of slaughter urged him on, 
 infuriate, to smite the scattering foe. 
 First Phaleris he caught; then cut the knees 
 of Gyges; both their spears he snatched away 
 and hurled them at the rout; 't was Juno roused 
 his utmost might of rage. Now Halys fell, 
 and Phegeus, whom he pierced right through the shield: 
 next, at the walls and urging reckless war, 
 Alcander, Halius, and Noemon gave 
 their lives, and Prytanis went down. In vain 
 Lynceus made stand and called his comrades brave: 
 for Turnus from the right with waving sword 
 caught at him and lopped off with one swift blow 
 the head, which with its helmet rolled away. 
 Next Amycus, destroyer of wild beasts, 
 who knew full well to smear a crafty barb 
 with venomed oil; young Clytius he slew, 
 son of the wind-god; then on Cretheus fell, 
 a follower of the muses and their friend: 
 Cretheus, whose every joy it was to sing, 
 and fit his numbers to the chorded Iyre; 
 steeds, wars, armed men were his perpetual song.

At last the Teucrian chiefs had heard the tale 
 of so much slaughter; and in council met 
 are Mnestheus and Serestus bold, who see 
 their comrades routed and the conquering foe 
 within the gates. Cries Mnestheus, “Whither fly? 
 What open way is yonder or what wall? 
 Beyond these ramparts lost what stronger lie? 
 Shall one lone man here in your walls confined, 
 make havoc unavenged and feed the grave 
 with your best warriors? 0 cowards vile! 
 For your sad country and her ancient gods 
 and for renowned Aeneas, can ye feel 
 no pity and no shame?” Enflamed to fight 
 by words like these, they close the line, and stand 
 in strong array. So Turnus for a space 
 out of the battle step by step withdrew 
 to make the river-bank his rearguard strong; 
 whereat the Teucrians, shouting loud, swept on 
 the fiercer, and in solid mass pressed round. 
 as when a troop of hunters with keen spears 
 encircle a wild lion, who in fear, 
 but glaring grim and furious, backward falls, 
 valor and rage constrain him ne'er to cease 
 fronting the foe; yet not for all his ire 
 can he against such serried steel make way: 
 so Turnus backward with a lingering step 
 unwilling drew, and wrath his heart oterflowed. 
 for twice already had he cloven a path 
 into the foe's mid-press, and twice had driven 
 their flying lines in panic through the town. 
 But now the whole throng from the camp he sees 
 massed to the onset. Nor will Juno now 
 dare give him vigor to withstand, for Jove 
 had sent aerial Iris out of heaven 
 with stern commandment to his sister-queen 
 that Turnus from the Teucrian walls retire. 
 Therefore the warrior's shield avails no more, 
 nor his strong arm; but he is overthrown 
 by general assault. Around his brows 
 his smitten helmet rings; the ponderous mail 
 cracks under falling stones; the haughty plumes 
 are scattered from his head, nor can the boss 
 of his stout shield endure; the Trojans hurl 
 redoubled rain of spears; and with them speeds 
 Mnestheus like thunderbolt. The hero's flesh 
 dissolves in sweat; no room to breathe has he; 
 his limbs are spent and weary; his whole frame 
 shakes with his gasping breath: then bounding fort 
 with all his harness on, headlong he plunged 
 into the flowing stream; its yellow tide 
 embraced him as he fell, and gentle waves 
 restored him smiling to his friends in arms, 
 with all the gore and carnage washed away.

Meanwhile Olympus , seat of sovereign sway, 
 threw wide its portals, and in conclave fair 
 the Sire of gods and King of all mankind 
 summoned th' immortals to his starry court, 
 whence, high-enthroned, the spreading earth he views— 
 and Teucria's camp and Latium 's fierce array. 
 Beneath the double-gated dome the gods 
 were sitting; Jove himself the silence broke: 
 “O people of Olympus , wherefore change 
 your purpose and decree, with partial minds 
 in mighty strife contending? I refused 
 such clash of war 'twixt Italy and Troy . 
 Whence this forbidden feud? What fears 
 seduced to battles and injurious arms 
 either this folk or that? Th' appointed hour 
 for war shall be hereafter—speed it not!— 
 When cruel Carthage to the towers of Rome 
 
 shall bring vast ruin, streaming fiercely down 
 the opened Alp. Then hate with hate shall vie, 
 and havoc have no bound. Till then, give o'er, 
 and smile upon the concord I decree!”

Thus briefly, Jove. But golden Venus made 
 less brief reply. “O Father, who dost hold 
 o'er Man and all things an immortal sway! 
 Of what high throne may gods the aid implore 
 save thine? Behold of yonder Rutuli 
 th' insulting scorn! Among them Turnus moves 
 in chariot proud, and boasts triumphant war 
 in mighty words. Nor do their walls defend 
 my Teucrians now. But in their very gates, 
 and on their mounded ramparts, in close fight 
 they breast their foes and fill the moats with blood. 
 Aeneas knows not, and is far away. 
 Will ne'er the siege have done? A second time 
 above Troy 's rising walls the foe impends; 
 another host is gathered, and once more 
 from his Aetolian Arpi wrathful speeds 
 a Diomed. I doubt not that for me 
 wounds are preparing. Yea, thy daughter dear 
 awaits a mortal sword! If by thy will 
 unblest and unapproved the Trojans came 
 to Italy , for such rebellious crime 
 give them their due, nor lend them succor, thou, 
 with thy strong hand! But if they have obeyed 
 unnumbered oracles from gods above 
 and sacred shades below, who now has power 
 to thwart thy bidding, or to weave anew 
 the web of Fate? Why speak of ships consumed 
 along my hallowed Erycinian shore? 
 Or of the Lord of Storms, whose furious blasts 
 were summoned from Aeolia ? Why tell 
 of Iris sped from heaven? Now she moves 
 the region of the shades (one kingdom yet 
 from her attempt secure) and thence lets loose 
 Alecto on the world above, who strides 
 in frenzied wrath along th' Italian hills. 
 No more my heart now cherishes its hope 
 of domination, though in happier days 
 such was thy promise. Let the victory fall 
 to victors of thy choice! If nowhere lies 
 the land thy cruel Queen would deign accord 
 unto the Teucrian people,—O my sire, 
 I pray thee by yon smouldering wreck of Troy 
 
 to let Ascanius from the clash of arms 
 escape unscathed. Let my own offspring live! 
 Yea, let Aeneas, tossed on seas unknown, 
 find some chance way; let my right hand avail 
 to shelter him and from this fatal war 
 in safety bring. For Amathus is mine, 
 mine are Cythera and the Paphian hills 
 and temples in Idalium . Let him drop 
 the sword, and there live out inglorious days. 
 By thy decree let Carthage overwhelm 
 Ausonia's power; nor let defence be found 
 to stay the Tyrian arms! What profits it 
 that he escaped the wasting plague of war 
 and fled Argolic fires? or that he knew 
 so many perils of wide wilderness 
 and waters rude? The Teucrians seek in vain 
 new-born Troy in Latium . Better far 
 crouched on their country's ashes to abide, 
 and keep that spot of earth where once was Troy ! 
 Give back, O Father, I implore thee, give 
 
 Xanthus and Simois back! Let Teucer's sons 
 unfold once more the tale of Ilium 's woe!”

Then sovereign Juno, flushed with solemn scorn, 
 made answer. “Dost thou bid me here profane 
 the silence of my heart, and gossip forth 
 of secret griefs? What will of god or man 
 impelled Aeneas on his path of war, 
 or made him foeman of the Latin King? 
 Fate brought him to Italia ? Be it so! 
 Cassandra's frenzy he obeyed. What voice — 
 say, was it mine?—urged him to quit his camp, 
 risk life in storms, or trust his war, his walls, 
 to a boy-captain, or stir up to strife 
 Etruria's faithful, unoffending sons? 
 What god, what pitiless behest of mine, 
 impelled him to such harm? Who traces here 
 the hand of Juno, or of Iris sped 
 from heaven? Is it an ignoble stroke 
 that Italy around the new-born Troy 
 
 makes circling fire, and Turnus plants his heel 
 on his hereditary earth, the son 
 of old Pilumnus and the nymph divine, 
 Venilia? For what offence would Troy 
 
 bring sword and fire on Latium , or enslave 
 lands of an alien name, and bear away 
 plunder and spoil? Why seek they marriages, 
 and snatch from arms of love the plighted maids? 
 An olive-branch is in their hands; their ships 
 make menace of grim steel. Thy power one day 
 ravished Aeneas from his Argive foes, 
 and gave them shape of cloud and fleeting air 
 to strike at for a man. Thou hast transformed 
 his ships to daughters of the sea. What wrong 
 if I, not less, have lent the Rutuli 
 something of strength in war? Aeneas, then, 
 is far away and knows not! Far away 
 let him remain, not knowing! If thou sway'st 
 
 Cythera , Paphos , and Idalium , 
 why rouse a city pregnant with loud wars, 
 and fiery hearts provoke? That fading power 
 of Phrygia , do I, forsooth, essay 
 to ruin utterly? O, was it I 
 exposed ill-fated Troy to Argive foe? 
 For what offence in vast array of arms 
 did Europe rise and Asia , for a rape 
 their peace dissolving? Was it at my word 
 th' adulterous Dardan shepherd came to storm 
 the Spartan city? Did my hand supply 
 his armament, or instigate a war 
 for Cupid's sake? Then was thy decent hour 
 to tremble for thy children; now too late 
 the folly of thy long lament to Heaven, 
 and objurgation vain.” Such Juno's plea; 
 the throng of gods with voices loud or low 
 gave various reply: as gathering winds 
 sing through the tree-tops in dark syllables, 
 and fling faint murmur on the far-off sea, 
 to tell some pilot of to-morrow's storm. 
 Then Jupiter omnipotent, whose hands 
 have governance supreme, began reply; 
 deep silence at his word Olympus knew, 
 Earth's utmost cavern shook; the realms of light 
 were silent; the mild zephyrs breathed no more, 
 and perfect calm o'erspread the levelled sea. 
 “Give ear, ye gods, and in your hearts record 
 my mandate and decree. Fate yet allows 
 no peace 'twixt Troy and Italy , nor bids 
 your quarrel end. Therefore, what Chance this day 
 to either foe shall bring, whatever hope 
 either may cherish,—the Rutulian cause 
 and Trojan have like favor in my eyes. 
 The destinies of Italy constrain 
 the siege; which for the fault of Troy fulfills 
 an oracle of woe. Yon Rutule host 
 I scatter not. But of his own attempt 
 let each the triumph and the burden bear; 
 for Jove is over all an equal King. 
 The Fates will find the way.” The god confirmed 
 his sentence by his Stygian brother's wave, 
 the shadowy flood and black, abysmal shore. 
 He nodded; at the bending of his brow 
 
 Olympus shook. It is the council's end. 
 Now from the golden throne uprises Jove; 
 the train of gods attend him to the doors.

Meanwhile at every gate the Rutule foe 
 urges the slaughter on, and closes round 
 the battlements with ring of flame. The host 
 of Trojans, prisoned in the palisades, 
 lies in strict siege and has no hope to fly. 
 In wretched plight they man the turrets tall, 
 to no avail, and with scant garrison 
 the ramparts crown. In foremost line of guard 
 are Asius Imbrasides, the twin 
 Assaraci, and Hicetaon's son 
 Thymoetes, and with Castor at his side 
 the veteran Thymbris; then the brothers both 
 of slain Sarpedon, and from Lycian steep 
 Clarus and Themon. With full-straining thews 
 lifting a rock, which was of some huge hill 
 no fragment small, Lyrnesian Acmon stood; 
 nor less than Clytius his sire he seemed, 
 nor Mnestheus his great brother. Some defend 
 the wall with javelins; some hurl down stones 
 or firebrands, or to the sounding string 
 fit arrows keen. But lo! amid the throng, 
 well worth to Venus her protecting care, 
 the Dardan boy, whose princely head shone forth 
 without a helm, like radiant jewel set 
 in burnished gold for necklace or for crown; 
 or like immaculate ivory inclosed 
 in boxwood or Orician terebinth; 
 his tresses o'er his white neck rippled down, 
 confined in circlet of soft twisted gold. 
 Thee, too, the warrior nations gaze upon, 
 high-nurtured Ismarus, inflicting wounds 
 with shafts of venomed reed: Maeonia 's vale 
 thy cradle was, where o'er the fruitful fields 
 well-tilled and rich, Pactolus pours his gold. 
 Mnestheus was there, who, for his late repulse 
 of Turnus from the rampart, towered forth 
 in glory eminent; there Capys stood, 
 whose name the Capuan citadel shall bear.

While these in many a shock of grievous war 
 hotly contend, Aeneas cleaves his way 
 at midnight through the waters. He had fared 
 from old Evander to th' Etruscan folk, 
 addressed their King, and to him told the tale 
 of his own race and name, his suit, his powers; 
 of what allies Mezentius had embraced, 
 and Turnus' lawless rage. He bids him know 
 how mutable is man, and warning gives, 
 with supplication joined. Without delay 
 Tarchon made amity and sacred league, 
 uniting with his cause. The Lydian tribe, 
 now destined from its tyrant to be free, 
 embarked, obedient to the gods, and gave 
 allegiance to the foreign King. The ship 
 Aeneas rode moved foremost in the line: 
 its beak a pair of Phrygian lions bore; 
 above them Ida rose, an emblem dear 
 to exiled Trojans. On his Iofty seat 
 was great Aeneas, pondering the events 
 of changeful war; and clinging to his side 
 the youthful Pallas fain would learn the lore 
 of stars, the highway of dark night, and asks 
 the story of his toils on land and sea.

Now open Helicon and move my song, 
 ye goddesses, to tell what host in arms 
 followed Aeneas from the Tuscan shore, 
 and manned his ships and traveiled o'er the sea!

First Massicus his brazen Tigress rode, 
 cleaving the brine; a thousand warriors 
 were with him out of Clusium 's walls, or from 
 the citadel of Coste, who for arms 
 had arrows, quivers from the shoulder slung, 
 and deadly bows. Grim Abas near him sailed; 
 his whole band wore well-blazoned mail; his ship 
 displayed the form of Phoebus, all of gold: 
 to him had Populonia consigned 
 (His mother-city, she) six hundred youth 
 well-proven in war; three hundred Elba gave, 
 an island rich in unexhausted ores 
 of iron, like the Chalybes. Next came 
 Asilas, who betwixt the gods and men 
 interprets messages and reads clear signs 
 in victims' entrails, or the stars of heaven, 
 or bird-talk, or the monitory flames 
 of lightning: he commands a thousand men 
 close lined, with bristling spears, of Pisa all, 
 that Tuscan city of Alpheus sprung. 
 Then Astur followed, a bold horseman he, 
 Astur in gorgeous arms, himself most fair: 
 three hundred are his men, one martial mind 
 uniting all: in Caere they were bred 
 and Minio's plain, and by the ancient towers 
 of Pyrgo or Gravisca 's storm-swept hill.

Nor thy renown may I forget, brave chief 
 of the Ligurians, Cinyrus; nor thine, 
 Cupavo, with few followers, thy crest 
 the tall swan-wings, of love unblest the sign 
 and of a father fair: for legends tell 
 that Cycnus, for his Phaethon so dear 
 lamenting loud beneath the poplar shade 
 of the changed sisters, made a mournful song 
 to soothe his grief and passion: but erewhile, 
 in his old age, there clothed him as he sang 
 soft snow-white plumes, and spurning earth he soared 
 on high, and sped in music through the stars. 
 His son with bands of youthful peers urged on 
 a galley with a Centaur for its prow, 
 which loomed high o'er the waves, and seemed to hurl 
 a huge stone at the water, as the keel 
 ploughed through the deep. Next Ocnus summoned forth 
 a war-host from his native shores, the son 
 of Tiber , Tuscan river, and the nymph 
 Manto, a prophetess: he gave good walls, 
 O Mantua , and his mother's name, to thee,— 
 to Mantua so rich in noble sires, 
 but of a blood diverse, a triple breed, 
 four stems in each; and over all enthroned 
 she rules her tribes: her strength is Tuscan born. 
 Hate of Mezentius armed against his name 
 five hundred men: upon their hostile prow 
 was Mincius in a cloak of silvery sedge,— 
 Lake Benacus the river's source and sire. 
 Last good Aulestes smites the depths below, 
 with forest of a hundred oars: the flood 
 like flowing marble foams; his Triton prow 
 threatens the blue waves with a trumpet-shell; 
 far as the hairy flanks its form is man, 
 but ends in fish below—the parting waves 
 beneath the half-brute bosom break in foam. 
 
 Such chosen chiefs in thirty galleys ploughed 
 the salt-wave, bringing help to Trojan arms.

Day now had left the sky. The moon benign 
 had driven her night-wandering chariot 
 to the mid-arch of heaven. Aeneas sate, 
 for thought and care allowed him no repose, 
 holding the helm and tending his own sails. 
 but, as he sped, behold, the beauteous train, 
 lately his own, of nymphs, anon transformed 
 by kind Cybebe to sea-ruling powers. 
 In even ranks they swam the cloven wave,— 
 nymphs now, but once as brazen galleys moored 
 along the sandy shore. With joy they knew 
 their King from far, and with attending train 
 around him drew. Cymodocea then, 
 best skilled in mortal speech, sped close behind, 
 with her right hand upon the stern, uprose 
 breast-high, and with her left hand deeply plied 
 the silent stream, as to the wondering King 
 she called: “So late on watch, O son of Heaven, 
 Aeneas? Slack thy sail, but still watch on! 
 We were the pine-trees on the holy top 
 of Ida's mountain. Sea-nymphs now are we, 
 and thine own fleet. When, as we fled, the flames 
 rained o'er us from the false Rutulian's hand 
 't was all unwillingly we cast away 
 thy serviceable chains: and now once more 
 we follow thee across the sea. These forms 
 our pitying mother bade us take, with power 
 to haunt immortally the moving sea. 
 Lo, thy Ascanius lies close besieged 
 in moated walls, assailed by threatening arms 
 and Latium 's front of war. Arcadia , 
 her horsemen with the bold Etruscan joined, 
 stands at the place appointed. Turnus means, 
 with troop opposing, their advance to bar 
 and hold them from the camp. Arouse thee, then, 
 and with the rising beams of dawn call forth 
 thy captains and their followers. Take that shield 
 victorious, which for thee the Lord of Fire 
 forged for a gift and rimmed about with gold. 
 To-morrow's light—deem not my words be vain!— 
 shall shine on huge heaps of Rutulia's dead.” 
 So saying, she pushed with her right hand the stern 
 with skilful thrust, and vanished. The ship sped 
 swift as a spear, or as an arrow flies 
 no whit behind the wind: and all the fleet 
 quickened its course. Anchises' princely son, 
 dumb and bewildered stood, but took good heart 
 at such an omen fair. Then in few words 
 with eyes upturned to heaven he made his prayer: 
 “Mother of gods, O Ida's Queen benign, 
 who Iovest Dindymus and towns with towers, 
 and lion-yokes obedient to thy rein, 
 be thou my guide in battle, and fulfil 
 thine augury divine. In Phrygia 's cause 
 be present evermore with favoring power!” 
 He spoke no more. For now the wheels of day 
 had sped full circle into perfect light, 
 the dark expelling. Then, for his first care, 
 he bade his captains heed the signal given, 
 equip their souls for war, and wait in arms 
 the coming fray. Now holds he full in view 
 his Trojans and their fortress, as he stands 
 upon his towering ship. With his left hand 
 he lifts his radiant shield; then from the wall 
 the Dardan warriors send a battle-cry 
 that echoes to the stars, as kindling hope 
 their rage renews. A flight of spears they hurl: 
 't was like the cranes of Strymon, through dark clouds 
 each other calling, when they cleave the skies 
 vociferous, outwinging as they fly 
 the swift south winds—Ioud music them pursues. 
 Amazement on Ausonia's captains fell 
 and Turnus, as they gazed. But soon they saw 
 ships pointing shoreward and the watery plain 
 all stirring with a fleet. Aeneas' helm 
 uplifted its bright peak,—like streaming flame 
 the crimson crest; his shield of orbed gold 
 poured forth prodigious fire: it seemed as when 
 in cloudless night a comet's blood-red beam 
 makes mournful splendor, or the Dog-star glows, 
 which rises to bring drought and pestilence 
 to hapless men, and with ill-omened ray 
 saddens the sky. But Turnus, undismayed, 
 trusted not less to hurl th' invaders back 
 and hold the shore against them. “Look!” he cried, 
 your prayer is come to pass,—that sword in hand 
 ye now may shatter them. The might of Mars 
 is in a true man's blow. Remember well 
 each man his home and wife! Now call to mind 
 the glory and great deeds of all your sires! 
 Charge to yon river-bank, while yet they take 
 with weak and fearful steps their shoreward way! 
 Fortune will help the brave.” With words like these, 
 he chose, well-weighing, who should lead the charge, 
 who at the leaguered walls the fight sustain.

Aeneas straightway from his lofty ships 
 lets down his troop by bridges. Some await 
 the ebbing of slack seas, and boldly leap 
 into the shallows; others ply the oar. 
 Tarchon a beach discovers, where the sands 
 sing not, nor waves with broken murmur fall, 
 but full and silent swells the gentle sea. 
 Steering in haste that way, he called his crews: 
 “Now bend to your stout oars, my chosen brave. 
 Lift each ship forward, till her beak shall cleave 
 yon hostile shore; and let her keel's full weight 
 the furrow drive. I care not if we break 
 our ship's side in so sure an anchorage, 
 if once we land.” While Tarchon urged them thus, 
 the crews bent all together to their blades 
 and sped their foaming barks to Latium 's plain, 
 till each beak gripped the sand and every keel 
 lay on dry land unscathed:—all save thine own, 
 O Tarchon! dashed upon a sand-bar, she! 
 Long poised upon the cruel ridge she hung, 
 tilted this way or that and beat the waves, 
 then split, and emptied forth upon the tide 
 her warriors; and now the drifting wreck 
 of shattered oars and thwarts entangles them, 
 or ebb of swirling waters sucks them down.

Turnus no lingering knows, but fiercely hurls 
 his whole line on the Teucrians, and makes stand 
 along the shore. Now peals the trumpet's call. 
 Aeneas in the van led on his troop 
 against the rustic foe, bright augury 
 for opening war, and laid the Latins low, 
 slaughtering Theron, a huge chief who dared 
 offer Aeneas battle; through the scales 
 of brazen mail and corselet stiff with gold 
 the sword drove deep, and gored the gaping side. 
 Then smote he Lichas, from his mother's womb 
 ripped in her dying hour, and unto thee, 
 O Phoebus, vowed, because his infant days 
 escaped the fatal steel. Hard by him fell 
 stout Cisseus and gigantic Gyas; these 
 to death were hurled, while with their knotted clubs 
 they slew opposing hosts; but naught availed 
 Herculean weapons, nor their mighty hands, 
 or that Melampus was their sire, a peer 
 of Hercules, what time in heavy toils 
 through earth he roved. See next how Pharon boasts! 
 But while he vainly raves, the whirling spear 
 smites full on his loud mouth. And also thou, 
 Cydon, wast by the Trojan stroke o'erthrown, 
 while following in ill-omened haste the steps 
 of Clytius, thy last joy, whose round cheek wore 
 its youthful golden down: soon hadst thou lain 
 in death, unheeding of thy fancies fond 
 which ever turned to youth;—but now arose 
 the troop of all thy brothers, Phorcus' sons, 
 a close array of seven, and seven spears 
 they hurled: some from Aeneas' helm or shield 
 glanced off in vain; some Venus' kindly power, 
 just as they touched his body, turned away. 
 Aeneas then to true Achates cried: 
 “Bring on my spears: not one shall fruitless fly 
 against yon Rutules, even as they pierced 
 the breasts of Greeks upon the Ilian plain.” 
 Then one great shaft he seized and threw; it sped 
 straight into Maeon's brazen shield, and clove 
 his mail-clad heart. Impetuous to his aid 
 brother Alcanor came, and lifted up 
 with strong right hand his brother as he fell: 
 but through his arm a second skilful shaft 
 made bloody way, and by the sinews held 
 the lifeless right hand from the shoulder swung. 
 Then from his brother's body Numitor 
 the weapon plucked and hurled it, furious, 
 upon Aeneas; but it could not strike 
 the hero's self, and grazed along the thigh 
 of great Achates. Next into the fight 
 Clausus of Cures came, in youthful bloom 
 exulting, and with far-thrown javelin 
 struck Dryops at the chin, and took away 
 from the gashed, shrieking throat both life and voice; 
 the warrior's fallen forehead smote the dust; 
 his lips poured forth thick blood. There also fell 
 three Thracians, odspring of the lordly stem 
 of Boreas, and three of Idas' sons 
 from Ismara, by various doom struck down. 
 
 Halaesus here his wild Auruncans brings; 
 and flying to the fight comes Neptune's son, 
 Messapus, famous horseman. On both sides 
 each charges on the foe. Ausonia's strand 
 is one wide strife. As when o'er leagues of air 
 the envious winds give battle to their peers, 
 well-matched in rage and power; and neither they 
 nor clouds above, nor plunging seas below 
 will end the doubtful war, but each withstands 
 the onset of the whole—in such wild way 
 the line of Trojans on the Latian line 
 hurls itself, limb on limb and man on man.

But at a distance where the river's flood 
 had scattered rolling boulders and torn trees 
 uprooted from the shore, young Pallas spied 
 th' Arcadian band, unused to fight on foot, 
 in full retreat, the Latins following close— 
 who also for the roughness of the ground 
 were all unmounted: he (the last resource 
 of men in straits) to wild entreaty turned 
 and taunts, enkindling their faint hearts anew: 
 “Whither, my men! O, by your own brave deeds, 
 O, by our lord Evander's happy wars, 
 the proud hopes I had to make my name 
 a rival glory,—think not ye can fly! 
 Your swords alone can carve ye the safe way 
 straight through your foes. Where yonder warrior-throng 
 is fiercest, thickest, there and only there 
 your Country's honor calls for men like you, 
 and for your captain Pallas. Nay, no gods 
 against us fight; we are but mortal men 
 pressed by a mortal foe. Not more than ours 
 the number of their lives or swords. Behold, 
 the barrier of yonder spreading sea 
 emprisons us, and for a craven flight 
 yon lands are all too small. Ha! Shall we steer 
 across the sea to Troy ?” He said, and sprang 
 full in the centre of his gathered foes.

First in his path was Lagus, thither led 
 by evil stars; whom, as he tried to lift 
 a heavy stone, the shaft of Pallas pierced 
 where ribs and spine divide: backward he drew 
 the clinging spear; But Hisbo from above 
 surprised him not, though meaning it; for while 
 (In anger blind for friend unpitying slain) 
 at Pallas' face he flew:—he, standing firm, 
 plunged deep into that swelling breast the sword. 
 Then Sthenius he slew; and next Anchemolus 
 of Rhoetus' ancient line, who dared defile 
 his step-dame's bridal bed. And also ye, 
 fair Thymber and Larides, Daucus' twins, 
 fell on that Rutule field; so like were ye, 
 your own kin scarce discerned, and parents proud 
 smiled at the dear deceit; but now in death 
 cruel unlikeness Pallas wrought; thy head 
 fell, hapless Thymber, by Evander's sword; 
 and thy right hand, Larides, shorn away, 
 seemed feeling for its Iord; the fingers cold 
 clutched, trembling, at the sword. Now all the troop 
 of Arcady, their chief's great action seen, 
 and by his warning roused, made at their foes, 
 spurred on by grief and shame. Next Pallas pierced 
 the flying Rhoetus in his car; this gained 
 for Ilus respite and delay, for him 
 the stout spear aimed at; but its flight was stopped 
 by Rhoetus, as in swift retreat he rode, 
 by the two high-born brothers close pursued, 
 Teuthras and Tyres: from his car he rolled, 
 making deep furrows with his lifeless heels 
 along the Rutule plain. Oft when the winds 
 of summer, long awaited, rise and blow, 
 a shepherd fires the forest, and the blaze 
 devours the dense grove, while o'er the fields, 
 in that one moment, swift and sudden spread 
 grim Vulcan's serried flames; from some high seat 
 on distant hill, the shepherd peering down 
 sees, glad at heart, his own victorious fires: 
 so now fierce valor spreads, uniting all 
 in one confederate rage, 'neath Pallas' eyes. 
 But the fierce warrior Halaesus next 
 led on the charge, behind his skilful shield 
 close-crouching. Ladon and Demodocus 
 and Pheres he struck down; his glittering blade 
 cut Strymon's hand, which to his neck was raised, 
 sheer off; with one great stone he crushed the brows 
 of Thoas, scattering wide the broken skull, 
 bones, brains, and gore. Halaesus' prophet-sire, 
 foreseeing doom, had hid him in dark groves; 
 but when the old man's fading eyes declined 
 in death, the hand of Fate reached forth and doomed 
 the young life to Evander's sword; him now 
 Pallas assailed, first offering this prayer: 
 “O Father Tiber, give my poising shaft 
 through stout Halaesus' heart its lucky way! 
 The spoil and trophy of the hero slain 
 on thine own oak shall hang.” The god received 
 the vow, and while Halaesus held his shield 
 over Imaon, his ill-fated breast 
 lay naked to th' Arcadian's hungry spear.

But Lausus, seeing such a hero slain, 
 bade his troop have no fear, for he himself 
 was no small strength in war; and first he slew 
 Abas, who fought hard, and had ever seemed 
 himself the sticking-point and tug of war. 
 Down went Arcadia 's warriors, and slain 
 etruscans fell, with many a Trojan brave 
 the Greek had spared. Troop charges upon troop 
 well-matched in might, with chiefs of like renown; 
 the last rank crowds the first;—so fierce the press 
 scarce hand or sword can stir. Here Pallas stands, 
 and pushes back the foe; before him looms 
 Lausus, his youthful peer, conspicuous both 
 in beauty; but no star will them restore 
 to home and native land. Yet would the King 
 of high Olympus suffer not the pair 
 to close in battle, but each hero found 
 a later doom at hands of mightier foes.

Now Turnus' goddess-sister bids him haste 
 to Lausus' help. So he, in wheeling car, 
 cut through the lines; and when his friends he saw, 
 “Let the fight stop! “ he cried, “for none but I 
 may strike at Pallas; unto me alone 
 the prize of Pallas falls. I would his sire 
 stood by to see.” He spake: his troop withdrew 
 a fitting space. But as they made him room, 
 the young prince, wondering at the scornful words, 
 looked upon Turnus, glancing up and down 
 that giant frame, and with fierce-frowning brows 
 scanned him from far, hurling defiant words 
 in answer to the King's. “My honor now 
 shall have the royal trophy of this war, 
 or glorious death. For either fortune fair 
 my sire is ready. Threaten me no more!” 
 So saying, to the midmost space he strode, 
 and in Arcadian hearts the blood stood still. 
 Swift from his chariot Turnus leaped, and ran 
 to closer fight. As when some lion sees 
 from his far mountain-lair a raging bull 
 that sniffs the battle from the grassy field, 
 and down the steep he flies—such picture showed 
 grim Turnus as he came. But when he seemed 
 within a spear's cast, Pallas opened fight, 
 expecting Fortune's favor to the brave 
 in such unequal match; and thus he prayed: 
 “O, by my hospitable father's roof, 
 where thou didst enter as a stranger-guest, 
 hear me, Alcides, and give aid divine 
 to this great deed. Let Turnus see these hands 
 strip from his half-dead breast the bloody spoil! 
 and let his eyes in death endure to see 
 his conqueror!” Alcides heard the youth: 
 but prisoned in his heart a deep-drawn sigh, 
 and shed vain tears; for Jove, the King and Sire, . 
 spoke with benignant accents to his son: 
 “To each his day is given. Beyond recall 
 man's little time runs by: but to prolong 
 life's glory by great deeds is virtue's power. 
 Beneath the lofty walls of fallen Troy 
 
 fell many a son of Heaven. Yea, there was slain 
 Sarpedon, my own offspring. Turnus too 
 is summoned to his doom, and nears the bounds 
 of his appointed span.” So speaking, Jove 
 turned from Rutulia's war his eyes away. 
 But Pallas hurled his lance with might and main, 
 and from its hollow scabbard flashed his sword. 
 The flying shaft touched where the plated steel 
 over the shoulders rose, and worked its way 
 through the shield's rim—then falling, glanced aside 
 from Turnus' giant body. Turnus then 
 poised, without haste, his iron-pointed spear, 
 and, launching it on Pallas, cried, “Look now 
 will not this shaft a good bit deeper drive?” 
 He said: and through the mid-boss of the shield, 
 steel scales and brass with bull's-hide folded round, 
 the quivering spear-point crashed resistlessly, 
 and through the corselet's broken barrier 
 pierced Pallas' heart. The youth plucked out in vain 
 the hot shaft from the wound; his life and blood 
 together ebbed away, as sinking prone 
 on his rent side he fell; above him rang 
 his armor; and from lips with blood defiled 
 he breathed his last upon his foeman's ground. 
 Over him Turnus stood: “Arcadians all,” 
 He cried, “take tidings of this feat of arms 
 to King Evander. With a warrior's wage 
 his Pallas I restore, and freely grant 
 what glory in a hero's tomb may lie, 
 or comfort in a grave. They dearly pay 
 who bid Aeneas welcome at their board.” 
 So saying, with his left foot he held down 
 the lifeless form, and raised the heavy weight 
 of graven belt, which pictured forth that crime 
 of youthful company by treason slain, 
 all on their wedding night, in bridal bowers 
 to horrid murder given,—which Clonus, son 
 of Eurytus, had wrought in lavish gold; 
 this Turnus in his triumph bore away, 
 exulting in the spoil. O heart of man, 
 not knowing doom, nor of events to be! 
 Nor, being lifted up, to keep thy bounds 
 in prosperous days! To Turnus comes the hour 
 when he would fain a prince's ransom give 
 had Pallas passed unscathed, and will bewail 
 cuch spoil of victory. With weeping now 
 and lamentations Ioud his comrades lay 
 young Pallas on his shield, and thronging close 
 carry him homeward with a mournful song: 
 alas! the sorrow and the glorious gain 
 thy sire shall have in thee. For one brief day 
 bore thee to battle and now bears away; 
 yet leavest thou full tale of foemen slain.

No doubtful rumor to Aeneas breaks 
 the direful news, but a sure messenger 
 tells him his followers' peril, and implores 
 prompt help for routed Troy . His ready sword 
 reaped down the nearest foes, and through their line 
 clove furious path and broad; the valiant blade 
 through oft-repeated bloodshed groped its way, 
 proud Turnus, unto thee! His heart beholds 
 Pallas and Sire Evander, their kind board 
 in welcome spread, their friendly league of peace 
 proffered and sealed with him, the stranger-guest. 
 So Sulmo's sons, four warriors, and four 
 of Ufens sprung, he took alive—to slay 
 as victims to the shades, and pour a stream 
 of captives' blood upon a flaming pyre. 
 Next from afar his hostile shaft he threw 
 at Mago, who with wary motion bowed 
 beneath the quivering weapon, as it sped 
 clean over him; then at Aeneas' knees 
 he crouched and clung with supplicating cry: 
 “O, by thy father's spirit, by thy hope 
 in young Iulus, I implore thee, spare 
 for son and father's sake this life of mine. 
 A lofty house have I, where safely hid 
 are stores of graven silver and good weight 
 of wrought and unwrought gold. The fate of war 
 hangs not on me; nor can one little life 
 thy victory decide.” In answer spoke 
 Aeneas: “Hoard the silver and the gold 
 for thy own sons. Such bartering in war 
 finished with Turnus, when fair Pallas fell. 
 Thus bids Anchises' shade, Iulus—thus!” 
 He spoke: and, grasping with his mighty left 
 the helmet of the vainly suppliant foe, 
 bent back the throat and drove hilt-deep his sword. 
 A little space removed, Haemonides, 
 priest of Phoebus and pale Trivia, stood, 
 whose ribboned brows a sacred fillet bound: 
 in shining vesture he, and glittering arms. 
 Him too the Trojan met, repelled, and towered 
 above the fallen form, o'ermantling it 
 in mortal shade; Serestus bore away 
 those famous arms a trophy vowed to thee, 
 Gradivus, Iord of war! Soon to fresh fight 
 came Caeculus, a child of Vulcan's line, 
 and Umbro on the Marsic mountains bred: 
 these met the Trojan's wrath. His sword shore off 
 
 Anxur 's left hand, and the whole orbed shield 
 dropped earthward at the stroke: though Anxur 's tongue 
 had boasted mighty things, as if great words 
 would make him strong, and lifting his proud heart 
 as high as heaven, had hoped perchance to see 
 gray hairs and length of days. Then Tarquitus 
 strode forth, exulting in his burnished arms 
 (Him Dryope, the nymph, to Faunus bore), 
 and dared oppose Aeneas' rage. But he 
 drew back his lance and, charging, crushed at once 
 corselet and ponderous shield; then off he struck 
 the supplicating head, which seemed in vain 
 preparing speech; while o'er the reeking corpse 
 the victor stood, and thrusting it away 
 spoke thus with wrathful soul: “Now lie thou there, 
 thou fearsome sight! No noble mother's hand 
 shall hide thee in the ground, or give those limbs 
 to their ancestral tomb. Thou shalt be left 
 to birds of ravin; or go drifting far 
 along yon river to engulfing seas, 
 where starving fishes on those wounds shall feed.” 
 Antceus next and Lucas he pursues, 
 though all in Turnus' van; and Numa bold 
 and Camers tawny-tressed, the son and heir 
 of Volscens the stout-hearted, whose domain 
 surpassed the richest of Ausonia's lords, 
 when over hushed Amyclae he was king. 
 Like old Aegaeon of the hundred arms, 
 the hundred-handed, from whose mouths and breasts 
 blazed fifty fiery blasts, as he made war 
 with fifty sounding shields and fifty swords 
 against Jove's thunder;—so Aeneas raged 
 victorious o'er the field, when once his steel 
 warmed to its work. But lo, he turns him now 
 where come Niphaeus' bold-advancing wheels 
 and coursers four, who, when at furious speed 
 they faced his giant stride and dreadful cry, 
 upreared in panic, and reversing spilled 
 their captain to the ground, and bore away 
 the chariot to the river's distant shore.

Meanwhile, with two white coursers to their car, 
 the brothers Lucagus and Liger drove 
 into the heart of battle: Liger kept 
 with skilful hand the manage of the steeds; 
 bold Lucagus swung wide his naked sword. 
 Aeneas, by their wrathful brows defied, 
 brooked not the sight, but to the onset flew, 
 huge-looming, with adverse and threatening spear. 
 Cried Liger, “Not Achilles' chariot, ours! 
 Nor team of Diomed on Phrygia 's plain! 
 The last of life and strife shall be thy meed 
 upon this very ground.” Such raving word 
 flowed loud from Liger's lip: not with a word 
 the Trojan hero answered him, but flung 
 his whirling spear; and even as Lucagus 
 leaned o'er the horses, goading them with steel, 
 and, left foot forward, gathered all his strength 
 to strike—the spear crashed through the under rim 
 of his resplendent shield and entered deep 
 in the left groin; then from the chariot fallen, 
 the youth rolled dying on the field, while thus 
 pious Aeneas paid him taunting words: 
 “O Lucagus, thy chariot did not yield 
 because of horses slow to fly, or scared 
 by shadows of a foe. It was thyself 
 leaped o'er the wheel and fled.” So saying, he grasped 
 the horses by the rein. The brother then, 
 spilled also from the car, reached wildly forth 
 his helpless hands: “O, by thy sacred head, 
 and by the parents who such greatness gave, 
 good Trojan, let me live! Some pity show 
 to prostrate me!” But ere he longer sued, 
 Aeneas cried, “Not so thy language ran 
 a moment gone! Die thou! Nor let this day 
 brother from brother part!” Then where the life 
 hides in the bosom, he thrust deep his sword. 
 Thus o'er the field of war the Dardan King 
 moved on, death-dealing: like a breaking flood 
 or cloudy whirlwind seemed his wrath. Straightway 
 the boy Ascanius from the ramparts came, 
 his warriors with him; for the siege had failed.

Now Jupiter to Juno thus began: 
 “O ever-cherished spouse and sister dear, 
 surely 't is Venus—as thy mind misgave— 
 whose favor props—O, what discernment thine! 
 Yon Trojan power; not swift heroic hands, 
 or souls of fury facing perilous war!” 
 Juno made meek reply: “O noblest spouse! 
 Why vex one sick at heart, who humbly fears 
 thy stern command? If I could claim to-day 
 what once I had, my proper right and due, 
 love's induence, I should not plead in vain 
 to thee, omnipotent, to give me power 
 to lead off Turnus from the fight unscathed, 
 and save him at his father Daunus' prayer. 
 Aye, let him die! And with his loyal blood 
 the Teucrians' vengeance feed! Yet he derives 
 from our Saturnian stem, by fourth remove 
 sprung from Pilumnus. Oft his liberal hands 
 have heaped unstinted offering at thy shrine.” 
 Thus in few words th' Olympian King replied: 
 “If for the fated youth thy prayer implores 
 delay and respite of impending doom, 
 if but so far thou bidst me interpose,— 
 go—favor Turnus' flight, and keep him safe 
 in this imperilled hour; I may concede 
 such boon. But if thy pleading words intend 
 some larger grace, and fain would touch or change 
 the issue of the war, then art thou fed 
 on expectation vain.” With weeping eyes 
 Juno made answer: “Can it be thy mind 
 gives what thy words refuse, and Turnus' life, 
 if rescued, may endure? Yet afterward 
 some cruel close his guiltless day shall see— 
 or far from truth I stray! O, that I were 
 the dupe of empty fears! and O, that thou 
 wouldst but refashion to some happier end 
 the things by thee begun—for thou hast power!”

She ceased; and swiftly from the peak of heaven 
 moved earthward, trailing cloud-wrack through the air, 
 and girdled with the storm. She took her way 
 to where Troy 's warriors faced Laurentum's line. 
 There of a hollow cloud the goddess framed 
 a shape of airy, unsubstantial shade, 
 Aeneas' image, wonderful to see, 
 and decked it with a Dardan lance and shield, 
 a crested helmet on the godlike head; 
 and windy words she gave of soulless sound, 
 and motion like a stride—such shapes, they say, 
 the hovering phantoms of the dead put on, 
 or empty dreams which cheat our slumbering eyes. 
 Forth to the front of battle this vain shade 
 stalked insolent, and with its voice and spear 
 challenged the warrior. At it Turnus flew, 
 and hurled a hissing spear with distant aim; 
 the thing wheeled round and fled. The foe forthwith, 
 thinking Aeneas vanquished, with blind scorn 
 flattered his own false hope: “Where wilt thou fly, 
 Aeneas? Wilt thou break a bridegroom's word? 
 This sword will give thee title to some land 
 thou hast sailed far to find!” So clamoring loud 
 he followed, flashing far his naked sword; 
 nor saw the light winds waft his dream away.

By chance in covert of a lofty crag 
 a ship stood fastened and at rest; her sides 
 showed ready bridge and stairway; she had brought 
 Osinius, king of Clusium . Thither came 
 Aeneas' counterfeit of flight and fear, 
 and dropped to darkness. Turnus, nothing loth, 
 gave close chase, overleaping every bar, 
 and scaling the high bridge; but scarce he reached 
 the vessel's prow, when Juno cut her loose, 
 the cables breaking, and along swift waves 
 pushed her to sea. Yet in that very hour 
 Aeneas to the battle vainly called 
 the vanished foe, and round his hard-fought path 
 stretched many a hero dead. No longer now 
 the mocking shadow sought to hide, but soared 
 visibly upward and was Iost in cloud, 
 while Turnus drifted o'er the waters wide 
 before the wind. Bewildered and amazed 
 he looked around him; little joy had he 
 in his own safety, but upraised his hands 
 in prayer to Heaven: “O Sire omnipotent! 
 Didst thou condemn me to a shame like this? 
 Such retribution dire? Whither now? 
 Whence came I here? What panic wafts away 
 this Turnus—if 't is he? Shall I behold 
 Laurentum's towers once more? But what of those 
 my heroes yonder, who took oath to me, 
 and whom—O sin and shame!—I have betrayed 
 to horrible destruction? Even now 
 I see them routed, and my ears receive 
 their dying groans. What is this thing I do? 
 Where will the yawning earth crack wide enough 
 beneath my feet? Ye tempests, pity me! 
 On rocks and reef—'t is Turnus' faithful prayer, 
 let this bark founder; fling it on the shoals 
 of wreckful isles, where no Rutulian eye 
 can follow me, or Rumor tell my shame.” 
 With such wild words his soul tossed to and fro, 
 not knowing if to hide his infamy 
 with his own sword and madly drive its blade 
 home to his heart, or cast him in the sea, 
 and, swimming to the rounded shore, renew 
 his battle with the Trojan foe. Three times 
 each fatal course he tried; but Juno's power 
 three times restrained, and with a pitying hand 
 the warrior's purpose barred. So on he sped 
 o'er yielding waters and propitious tides, 
 far as his father Daunus' ancient town.

At Jove's command Mezentius, breathing rage, 
 now takes the field and leads a strong assault 
 against victorious Troy . The Tuscan ranks 
 meet round him, and press hard on him alone, 
 on him alone with vengeance multiplied 
 their host of swords they draw. As some tall cliff, 
 projecting to the sea, receives the rage 
 of winds and waters, and untrembling bears 
 vast, frowning enmity of seas and skies,— 
 so he. First Dolichaon's son he slew, 
 
 Hebrus ; then Latagus and Palmus, though 
 they fled amain; he smote with mighty stone 
 torn from the mountain, full upon the face 
 of Latagus; and Palmus he let lie 
 hamstrung and rolling helpless; he bestowed 
 the arms on his son Lausus for a prize, 
 another proud crest in his helm to wear; 
 he laid the Phrygian Euanthus Iow; 
 and Mimas, Paris' comrade, just his age,— 
 born of Theano's womb to Amycus 
 his sire, that night when royal Hecuba, 
 teeming with firebrand, gave Paris birth: 
 one in the city of his fathers sleeps; 
 and one, inglorious, on Laurentian strand. 
 As when a wild boar, harried from the hills 
 by teeth of dogs (one who for many a year 
 was safe in pine-clad Vesulus, or roamed 
 the meres of Tiber , feeding in the reeds) 
 falls in the toils at last, and stands at bay, 
 raging and bristling, and no hunter dares 
 defy him or come near, but darts are hurled 
 from far away, with cries unperilous: 
 not otherwise, though righteous is their wrath 
 against Mezentius, not a man so bold 
 as face him with drawn sword, but at long range 
 they throw their shafts and with loud cries assail; 
 he, all unterrified, makes frequent stand, 
 gnashing his teeth, and shaking off their spears.

From ancient Corythus had Acron come, 
 a Greek, who left half-sung his wedding-song, 
 and was an exile; him Mezentius saw 
 among long lines of foes, with flaunting plumes 
 and purple garments from his plighted spouse. 
 Then as a starving lion when he prowls 
 about high pasture-lands, urged on his way 
 by maddening hunger (if perchance he see 
 a flying she-goat or tall-antlered stag) 
 lifts up his shaggy mane, and gaping wide 
 his monstrous jaws, springs at the creature's side, 
 feeding foul-lipped, insatiable of gore: 
 so through his gathered foes Mezentius 
 flew at his prey. He stretched along the ground 
 ill-fated Acron, who breathed life away, 
 beating the dark dust with his heels, and bathed 
 his broken weapons in his blood. Nor deigned 
 Mezentius to strike Orodes down 
 as he took flight, nor deal a wound unseen 
 with far-thrown spear; but ran before his face, 
 fronting him man to man, nor would he win 
 by sleight or trick, but by a mightier sword. 
 Soon on the fallen foe he set his heel, 
 and, pushing hard, with heel and spear, cried out: 
 “Look ye, my men, where huge Orodes lies, 
 himself a dangerous portion of this war!” 
 With loyal, Ioud acclaim his peers reply; 
 but thus the dying hero: “Victor mine, 
 whoe'er thou art, I fall not unavenged! 
 Thou shalt but triumph for a fleeting hour. 
 Like doom for thee is written. Speedily 
 thou shalt this dust inhabit, even as I!” 
 Mezentius answered him with wrathful smile: 
 “Now die! What comes on me concerns alone 
 the Sire of gods and Sovereign of mankind.” 
 So saying, from the wounded breast he plucked 
 his javelin: and on those eyes there fell 
 inexorable rest and iron slumber, 
 and in unending night their vision closed.

Then Caedicus cut down Alcathous, 
 Sacrator slew Hydaspes, Rapo smote 
 Parthenius and Orses stout and strong; 
 Messapus, good blade cut down Clonius 
 and Ericetes, fierce Lycaon's child; 
 the one from an unbridled war-horse thrown, 
 the other slain dismounted. Then rode forth 
 Agis the Lycian, but bold Valerus, 
 true to his valiant breeding, hurled him down; 
 having slain Thronius, Salius was slain 
 by skilled Nealces, of illustrious name 
 for spear well cast and far-surprising bow.

Thus Mars relentless holds in equal scale 
 slaughters reciprocal and mutual woe; 
 the victors and the vanquished kill or fall 
 in equal measure; neither knows the way 
 to yield or fly. Th' Olympians Iook down 
 out of Jove's house, and pity as they see 
 the unavailing wrath of either foe, 
 and burdens measureless on mortals laid. 
 Lo! Venus here, Saturnian Juno yon, 
 in anxious watch; while pale Tisiphone 
 moves on infuriate through the battling lines. 
 On strode Mezentius o'er the gory plain, 
 and swollen with rage waved wide-his awful spear. 
 Like tall Orion when on foot he goes 
 trough the deep sea and lifts his shoulders high 
 above the waves; or when he takes his path 
 along the mountain-tops, and has for staff 
 an aged ash-tree, as he fixes firm 
 his feet in earth and hides his brows in cloud;— 
 so Ioomed Mezentius with his ponderous arms.

To match him now, Aeneas, Iooking down 
 the long array of war, came forth in arms 
 to challenge and defy. But quailing not, 
 a mass immovable, the other stood 
 waiting his noble foe, and with a glance 
 measured to cast his spear the space between. 
 “May this right hand“, he said, “and this swift spear 
 which here I poise, be favoring gods for me! 
 The spoils from yonder robber's carcase stripped 
 I vow to hang on thee, my Lausus, thou 
 shalt stand for trophy of Aeneas slain.” 
 He said, and hurled from far the roaring spear, 
 which from the shield glanced off, and speeding still 
 smote famed Antores 'twixt the loin and side— 
 antores, friend of Hercules, who came 
 from Argos , and had joined Evander's cause, 
 abiding in Italia . Lo, a wound 
 meant for another pierced him, and he lay, 
 ill-fated! Iooking upward to the light, 
 and dreaming of dear Argos as he died. 
 Then good Aeneas hurled his spear; it passed 
 through hollow orb of triple bronze, and through 
 layers of flax and triple-twisted hides; 
 then in the lower groin it lodged, but left 
 its work undone. Aeneas, not ill-pleased 
 to see the Tuscan wounded, swiftly drew 
 the falchion from his thigh, and hotly pressed 
 his startled foe. But Lausus at the sight 
 groaned loud, so much he loved his father dear, 
 and tears his cheek bedewed. O storied youth! 
 If olden worth may win believing ear, 
 let not my song now fail of thee to sing, 
 thy noble deeds, thy doom of death and pain! 
 
 Mezentius, now encumbered and undone, 
 fell backward, trailing from the broken shield 
 his foeman's spear. His son leaped wildly forth 
 to join the fray; and where Aeneas' hand 
 lifted to strike, he faced the thrusting sword 
 and gave the hero pause. His comrades raised 
 applauding cries, as shielded by his son 
 the father made retreat; their darts they hurl, 
 and vex with flying spears the distant foe: 
 Aeneas, wrathful, stands beneath his shield. 
 As when the storm-clouds break in pelting hail, 
 the swains and ploughmen from the furrows fly, 
 and every traveller cowers in sure defence 
 of river-bank or lofty shelving crag, 
 while far and wide it pours; and by and by, 
 each, when the sun returns, his task pursues: 
 so great Aeneas, by assault o'erwhelmed, 
 endured the cloud of battle, till its rage 
 thundered no more; then with a warning word 
 to Lausus with upbraiding voice he called: 
 “Why, O death-doomed, rush on to deeds too high 
 for strength like thine. Thou art betrayed, rash boy, 
 by thine own loyal heart!” But none the less 
 the youth made mad defence; while fiercer burned 
 the Trojan's anger; and of Lausus' days 
 the loom of Fate spun forth the last thin thread; 
 for now Aeneas thrust his potent blade 
 deep through the stripling's breast and out of sight; 
 through the light shield it passed—a frail defence 
 to threaten with!—and through the tunic fine 
 his mother's hand had wrought with softest gold: 
 blood filled his bosom, and on path of air 
 down to the shades the mournful soul withdrew, 
 its body quitting. As Anchises' son 
 beheld the agonizing lips and brow 
 so wondrous white in death, he groaned aloud 
 in pity, and reached o'er him his right hand, 
 touched to the heart such likeness to behold 
 of his own filial love. “Unhappy boy! 
 What reward worthy of heroic deeds 
 can I award thee now? Wear still those arms 
 so proudly worn! And I will send thee home 
 (Perhaps thou carest!) to the kindred shades 
 and ashes of thy sires. But let it be 
 some solace in thy pitiable doom 
 that none but great Aeneas wrought thy fall.” 
 Then to the stripling's tardy followers 
 he sternly called, and lifted from the earth 
 with his own hand the fallen foe: dark blood 
 defiled those princely tresses braided fair.

Meanwhile Mezentius by the Tiber 's wave 
 with water staunched his wound, and propped his weight 
 against a tree; upon its limbs above 
 his brazen helmet hung, and on the sward 
 his ponderous arms lay resting. Round him watched 
 his chosen braves. He, gasping and in pain, 
 clutched at his neck and let his flowing beard 
 loose on his bosom fall; he questions oft 
 of Lausus, and sends many a messenger 
 to bid him back, and bear him the command 
 of his sore-grieving sire. But lo! his peers 
 bore the dead Lausus back upon his shield, 
 and wept to see so strong a hero quelled 
 by stroke so strong. From long way off the sire, 
 with soul prophetic of its woe, perceived 
 what meant their wail and cry. On his gray hairs 
 the dust he flung, and, stretching both his hands 
 to heaven, he cast himself the corpse along. 
 “O son,” he cried, “was life to me so sweet, 
 that I to save myself surrendered o'er 
 my own begotten to a foeman's steel? 
 Saved by these gashes shall thy father be, 
 and living by thy death? O wretched me, 
 how foul an end have I! Now is my wound 
 deep! deep! 't was I, dear son, have stained 
 thy name with infamy—to exile driven 
 from sceptre and hereditary throne 
 by general curse. Would that myself had borne 
 my country's vengeance and my nation's hate! 
 Would my own guilty life my debt had paid— 
 yea, by a thousand deaths! But, see, I live! 
 Not yet from human kind and light of day 
 have I departed. But depart I will.” 
 So saying, he raised him on his crippled thigh, 
 and though by reason of the grievous wound 
 his forces ebbed, yet with unshaken mien 
 he bade them lead his war-horse forth, his pride, 
 his solace, which from every war 
 victorious bore him home. The master then 
 to the brave beast, which seemed to know his pain, 
 spoke thus: “My Rhoebus, we have passed our days 
 long time together, if long time there be 
 for mortal creatures. Either on this day 
 thou shalt his bloody spoils in triumph bear 
 and that Aeneas' head,—and so shalt be 
 avenger of my Lausus' woe; or else, 
 if I be vanquished, thou shalt sink and fall 
 beside me. For, my bravest, thou wouldst spurn 
 a stranger's will, and Teucrian lords to bear.” 
 He spoke and, mounting to his back, disposed 
 his limbs the wonted way and filled both hands 
 with pointed javelins; a helm of brass 
 with shaggy horse-hair crest gleamed o'er his brow. 
 Swift to the front he rode: a mingled flood 
 surged in his heart of sorrow, wrath, and shame; 
 and thrice with loud voice on his foe he called.

Aeneas heard and made exulting vow: 
 “Now may the Father of the gods on high, 
 and great Apollo hear! Begin the fray!” 
 He said, and moved forth with a threatening spear. 
 The other cried: “Hast robbed me of my son, 
 and now, implacable, wouldst fright me more? 
 That way, that only, was it in thy power 
 to cast me down. No fear of death I feel. 
 Nor from thy gods themselves would I refrain. 
 Give o'er! For fated and resolved to die 
 I come thy way: but; bring thee as I pass 
 these offerings.” With this he whirled a spear 
 against his foe, and after it drove deep 
 another and another, riding swift 
 in wide gyration round him. But the shield, 
 the golden boss, broke not. Three times he rode 
 in leftward circles, hurling spear on spear 
 against th' unmoved Aeneas: and three times 
 the Trojan hero in his brazen shield 
 the sheaf of spears upbore. But such slow fight, 
 such plucking of spent shafts from out his shield, 
 the Trojan liked not, vexed and sorely tried 
 in duel so ill-matched. With wrathful soul 
 at length he strode forth, and between the brows 
 of the wild war-horse planted his Iong spear. 
 Up reared the creature, beating at the air 
 with quivering feet, then o'er his fallen lord 
 entangling dropped, and prone above him lay, 
 pinning with ponderous shoulder to the ground. 
 The Trojans and the Latins rouse the skies 
 with clamor Ioud. Aeneas hastening forth 
 unsheathes his sword, and looming o'er him cries: 
 “Where now is fierce Mezentius, and his soul's 
 wild pulse of rage?” The Tuscan in reply 
 with eyes uprolled, and gasping as he gave 
 long looks at heaven, recalled his fading mind: 
 “Why frown at me and fume, O bitterest foe? 
 Why threaten death? To slay me is no sin. 
 Not to take quarter came I to this war, 
 not truce with thee did my lost Lausus crave, 
 yet this one boon I pray,—if mercy be 
 for fallen foes: O, suffer me when dead 
 in covering earth to hide! Full well I know 
 what curses of my people ring me round. 
 Defend me from that rage! I pray to be 
 my son's companion in our common tomb.” 
 He spoke: then offered with unshrinking eye 
 his veined throat to the sword. O'er the bright mail 
 his vital breath gushed forth in streaming gore.

Up from the sea now soared the dawning day: 
 Aeneas, though his sorrow bids him haste 
 to burial of the slain, and his sad soul 
 is clouded with the sight of death, fulfils, 
 for reward to his gods, a conqueror's vow, 
 at morning's earliest beam. A mighty oak 
 shorn of its limbs he sets upon a hill 
 and clothes it o'er with glittering arms, the spoil 
 of King Mezentius, and a trophy proud 
 to thee, great lord of war. The hero's plumes 
 bedewed with blood are there, and splintered spears; 
 there hangs the corselet, by the thrusting steel 
 twelve times gored through; upon the left he binds 
 the brazen shield, and from the neck suspends 
 the ivory-hilted sword. Aeneas thus, 
 as crowding close his train of captains throng, 
 addressed his followers: “Ye warriors mine, 
 our largest work is done. Bid fear begone 
 of what is left to do. Behold the spoils! 
 Yon haughty King was firstfruits of our war. 
 See this Mezentius my hands have made! 
 Now to the Latin town and King we go. 
 Arm you in soul! With heart of perfect hope 
 prepare the war! So when the gods give sign 
 to open battle and lead forth our brave 
 out of this stronghold, no bewilderment, 
 nor tarrying, nor fearful, faltering mind 
 shall slack our march. Meanwhile in earth we lay 
 our comrades fallen; for no honor else 
 in Acheron have they. Go forth,” said he, 
 “bring gifts of honor and of last farewell 
 to those high hearts by shedding of whose blood 
 our country lives. To sad Evander's town 
 bear Pallas first; who, though he did not fail 
 of virtue's crown, was seized by doom unblest, 
 and to the bitterness of death consigned.”

Weeping he spoke, and slowly backward drew 
 to the tent-door, where by the breathless clay 
 of Pallas stood Acoetes, aged man, 
 once bearer of Evander's arms, but now 
 under less happy omens set to guard 
 his darling child. Around him is a throng 
 of slaves, with all the Trojan multitude, 
 and Ilian women, who the wonted way 
 let sorrow's tresses loosely flow. When now 
 Aeneas to the lofty doors drew near, 
 all these from smitten bosoms raised to heaven 
 a mighty moaning, till the King's abode 
 was loud with anguish. There Aeneas viewed 
 the pillowed head of Pallas cold and pale, 
 the smooth young breast that bore the gaping wound 
 of that Ausonian spear, and weeping said: 
 “Did Fortune's envy, smiling though she came, 
 refuse me, hapless boy, that thou shouldst see 
 my throne established, and victorious ride 
 beside me to thy father's house? Not this 
 my parting promise to thy King and sire, 
 Evander, when with friendly, fond embrace 
 to win imperial power he bade me go; 
 yet warned me anxiously I must resist 
 bold warriors and a stubborn breed of foes. 
 And haply even now he cheats his heart 
 with expectation vain, and offers vows, 
 heaping with gifts the altars of his gods. 
 But we with unavailing honors bring 
 this lifeless youth, who owes the gods of heaven 
 no more of gift and vow. O ill-starred King! 
 Soon shalt thou see thy son's unpitying doom! 
 What a home-coming! This is glory's day 
 so Iong awaited; this the solemn pledge 
 I proudly gave. But fond Evander's eyes 
 will find no shameful wounding on the slain, 
 nor for a son in coward safety kept 
 wilt thou, the sire, crave death. But woe is me! 
 How strong a bulwark in Ausonia falls! 
 What loss is thine, Iulus!” Thus lamenting, 
 he bids them lift the body to the bier, 
 and sends a thousand heroes from his host 
 to render the last tributes, and to share 
 father's tears:—poor solace and too small 
 for grief so great, but due that mournful sire. 
 Some busy them to build of osiers fine 
 the simple litter, twining sapling oaks 
 with evergreen, till o'er death's Iofty bed 
 the branching shade extends. Upon it lay, 
 as if on shepherd's couch, the youthful dead, 
 like fairest flower by virgin fingers culled, 
 frail violet or hyacinth forlorn, 
 of color still undimmed and leaf unmarred; 
 but from the breast of mother-earth no more 
 its life doth feed. Then good Aeneas brought 
 two broidered robes of scarlet and fine gold, 
 which with the gladsome labor of her hands 
 Sidonian Dido wrought him long ago, 
 the thin-spun gold inweaving. One of these 
 the sad prince o'er the youthful body threw 
 for parting gift; and with the other veiled 
 those tresses from the fire; he heaped on high 
 Laurentum's spoils of war, and bade to bring 
 much tribute forth: horses and arms he gave, 
 seized from the fallen enemy; with hands 
 fettered behind them filed a captive train 
 doomed to appease the shades, and with the flames 
 to mix their flowing blood. He bade his chiefs 
 set up the trunks of trees and clothe them well 
 with captured arms, inscribing on each one 
 some foeman's name. Then came Acoetes forth, 
 a wretched, worn old man, who beat his breast 
 with tight-clenched hands, and tore his wrinkled face 
 with ruthless fingers; oft he cast him down 
 full length along the ground. Then lead they forth 
 the blood-stained Rutule chariots of war; 
 Aethon, the war-horse, of his harness bare, 
 walks mournful by; big teardrops wet his cheek. 
 Some bear the lance and helm; for all the rest 
 victorious Turnus seized. Then filed along 
 a mournful Teucrian cohort; next the host 
 Etrurian and the men of Arcady 
 with trailing arms reversed. Aeneas now, 
 when the long company had passed him by, 
 spoke thus and groaned aloud: “Ourselves from hence 
 are summoned by the same dread doom of war 
 to other tears. Farewell forevermore! 
 Heroic Pallas! be forever blest! 
 I bid thee hail, farewell!” In silence then 
 back to the stronghold's Iofty walls he moved.

Now envoys from the Latin citadel 
 came olive-crowned, to plead for clemency: 
 would he not yield those bodies of the dead 
 sword-scattered o'er the plain, and let them lie 
 beneath an earth-built tomb? Who wages war 
 upon the vanquished, the unbreathing slain? 
 To people once his hosts and kindred called, 
 would he not mercy show? To such a prayer, 
 deemed not unworthy, good Aeneas gave 
 the boon, and this benignant answer made: 
 “Ye Latins, what misfortune undeserved 
 has snared you in so vast a war, that now 
 you shun our friendship? Have you here implored 
 peace for your dead, by chance of battle fallen? 
 Pain would I grant it for the living too. 
 I sailed not hither save by Heaven's decree, 
 which called me to this land. I wage no war 
 with you, the people; 't was your King refused 
 our proffered bond of peace, and gave his cause 
 to Turnus' arms. More meet and just it were 
 had Turnus met this death that makes you mourn. 
 If he would end our quarrel sword in hand, 
 thrusting us Teucrians forth, 't was honor's way 
 to cross his blade with mine; that man to whom 
 the gods, or his own valor, had decreed 
 the longer life, had lived. But now depart! 
 Beneath your lost friends light the funeral fires!” 
 So spoke Aeneas; and with wonder mute 
 all stood at gaze, each turning to behold 
 his neighbor's face. Then Drances, full of years, 
 and ever armed with spite and slanderous word 
 against young Turnus, made this answering plea: 
 “O prince of mighty name, whose feats of arms 
 are even mightier! Trojan hero, how 
 shall my poor praise exalt thee to the skies? 
 Is it thy rectitude or strenuous war 
 most bids me wonder? We will bear thy word 
 right gladly to the city of our sires; 
 and there, if Fortune favor it, contrive 
 a compact with the Latin King. Henceforth 
 let Turnus find his own allies! Ourselves 
 will much rejoice to see thy destined walls, 
 and our own shoulders will be proud to bear 
 the stone for building Troy .” Such speech he made, 
 and all the common voice consented loud. 
 So twelve days' truce they swore, and safe from harm 
 Latins and Teucrians unmolested roved 
 together o'er the wooded hills. Now rang 
 loud steel on ash-tree bole; enormous pines, 
 once thrusting starward, to the earth they threw; 
 and with industrious wedge asunder clove 
 stout oak and odorous cedar, piling high 
 harvest of ash-trees on the creaking wain.

Now Rumor, herald of prodigious woe, 
 to King Evander hied, Evander's house 
 and city filling, where, but late, her word 
 had told in Latium Pallas' victory. 
 th' Arcadians thronging to the city-gates 
 bear funeral torches, the accustomed way; 
 in lines of flame the long street flashes far, 
 lighting the fields beyond. To meet them moves 
 a Phrygian company, to join with theirs 
 its lamentation loud. The Latin wives, 
 soon as they saw them entering, aroused 
 the whole sad city with shrill songs of woe. 
 No hand could stay Evander. Forth he flew 
 into the midmost tumult, and fell prone 
 on his dead Pallas, on the resting bier; 
 he clung to the pale corse with tears, with groans, 
 till anguish for a space his lips unsealed: 
 “Not this thy promise, Pallas, to thy sire, 
 to walk not rashly in the war-god's way. 
 I knew too well how honor's morning-star, 
 and sweet, foretasted glory tempt and woo 
 in a first battle. O first-fruit forlorn 
 of youth so fair! O prelude pitiless 
 of war approaching! O my vows and prayers, 
 which not one god would hear! My blessed wife, 
 how happy was the death that spared thee not 
 to taste this bitterness! But I, the while, 
 by living longer lived to meet my doom,— 
 a father sole-surviving. Would I myself 
 had perished by the Rutule's cruel spear, 
 the Trojan's cause espousing! This breath of life 
 how gladly had I given! And O, that now 
 yon black solemnity were bearing home 
 myself, not Pallas, dead! Yet blame I not, 
 O Teucrians, the hallowed pact we made, 
 nor hospitable bond and clasp of hands. 
 This doom ye bring me was writ long ago, 
 for my old age. And though my child is fallen 
 untimely, I take comfort that he fell 
 where thousands of the Volscians slaughtered lie, 
 and into Latium led the Teucrian arms. 
 What brighter glory could I crave in death 
 for thee, my Pallas, than Aeneas brings, 
 and Phrygian princes, and Etrurian lords 
 with all Etruria's legions? Lo, they bear 
 yon glittering spoils of victims of thy sword! 
 Thou, Turnus, too, wert now an effigy 
 in giant armor clad, if but his years 
 and strength full ripe had been fair match for thine! 
 But now my woes detain the Trojan host 
 from battle. I beseech ye haste away, 
 and bear this faithful message to your King: 
 since I but linger out a life I loathe, 
 without my Pallas, nothing but thy sword 
 can bid me live. Then let thy sword repay 
 its debt to sire and son by Turnus slain! 
 Such deed alone may with thy honor fit, 
 and happier fortunes. But my life to me 
 has no joy left to pray for, save to bring 
 my son that solace in the shadowy land.”

Meanwhile o'er sorrowing mortals the bright morn 
 had lifted her mild beam, renewing so 
 the burden of man's toil. Aeneas now 
 built funeral pyres along the winding shore, 
 King Tarchon at his side. Each thither brought 
 the bodies of his kin, observing well 
 all ancient ritual. The fuming fires 
 burned from beneath, till highest heaven was hid 
 in blackest, overmantling cloud. Three times 
 the warriors, sheathed in proud, resplendent steel, 
 paced round the kindling pyres; and three times 
 fair companies of horsemen circled slow, 
 with loud lamenting, round the doleful flame. 
 The wail of warriors and the trumpets' blare 
 the very welkin rend. Cast on the flames 
 are spoils of slaughtered Latins,—helms and blades, 
 bridles and chariot-wheels. Yet others bring 
 gifts to the dead familiar, their own shields 
 and unavailing spears. Around them slain 
 great herds of kine give tribute unto death: 
 swine, bristly-backed, from many a field are borne, 
 and slaughtered sheep bleed o'er the sacred fire. 
 So on the shore the wailing multitude 
 behold their comrades burning, and keep guard 
 o'er the consuming pyres, nor turn away 
 till cooling night re-shifts the globe of heaven, 
 thick-strewn with numberless far-flaming stars.

Likewise the mournful Latins far away 
 have built their myriad pyres. Yet of the slain 
 not few in graves are laid, and borne with tears 
 to neighboring country-side or native town; 
 the rest—promiscuous mass of dead unknown— 
 to nameless and unhonored ashes burn; 
 with multitude of fires the far-spread fields 
 blaze forth unweariedly. But when from heaven 
 the third morn had dispelled the dark and cold, 
 the mournful bands raked forth the mingled bones 
 and plenteous ashes from the smouldering pyres, 
 then heaped with earth the one sepulchral mound. 
 Now from the hearth-stones of the opulent town 
 of old Latinus a vast wail burst forth, 
 for there was found the chief and bitterest share 
 of all the woe. For mothers in their tears, 
 lone brides, and stricken souls of sisters fond, 
 and boys left fatherless, fling curses Ioud 
 on Turnus' troth-plight and the direful war: 
 “Let him, let Turnus, with his single sword 
 decide the strife,”—they cry,—“and who shall claim 
 Lordship of Italy and power supreme.” 
 Fierce Drances whets their fury, urging all 
 that Turnus singly must the challenge hear, 
 and singly wage the war; but others plead 
 in Turnus' favor; the Queen's noble name 
 protects him, and his high renown in arms 
 defends his cause with well-won trophies fair.

Amid these tumults of the wrathful throng, 
 lo, the ambassadors to Diomed 
 arrive with cloudy forehead from their quest 
 in his illustrious town; for naught availed 
 their toilsome errand, nor the gifts and gold, 
 nor strong entreaty. Other help in war 
 the Latins now must find, or humbly sue 
 peace from the Trojan. At such tidings dire 
 even Latinus trembles: Heaven's decrees 
 and influence of gods too visible 
 sustain Aeneas; so the wrath divine 
 and new-filled sepulchres conspicuous 
 give warning clear. Therefore the King convenes 
 a general council of his captains brave 
 beneath the royal towers. They, gathering, 
 throng the approaches thither, where their Iord, 
 gray-haired Latinus, takes the central throne, 
 wearing authority with mournful brow. 
 He bids the envoys from Aetolia's King 
 sent back, to speak and tell the royal words 
 in order due. Forthwith on every tongue 
 fell silence, while the princely Venulus, 
 heeding his Iord's behest, began the parle:

“My countrymen,” he said, “our eyes have seen 
 strongholds of Greeks and Diomed the King. 
 We braved all perils to our journey's end 
 and clasped that hand whereof the dreadful stroke 
 wrought Ilium 's fall. The hero built a town, 
 Argyripa, hereditary name, 
 near mount Garganus in Apulian land: 
 passing that city's portal and the King's, 
 we found free audience, held forth thy gifts, 
 and told our names and fatherland. We showed 
 what condict was enkindled, and what cause 
 brought us to Arpi's King. He, hearing all, 
 with brow benign made answer to our plea: 
 ‘O happy tribes in Saturn's kingdom born, 
 Ausonia's ancient stem! What fortune blind 
 tempts ye from peace away, and now ensnares 
 in wars unknown? Look how we men that dared 
 lay Ilium waste (I speak not of what woes 
 in battling neath her lofty walls we bore, 
 nor of dead warriors sunk in Simois' wave) 
 have paid the penalty in many a land 
 with chastisement accurst and changeful woe, 
 till Priam's self might pity. Let the star 
 of Pallas tell its tale of fatal storm, 
 off grim Caphereus and Eubcea's crags. 
 Driven asunder from one field of war, 
 Atrides unto farthest Egypt strayed, 
 and wise Ulysses saw from Aetna 's caves 
 the Cyclops gathering. Why name the throne 
 of Pyrrhus, or the violated hearth 
 whence fled Idomeneus? Or Locri cast 
 on Libya 's distant shore? For even he, 
 Lord of Mycenae by the Greeks obeyed, 
 fell murdered on his threshold by the hand 
 of that polluted wife, whose paramour 
 trapped Asia 's conqueror. The envious gods 
 withheld me also from returning home 
 to see once more the hearth-stone of my sires, 
 the wife I yearn for, and my Calydon, 
 the beauteous land. For wonders horrible 
 pursue me still. My vanished followers 
 through upper air take wing, or haunt and rove 
 in forms of birds the island waters o'er: 
 ah me, what misery my people feel! 
 The tall rocks ring with their lament and cry. 
 Naught else had I to hope for from that day 
 when my infatuate sword on gods I drew, 
 and outraged with abominable wound 
 the hand of Venus. Urge me not, I pray, 
 to conflicts in this wise. No more for me 
 of war with Trojans after Ilium 's fall! 
 I take no joy in evils past, nor wish 
 such memory to renew. Go, lay these gifts, 
 brought to my honor from your ancient land, 
 at great Aeneas' feet. We twain have stood 
 confronting close with swords implacable 
 in mortal fray. Believe me, I have known 
 the stature of him when he lifts his shield, 
 and swings the whirlwind of his spear. If Troy 
 
 two more such sons had bred, the Dardan horde 
 had stormed at Argos ' gates, and Greece to-day 
 were for her fallen fortunes grieving sore. 
 Our lingering at Ilium 's stubborn wall, 
 our sluggard conquest halting ten years Iong, 
 was his and Hector's work. Heroic pair! 
 Each one for valor notable, and each 
 famous in enterprise of arms,—but he 
 was first in piety. Enclasp with his 
 your hands in plighted peace as best ye may: 
 but shock of steel on steel ye well may shun.’ 
 now hast thou heard, good King, a king's reply, 
 and how his wisdom sits in this vast war.”

Soon as the envoys ceased, an answering sound 
 of troubled voices through the council flowed 
 of various note, as when its rocky bed 
 impedes an arrowy stream, and murmurs break 
 from the strait-channelled flood; the fringing shores 
 repeat the tumult of the clamorous wave. 
 But when their hearts and troublous tongues were still, 
 the King, invoking first the gods in heaven, 
 thus from a Iofty throne his sentence gave:

“Less evil were our case, if long ago 
 ye had provided for your country's weal, 
 O Latins, as I urged. It is no time 
 to hold dispute, while, compassing our walls, 
 the foeman waits. Ill-omened war is ours 
 against a race of gods, my countrymen, 
 invincible, unwearied in the fray, 
 and who, though lost and fallen, clutch the sword. 
 If hope ye cherished of Aetolia 's power, 
 dismiss it! For what hope ye have is found 
 in your own bosoms only. But ye know 
 how slight it is and small. What ruin wide 
 has fallen, is now palpable and clear. 
 No blame I cast. What valor's uttermost 
 may do was done; our kingdom in this war 
 strained its last thews. Now therefore I will tell 
 such project as my doubtful mind may frame, 
 and briefly, if ye give good heed, unfold: 
 an ancient tract have I, close-bordering 
 the river Tiber ; it runs westward far 
 beyond Sicania's bound, and filth it bears 
 to Rutule and Auruncan husbandmen, 
 who furrow its hard hills or feed their flocks 
 along the stonier slopes. Let this demesne, 
 together with its pine-clad mountain tall, 
 be given the Teucrian for our pledge of peace, 
 confirmed by free and equitable league, 
 and full alliance with our kingly power. 
 Let them abide there, if it please them so, 
 and build their city's wall. But if their hearts 
 for other land or people yearn, and fate 
 permits them hence to go, then let us build 
 twice ten good galleys of Italian oak, 
 or more, if they can man them. All the wood 
 lies yonder on the shore. Let them but say 
 how numerous and large the ships they crave, 
 and we will give the brass, the artisans, 
 and ship-supplies. Let us for envoys choose 
 a hundred of the Latins noblest born 
 to tell our message and arrange the peace, 
 bearing mild olive-boughs and weighty gifts 
 of ivory and gold, with chair of state 
 and purple robe, our emblems as a king. 
 But freely let this council speak; give aid 
 to our exhausted cause.” Then Drances rose, 
 that foe inveterate, whom Turnus' fame 
 to stinging hate and envy double-tongued 
 ever pricked on. Of liberal wealth was he 
 and flowing speech, but slack of hand in war 
 at council board accounted no weak voice, 
 in quarrels stronger still; of lofty birth 
 in the maternal line, but by his sire's 
 uncertain and obscure. He, claiming place, 
 thus multiplies with words the people's ire: 
 “A course most clear, nor needing voice of mine, 
 thy council is, good King; for all men see 
 the way of public weal, but smother close 
 the telling of it. Turnus must concede 
 freedom to speak, and his own arrogance 
 diminish! Under his ill-boding star 
 and fatal conduct—yea, I speak it plain, 
 though with his naked steel my death he swear— 
 yon host of princes fell, and we behold 
 the whole land bowed with grief; while he assails 
 the Trojan camp (beating such bold retreats!) 
 and troubles Heaven with war. One gift the more, 
 among the many to the Trojans given, 
 one chiefly, best of kings, thy choice should be. 
 Let not wild violence thy will restrain 
 from granting, sire, thy virgin daughter's hand 
 to son-in-law illustrious, in a match 
 worthy of both,—and thus the lasting bond 
 of peace establish. But if verily 
 our hearts and souls be weak with craven fear, 
 let us on Turnus call, and grace implore 
 even of him. Let him no more oppose; 
 but to his country and his King concede 
 their natural right. Why wilt thou o'er and o'er 
 fling thy poor countrymen in danger's way, 
 O chief and fountain of all Latium 's pain? 
 War will not save us. Not a voice but sues 
 for peace, O Turnus! and, not less than peace, 
 its one inviolable pledge. Behold, 
 I lead in this petition! even I 
 whom thou dost feign thy foe—(I waste no words 
 denying)—look! I supplicate of thee, 
 take pity on thy kindred; drop thy pride, 
 and get thee home defeated. We have seen 
 slaughter enough, enough of funeral flames, 
 and many a wide field waste and desolate. 
 If glory move thee, if thy martial breast 
 so swell with strength, and if a royal dower 
 be thy dear dream, go, pluck thy courage up, 
 and front thy own brave bosom to the foe. 
 for, lo, that Turnus on his wedding day 
 may win a princess, our cheap, common lives— 
 we the mere mob, unwept, unsepulchred— 
 must be spilled forth in battle! Thou, I say, 
 if there be mettle in thee and some drops 
 of thy undaunted sires, Iook yonder where 
 the Trojan chieftain waits thee in the field.”

By such discourse he stirred the burning blood 
 of Turnus, who groaned loud and from his heart 
 this utterance hurled: “O Drances, thou art rich 
 in large words, when the day of battle calls 
 for actions. If our senators convene 
 thou comest early. But the council hall 
 is not for swollen talk, such as thy tongue 
 in safety tosses forth; so long as walls 
 hold back thy foes, and ere the trenches flow 
 with blood of brave men slain. O, rattle on 
 in fluent thunder—thy habitual style! 
 Brand me a coward, Drances, when thy sword 
 has heaped up Trojan slain, and on the field 
 thy shining trophies rise. Now may we twain 
 our martial prowess prove. Our foe, forsooth, 
 is not so far to seek; around yon wall 
 he lies in siege: to front him let us fly! 
 Why art thou tarrying? Wilt thou linger here, 
 a soldier only in thy windy tongue, 
 and thy swift, coward heels? Defeated, I? 
 Foul wretch, what tongue that honors truth can tell 
 of my defeat, while Tiber overflows 
 with Trojan blood? while King Evander's house 
 in ruin dies, and his Arcadians lie 
 stripped naked on the field? O, not like thee 
 did Bitias or the giant Pandarus 
 misprize my honor; nor those men of Troy 
 
 whom this good sword to death and dark sent down, 
 a thousand in a day,—though I was penned 
 a prisoner in the ramparts of my foe.

War will not save us? Fling that prophecy 
 on the doomed Dardan's head, or on thy own, 
 thou madman! Aye, with thy vile, craven soul 
 disturb the general cause. Extol the power 
 of a twice-vanquished people, and decry 
 Latinus' rival arms. From this time forth 
 let all the Myrmidonian princes cower 
 before the might of Troy ; let Diomed 
 and let Achilles tremble; let the stream 
 of Aufidus in panic backward flow 
 from Hadria 's wave. But hear me when I say 
 that though his guilt and cunning feign to feel 
 fear of my vengeance, much embittering so 
 his taunts and insult—such a life as his 
 my sword disdains. O Drances, be at ease! 
 In thy vile bosom let thy breath abide! 
 But now of thy grave counsel and thy cause, 
 O royal sire, I speak. If from this hour 
 thou castest hope of armed success away, 
 if we be so unfriended that one rout 
 o'erwhelms us utterly, if Fortune's feet 
 never turn backward, let us, then, for peace 
 offer petition, lifting to the foe 
 our feeble, suppliant hands. Yet would I pray 
 some spark of manhood such as once we knew 
 were ours once more! I count him fortunate, 
 and of illustrious soul beyond us all, 
 who, rather than behold such things, has fallen 
 face forward, dead, his teeth upon the dust. 
 But if we still have power, and men-at-arms 
 unwasted and unscathed, if there survive 
 Italian tribes and towns for help in war, 
 aye! if the Trojans have but won success 
 at bloody cost,—for they dig graves, I ween, 
 storm-smitten not less than we,—O, wherefore now 
 stand faint and shameful on the battle's edge? 
 Why quake our knees before the trumpet call? 
 Time and the toil of shifting, changeful days 
 restore lost causes; ebbing tides of chance 
 deceive us oft, which after at their flood 
 do lift us safe to shore. If aid come not 
 from Diomed in Arpi , our allies 
 shall be Mezentius and Tolumnius, 
 auspicious name, and many a chieftain sent 
 from many a tribe; not all inglorious 
 are Latium 's warriors from Laurentian land! 
 Hither the noble Volscian stem sends down 
 Camilla with her beauteous cavalry 
 in glittering brass arrayed. But if, forsooth, 
 the Trojans call me singly to the fight, 
 if this be what ye will, and I so much 
 the public weal impair—when from this sword 
 has victory seemed to fly away in scorn? 
 I should not hopeless tread in honor's way 
 whate'er the venture. Dauntless will I go 
 though equal match for great Achilles, he, 
 and though he clothe him in celestial arms 
 in Vulcan's smithy wrought. I, Turnus, now, 
 not less than equal with great warriors gone, 
 vow to Latinus, father of my bride, 
 and to ye all, each drop of blood I owe. 
 Me singly doth Aeneas call? I crave 
 that challenge. Drances is not called to pay 
 the debt of death, if wrath from Heaven impend; 
 nor his a brave man's name and fame to share.”

Thus in their doubtful cause the chieftains strove. 
 Meanwhile Aeneas his assaulting line 
 moved forward. The ill tidings wildly sped 
 from royal hall to hall, and filled the town 
 with rumors dark: for now the Trojan host 
 o'er the wide plains from Tiber 's wave was spread 
 in close array of war. The people's soul 
 was vexed and shaken, and its martial rage 
 rose to the stern compulsion. Now for arms 
 their terror calls; the youthful soldiery 
 clamor for arms; the sires of riper days 
 weep or repress their tears. On every side 
 loud shouts and cries of dissonant acclaim 
 trouble the air, as when in lofty grove 
 legions of birds alight, or by the flood 
 of Padus' fishy stream the shrieking swans 
 far o'er the vocal marish fling their song. 
 Then, seizing the swift moment, Turnus cried: 
 “Once more, my countrymen,—ye sit in parle, 
 lazily praising peace, while yonder foe 
 speeds forth in arms our kingdom to obtain.” 
 He spoke no more, but hied him in hot haste, 
 and from the housetop called, “Volusus, go! 
 Equip the Volscian companies! Lead forth 
 my Rutules also! O'er the spreading plain, 
 ye brothers Coras and Messapus range 
 our host of cavalry! Let others guard 
 the city's gates and hold the walls and towers: 
 I and my followers elsewhere oppose 
 the shock of arms.” Now to and fro they run 
 to man the walls. Father Latinus quits— 
 the place of council and his large design, 
 vexed and bewildered by the hour's distress. 
 He blames his own heart that he did not ask 
 Trojan Aeneas for his daughter's Iord, 
 and gain him for his kingdom's lasting friend. 
 They dig them trenches at the gates, or lift 
 burden of stakes and stones. The horn's harsh note 
 sounds forth its murderous signal for the war; 
 striplings and women, in a motley ring, 
 defend the ramparts; the decisive hour 
 lays tasks on all. Upon the citadel 
 a train of matrons, with the doleful Queen, 
 toward Pallas' temple moves, and in their hand 
 are gifts and offerings. See, at their side 
 the maid Lavinia, cause of all these tears, 
 drops down her lovely eyes! The incense rolls 
 in clouds above the altar; at the doors 
 with wailing voice the women make this prayer: 
 “Tritonian virgin, arbitress of war! 
 Break of thyself yon Phrygian robber's spear! 
 Hurl him down dying in the dust! Spill forth 
 his evil blood beneath our lofty towers!” 
 Fierce Turnus girds him, emulous to slay: 
 a crimson coat of mail he wears, with scales 
 of burnished bronze; beneath his knees are bound 
 the golden greaves; upon his naked brow 
 no helm he wears; but to his thigh is bound 
 a glittering sword. Down from the citadel 
 runs he, a golden glory, in his heart 
 boldly exulting, while impatient hope 
 fore-counts his fallen foes. He seemed as when, 
 from pinfold bursting, breaking his strong chain, 
 th' untrammelled stallion ranges the wide field, 
 or tries him to a herd of feeding mares, 
 or to some cooling river-bank he knows, 
 most fierce and mettlesome; the streaming mane 
 o'er neck and shoulder flies. Across his path 
 Camilla with her Volscian escort came, 
 and at the city-gate the royal maid 
 down from her charger leaped; while all her band 
 at her example glided to the ground, 
 their horses leaving. Thus the virgin spoke: 
 “Turnus, if confidence beseem the brave, 
 I have no fear; but of myself do vow 
 to meet yon squadrons of Aeneadae 
 alone, and front me to the gathered charge 
 of Tuscan cavalry. Let me alone 
 the war's first venture-prove. Take station, thou, 
 here at the walls, this rampart to defend.” 
 With fixed eyes on the terror-striking maid, 
 Turnus replied, “O boast of Italy , 
 O virgin bold! What praise, what gratitude 
 can words or deeds repay? But since thy soul 
 so large of stature shows, I bid thee share 
 my burden and my war. Our spies bring news 
 that now Aeneas with pernicious mind 
 sends light-armed horse before him, to alarm 
 the plains below, while through the wilderness 
 he climbs the steep hills, and approaches so 
 our leaguered town. But I in sheltered grove 
 a stratagem prepare, and bid my men 
 in ambush at a mountain cross-road lie. 
 Meet thou the charge of Tuscan cavalry 
 with all thy banners. For auxiliar strength 
 take bold Messapus with his Latin troop 
 and King Tiburtus' men: but the command 
 shall be thy task and care.” He spoke, and urged 
 with like instruction for the coming fray 
 Messapus and his captains; then advanced 
 to meet the foe. There is a winding vale 
 for armed deception and insidious war 
 well fashioned, and by interlacing leaves 
 screened darkly in; a small path thither leads, 
 through strait defile-a passage boding ill. 
 Above it, on a mountain's lofty brow, 
 are points of outlook, level spaces fair, 
 and many a safe, invisible retreat 
 from whence on either hand to challenge war, 
 or, standing on the ridges, to roll down 
 huge mountain boulders. Thither Turnus fared, 
 and, ranging the familiar tract, chose out 
 his cunning ambush in the dangerous grove.

But now in dwellings of the gods on high, 
 Diana to fleet-footed Opis called, 
 a virgin from her consecrated train, 
 and thus in sorrow spoke: “O maiden mine! 
 Camilla now to cruel conflict flies; 
 with weapons like my own she girds her side, 
 in vain, though dearest of all nymphs to me. 
 Nor is it some new Iove that stirs to-day 
 with sudden sweetness in Diana's breast: 
 for long ago, when from his kingdom driven, 
 for insolent and envied power, her sire 
 King Metabus, from old Privernum 's wall 
 was taking flight amidst opposing foes, 
 he bore a little daughter in his arms 
 to share his exile; and he called the child 
 (Changing Casmilla, her queen-mother's name) 
 Camilla. Bearing on his breast the babe, 
 he fled to solitary upland groves. 
 But hovering round him with keen lances, pressed 
 the Volscian soldiery. Across his path, 
 lo, Amasenus with full-foaming wave 
 o'erflowed its banks—so huge a rain had burst 
 but lately from the clouds. There would he fain 
 swim over, but the love of that sweet babe 
 restrained him, trembling for his burden dear. 
 In his perplexed heart suddenly arose 
 firm resolve. It chanced the warrior bore 
 huge spear in his brawny hand, strong shaft 
 of knotted, seasoned oak; to this he lashed 
 his little daughter with a withe of bark 
 pulled from a cork-tree, and with skilful bonds 
 fast bound her to the spear; then, poising it 
 high in his right hand, thus he called on Heaven:

‘Latona's daughter, whose benignant grace 
 protects this grove, behold, her father now 
 gives thee this babe for handmaid! Lo, thy spear 
 her infant fingers hold, as from her foes 
 she flies a suppliant to thee! Receive, 
 O goddess, I implore, what now I cast 
 upon the perilous air.’—He spoke, and hurled 
 with lifted arm the whirling shaft. The waves 
 roared loud, as on the whistling javelin 
 hapless Camilla crossed th' impetuous flood. 
 But Metabus, his foes in hot pursuit, 
 dared plunge him in mid-stream, and, triumphing, 
 soon plucked from grass-grown river-bank the spear, 
 the child upon it,—now to Trivia vowed, 
 a virgin offering. Him nevermore 
 could cities hold, nor would his wild heart yield 
 its sylvan freedom, but his days were passed 
 with shepherds on the solitary hills. 
 His daughter too in tangled woods he bred: 
 a brood-mare from the milk of her fierce breast 
 suckled the child, and to its tender lips 
 .Her udders moved; and when the infant feet 
 their first firm steps had taken, the small palms 
 were armed with a keen javelin; her sire 
 a bow and quiver from her shoulder slung. 
 Instead of golden combs and flowing pall, 
 she wore, from her girl-forehead backward thrown, 
 the whole skin of a tigress; with soft hands 
 she made her plaything of a whirling spear, 
 or, swinging round her head the polished thong 
 of her good sling, she fetched from distant sky 
 Strymonian cranes or swans of spotless wing. 
 From Tuscan towns proud matrons oft in vain 
 sought her in marriage for their sons; but she 
 to Dian only turned her stainless heart, 
 her virgin freedom and her huntress' arms 
 with faithful passion serving. Would that now 
 this Iove of war had ne'er seduced her mind 
 the Teucrians to provoke! So might she be 
 one of our wood-nymphs still. But haste, I pray, 
 for bitter is her now impending doom. 
 Descend, dear nymph, from heaven, and explore 
 the country of the Latins, where the fight 
 with unpropitious omens now begins. 
 These weapons take, and from this quiver draw 
 a vengeful arrow, wherewith he who dares 
 to wound her sacred body, though he be 
 a Trojan or Italian, shall receive 
 bloody and swift reward at my command. 
 Then, in a cloud concealed, I will consign 
 her corpse, ill-fated but inviolate 
 unto the sepulchre, restoring so 
 the virgin to her native land.” Thus spake 
 the goddess; but her handmaid, gliding down, 
 took her loud pathway on the moving winds, 
 and mantled in dark storm her shape divine.

Meanwhile the Teucrian legions to the wall 
 draw near, with Tuscan lords and cavalry 
 in numbered troops arrayed. Loud-footed steeds 
 prance o'er the field, to manage of the rein 
 rebellious, but turned deftly here or there. 
 The iron harvest of keen spears spreads far, 
 and all the plain burns bright with lifted steel. 
 Messapus and swift Latin cavalry, 
 Coras his brother, and th' attending train 
 of the fair maid Camilla, form their lines 
 in the opposing field. Their poised right hands 
 point the long lances forward, and light shafts 
 are brandished in the air; the warrior hosts 
 on steeds of fire come kindling as they ride. 
 One instant, at a spear-throw's space, each line 
 its motion stays; then with one sudden cry 
 they rush forth, spurring on each frenzied steed. 
 From-every side the multitudinous spears 
 pour down like snowflakes, mantling heaven in shade. 
 Now with contending spears and straining thews, 
 Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus, champion bold, 
 ride forward; with the onset terrible 
 loudly their armor rings; their chargers twain 
 crash breast to breast, and like a thunderbolt 
 Aconteus drops, or like a ponderous stone 
 hurled from a catapult; full length he falls, 
 surrend'ring to the winds his fleeting soul.

Now all is panic: holding their light shields 
 behind their backs, the Latin horse wheel round, 
 retreating to the wall, the Trojan foe 
 in close pursuit. Asilas, chieftain proud, 
 led on th' assault. Hard by the city gates 
 the Latins wheeled once more and pressed the rein 
 strong on the yielding neck; the charging foe 
 took flight and hurried far with loose-flung rein. 
 'T was like the shock and onset of the sea 
 that landward hurls the alternating flood 
 and hides high cliffs in foam,—the tawny sands 
 upflinging as it rolls; then, suddenly 
 whirled backward on the reingulfing waves, 
 it quits the ledges, and with ebbing flow 
 far from the shore retires. The Tuscans twice 
 drive back the flying Rutules to the town; 
 and twice repulsed, with shields to rearward thrown, 
 glare back at the pursuer; but conjoined 
 in the third battle-charge, both armies merge 
 confusedly together in grim fight 
 of man to man; then follow dying groans, 
 armor blood-bathed and corpses, and strong steeds 
 inextricably with their masters slain, 
 so fierce the fray. Orsilochus—afraid 
 to front the warrior's arms—launched forth a spear 
 at Remulus' horse, and left the fatal steel 
 clinging below its ear; the charger plunged 
 madly, and tossed its trembling hoofs in air, 
 sustaining not the wound; the rider fell, 
 flung headlong to the ground. Catillus slew 
 Iollas; and then struck Herminius down, 
 great-bodied and great-hearted, who could wield 
 a monster weapon, and whose yellow hair 
 from naked head to naked shoulder flowed. 
 By wounds unterrified he dared oppose 
 his huge bulk to the foe: the quivering spear 
 pierced to his broad back, and with throes of pain 
 bowed the man double and clean clove him through. 
 Wide o'er the field th' ensanguined horror flowed, 
 where fatal swords were crossed and cut their way 
 through many a wound to famous death and fair.

Swift through the midmost slaughter proudly strides 
 the quiver-girt Camilla, with one breast 
 thrust naked to the fight, like Amazon. 
 Oft from her hand her pliant shafts she rains, 
 or whirls with indefatigable arm 
 a doughty battle-axe; her shoulder bears 
 Diana's sounding arms and golden bow. 
 Sometimes retreating and to flight compelled, 
 the maiden with a rearward-pointing bow 
 shoots arrows as she flies. Around her move 
 her chosen peers, Larina, virgin brave, 
 Tarpeia, brandishing an axe of bronze, 
 and Tulla, virgins out of Italy 
 
 whom the divine Camilla chose to be 
 her glory, each a faithful servitress 
 in days of peace or war. The maids of Thrace 
 
 ride thus along Thermodon's frozen flood, 
 and fight with blazoned Amazonian arms 
 around Hippolyta; or when returns 
 Penthesilea in triumphal car 
 'mid acclamations shrill, and all her host 
 of women clash in air the moon-shaped shield.

What warrior first, whom last, did thy strong spear, 
 fierce virgin, earthward fling? Or what thy tale 
 of prostrate foes laid gasping on the ground? 
 Eunaeus first, the child of Clytius' Ioins, 
 whose bared breast, as he faced his foe, she pierced 
 with fir-tree javelin; from his lips outpoured 
 the blood-stream as he fell; and as he bit 
 the gory dust, he clutched his mortal wound. 
 Then Liris, and upon him Pagasus 
 she slew: the one clung closer to the reins 
 of his stabbed horse, and rolled off on the ground; 
 the other, flying to his fallen friend, 
 reached out a helpless hand; so both of these 
 fell on swift death together. Next in line 
 she smote Amastrus, son of Hippotas; 
 then, swift-pursuing, pierced with far-flung spear 
 Tereus, Harpalycus, Demophoon, 
 and Chromis; every shaft the virgin threw 
 laid low its Phrygian warrior. From afar 
 rode Ornytus on his Apulian steed, 
 bearing a hunter's uncouth arms; for cloak 
 he wore upon his shoulders broad a hide 
 from some wild bull stripped off; his helmet was 
 a wolf's great, gaping mouth, with either jaw 
 full of white teeth; the weapon in his hand, 
 a farmer's pole. He strode into the throng, 
 head taller than them all. But him she seized 
 and clove him through (his panic-stricken troop 
 gave her advantage), and with wrathful heart 
 she taunted thus the fallen: “Didst thou deem 
 this was a merry hunting in the wood 
 in chase of game? Behold, thy fatal day 
 befalls thee at a woman's hand, and thus 
 thy boasting answers. No small glory thou 
 unto the ghosts of thy dead sires wilt tell, 
 that 't was Camilla's javelin struck thee down.”

The turn of Butes and Orsilochus 
 came next, who were the Trojans, hugest twain: 
 yet Butes with her javelin-point she clove 
 from rearward, 'twixt the hauberk and the helm, 
 just where the horseman's neck showed white, and where 
 from shoulder leftward slung the light-weight shield. 
 From swift Orsilochus she feigned to fly, 
 through a wide circle sweeping, craftily 
 taking the inside track, pursuing so 
 her own pursuer; then she raised herself 
 to her full height, and through the warrior's helm 
 drove to his very skull with doubling blows 
 of her strong battle-axe,—while he implored 
 her mercy with loud prayers: his cloven brain 
 spilt o'er his face. Next in her pathway came— 
 but shrank in startled fear—the warrior son 
 of Aunus, haunter of the Apennine, 
 not least of the Ligurians ere his doom 
 cut short a life of lies. He, knowing well 
 no flight could save him from the shock of arms 
 nor turn the royal maid's attack, began 
 with words of cunning and insidious guile: 
 “What glory is it if a girl be bold, 
 on sturdy steed depending? Fly me not! 
 But, venturing with me on this equal ground, 
 gird thee to fight on foot. Soon shalt thou see 
 which one of us by windy boast achieves 
 a false renown.” He spoke; but she, to pangs 
 of keenest fury stung, gave o'er her steed 
 in charge of a companion, and opposed 
 her foe at equal vantage, falchion drawn, 
 on foot, and, though her shield no blazon bore, 
 of fear incapable. But the warrior fled, 
 thinking his trick victorious, and rode off 
 full speed, with reins reversed,—his iron heel 
 goading his charger's flight. Camilla cried: 
 “Ligurian cheat! In vain thy boastful heart 
 puffs thee so large; in vain thou hast essayed 
 thy father's slippery ways; nor shall thy trick 
 bring thee to guileful Aunus safely home.” 
 Herewith on winged feet that virgin bold 
 flew past the war-horse, seized the streaming rein, 
 and, fronting him, took vengeance on her foe 
 in bloody strokes: with not less ease a hawk, 
 dark bird of omen, from his mountain crag 
 pursues on pinions strong a soaring dove 
 to distant cloud, and, clutching with hooked claws, 
 holds tight and rips,—while through celestial air 
 the torn, ensanguined plumage floats along.

But now not blindly from Olympian throne 
 the Sire of gods and men observant saw 
 how sped the day. Then to the conflict dire 
 the god thrust Tarchon forth, the Tyrrhene King, 
 goading the warrior's rage. So Tarchon rode 
 through slaughter wide and legions in retreat, 
 and roused the ranks with many a wrathful cry: 
 he called each man by name, and toward the foe 
 drove back the routed lines. “What terrors now, 
 Tuscan cowards, dead to noble rage, 
 have seized ye? or what laggard sloth and vile 
 unmans your hearts, that now a woman's arm 
 pursues ye and this scattered host confounds? 
 Why dressed in steel, or to what purpose wear 
 your futile swords? Not slackly do ye join 
 the ranks of Venus in a midnight war; 
 or when fantastic pipes of Bacchus call 
 your dancing feet, right venturesome ye fly 
 to banquets and the flowing wine—what zeal, 
 what ardor then! Or if your flattering priest 
 begins the revel, and to Iofty groves 
 fat flesh of victims bids ye haste away!” 
 So saying, his steed he spurred, and scorning death 
 dashed into the mid-fray, where, frenzy-driven, 
 he sought out Venulus, and, grappling him 
 with one hand, from the saddle snatched his foe, 
 and, clasping strongly to his giant breast, 
 exultant bore away. The shouting rose 
 to heaven, and all the Latins gazed his way, 
 as o'er the plain the fiery Tarchon flew 
 bearing the full-armed man; then, breaking off 
 the point of his own spear, he pried a way 
 through the seam'd armor for the mortal wound; 
 the other, struggling, thrust back from his throat 
 the griping hand, full force to force opposing. 
 As when a golden eagle high in air 
 knits to a victim—snake his clinging feet 
 and deeply-thrusting claws; but, coiling back, 
 the wounded serpent roughens his stiff scales 
 and stretches high his hissing head; whereat 
 the eagle with hooked beak the more doth rend 
 her writhing foe, and with swift stroke of wing 
 lashes the air: so Tarchon, from the ranks 
 of Tibur's sons, triumphant snatched his prey. 
 The Tuscans rallied now, well pleased to view 
 their king's example and successful war. 
 Then Arruns, marked for doom, made circling line 
 around Camilla's path, his crafty spear 
 seeking its lucky chance. Where'er the maid 
 sped furious to the battle, Arruns there 
 in silence dogged her footsteps and pursued; 
 or where triumphant from her fallen foes 
 she backward drew, the warrior stealthily 
 turned his swift reins that way: from every side 
 he circled her, and scanned his vantage here 
 or vantage there, his skilful javelin 
 stubbornly shaking. But it soon befell 
 that Chloreus, once a priest of Cybele, 
 shone forth in far-resplendent Phrygian arms, 
 and urged a foaming steed, which wore a robe 
 o'erwrought with feathery scales of bronze and gold; 
 while he, in purples of fine foreign stain, 
 bore light Gortynian shafts and Lycian bow; 
 his bow was gold; a golden casque he wore 
 upon his priestly brow; the saffron cloak, 
 all folds of rustling cambric, was enclasped 
 in glittering gold; his skirts and tunics gay 
 were broidered, and the oriental garb 
 swathed his whole leg. Him when the maiden spied, 
 (Perchance she fain on temple walls would hang 
 the Trojan prize, or in such captured gold 
 her own fair shape array), she gave mad chase, 
 and reckless through the ranks her prey pursued, 
 desiring, woman-like, the splendid spoil. 
 Then from his ambush Arruns seized at last 
 the fatal moment and let speed his shaft, 
 thus uttering his vow to heavenly powers: 
 “Chief of the gods, Apollo, who dost guard 
 Soracte's hallowed steep, whom we revere 
 first of thy worshippers, for thee is fed 
 the heap of burning pine; for thee we pass 
 through the mid-blaze in sacred zeal secure, 
 and deep in glowing embers plant our feet. 
 O Sire Omnipotent, may this my spear 
 our foul disgrace put by. I do not ask 
 for plunder, spoils, or trophies in my name, 
 when yonder virgin falls; let honor's crown 
 be mine for other deeds. But if my stroke 
 that curse and plague destroy, may I unpraised 
 safe to the cities of my sires return.”

Apollo heard and granted half the prayer, 
 but half upon the passing breeze he threw: 
 granting his votary he should confound 
 Camilla by swift death; but 't was denied 
 the mountain-fatherland once more to see, 
 or safe return,—that prayer th' impetuous winds 
 swept stormfully away. Soon as the spear 
 whizzed from his hand, straight-speeding on the air, 
 the Volscians all turned eager thought and eyes 
 toward their Queen. She only did not heed 
 that windy roar, nor weapon dropped from heaven, 
 till in her bare, protruded breast the spear 
 drank, deeply driven, of her virgin blood. 
 Her terror-struck companians swiftly throng 
 around her, and uplift their sinking Queen. 
 But Arruns, panic-stricken more than all, 
 makes off, half terror and half joy, nor dares 
 hazard his lance again, nor dares oppose 
 a virgin's arms. As creeps back to the hills 
 in pathless covert ere his foes pursue, 
 from shepherd slain or mighty bull laid low, 
 some wolf, who, now of his bold trespass ware, 
 curls close against his paunch a quivering tail 
 and to the forest tries: so Arruns speeds 
 from sight of men in terror, glad to fly, 
 and hides him in the crowd. But his keen spear 
 dying Camilla from her bosom drew, 
 though the fixed barb of deeply-wounding steel 
 clung to the rib. She sank to earth undone, 
 her cold eyes closed in death, and from her cheeks 
 the roses fled. With failing breath she called 
 on Acca—who of all her maiden peers 
 was chiefly dear and shared her heart's whole pain— 
 and thus she spoke: “O Acca, sister mine, 
 I have been strong till now. The cruel wound 
 consumes me, and my world is growing dark. 
 Haste thee to Turnus! Tell my dying words! 
 'T is he must bear the battle and hold back 
 the Trojan from our city wall. Farewell!” 
 So saying, her fingers from the bridle-rein 
 unclasped, and helpless to the earth she fell; 
 then, colder grown, she loosed her more and more 
 out of the body's coil; she gave to death 
 her neck, her drooping head, and ceased to heed 
 her war-array. So fled her spirit forth 
 with wrath and moaning to the world below. 
 Then clamor infinite uprose and smote 
 the golden stars, as round Camilla slain 
 the battle newly raged. To swifter charge 
 the gathered Trojans ran, with Tuscan lords 
 and King Evander's troops of Arcady.

Fair Opis, keeping guard for Trivia 
 in patient sentry on a lofty hill, beheld 
 unterrified the conflict's rage. Yet when, 
 amid the frenzied shouts of soldiery, 
 she saw from far Camilla pay the doom 
 of piteous death, with deep-drawn voice of sight 
 she thus complained: “O virgin, woe is me! 
 Too much, too much, this agony of thine, 
 to expiate that thou didst lift thy spear 
 for wounding Troy . It was no shield in war, 
 nor any vantage to have kept thy vow 
 to chaste Diana in the thorny wild. 
 Our maiden arrows at thy shoulder slung 
 availed thee not! Yet will our Queen divine 
 not leave unhonored this thy dying day, 
 nor shall thy people let thy death remain 
 a thing forgot, nor thy bright name appear 
 a glory unavenged. Whoe'er he be 
 that marred thy body with the mortal wound 
 shall die as he deserves.” Beneath that hill 
 an earth-built mound uprose, the tomb 
 of King Dercennus, a Laurentine old, 
 by sombre ilex shaded: thither hied 
 the fair nymph at full speed, and from the mound 
 looked round for Arruns. When his shape she saw 
 in glittering armor vainly insolent, 
 “Whither so fast?” she cried. “This way, thy path! 
 This fatal way approach, and here receive 
 thy reward for Camilla! Thou shalt fall, 
 vile though thou art, by Dian's shaft divine.” 
 She said; and one swift-coursing arrow took 
 from golden quiver, like a maid of Thrace , 
 and stretched it on her bow with hostile aim, 
 withdrawing far, till both the tips of horn 
 together bent, and, both hands poising well, 
 the left outreached to touch the barb of steel, 
 the right to her soft breast the bowstring drew: 
 the hissing of the shaft, the sounding air, 
 Arruns one moment heard, as to his flesh 
 the iron point clung fast. But his last groan 
 his comrades heeded not, and let him lie, 
 scorned and forgotten, on the dusty field, 
 while Opis soared to bright Olympian air.

Camilla's light-armed troop, its virgin chief 
 now fallen, were the first to fly; in flight 
 the panic-stricken Rutule host is seen 
 and Acer bold; his captains in dismay 
 with shattered legions from the peril fly, 
 and goad their horses to the city wall. 
 Not one sustains the Trojan charge, or stands 
 in arms against the swift approach of death. 
 Their bows unstrung from drooping shoulder fall, 
 and clatter of hoof-beats shakes the crumbling ground. 
 On to the city in a blinding cloud 
 the dust uprolls. From watch-towers Iooking forth, 
 the women smite their breasts and raise to heaven 
 shrill shouts of fear. Those fliers who first passed 
 the open gates were followed by the foe, 
 routed and overwhelmed. They could not fly 
 a miserable death, but were struck down 
 in their own ancient city, or expired 
 before the peaceful shrines of hearth and home. 
 Then some one barred the gates. They dared not now 
 give their own people entrance, and were deaf 
 to all entreaty. Woeful deaths ensued, 
 both of the armed defenders of the gate, 
 and of the foe in arms. The desperate band, 
 barred from the city in the face and eyes 
 of their own weeping parents, either dropped 
 with headlong and inevitable plunge 
 into the moat below; or, frantic, blind, 
 battered with beams against the stubborn door 
 and columns strong. Above in conflict wild 
 even the women (who for faithful love 
 of home and country schooled them to be brave 
 Camilla's way) rained weapons from the walls, 
 and used oak-staves and truncheons shaped in flame, 
 as if, well-armed in steel, each bosom bold 
 would fain in such defence be first to die.

Meanwhile th' unpitying messenger had flown 
 to Turnus in the wood; the warrior heard 
 from Acca of the wide confusion spread, 
 the Volscian troop destroyed, Camilla slain, 
 the furious foe increasing, and, with Mars 
 to help him, grasping all, till in that hour 
 far as the city-gates the panic reigned. 
 Then he in desperate rage (Jove's cruel power 
 decreed it) from the ambushed hills withdrew 
 and pathless wild. He scarce had passed beyond 
 to the bare plain, when forth Aeneas marched 
 along the wide ravine, climbed up the ridge, 
 and from the dark, deceiving grove stood clear. 
 Then swiftly each with following ranks of war 
 moved to the city-wall, nor wide the space 
 that measured 'twixt the twain. Aeneas saw 
 the plain with dust o'erclouded, and the lines 
 of the Laurentian host extending far; 
 Turnus, as clearly, saw the war array 
 of dread Aeneas, and his ear perceived 
 loud tramp of mail-clad men and snorting steeds. 
 Soon had they sped to dreadful shock of arms, 
 hazard of war to try; but Phoebus now, 
 glowing rose-red, had dipped his wearied wheel 
 deep in Iberian seas, and brought back night 
 above the fading day. So near the town 
 both pitch their camps and make their ramparts strong.

When Turnus marks how much the Latins quail 
 in adverse war, how on himself they call 
 to keep his pledge, and with indignant eyes 
 gaze all his way, fierce rage implacable 
 swells his high heart. As when on Libyan plain 
 a lion, gashed along his tawny breast 
 by the huntsman's grievous thrust, awakens him 
 unto his last grim fight, and gloriously 
 shaking the great thews of his maned neck, 
 shrinks not, but crushes the despoiler's spear 
 with blood-sprent, roaring mouth,—not less than so 
 burns the wild soul of Turnus and his ire. 
 Thus to the King he spoke with stormful brow: 
 “The war lags not for Turnus' sake. No cause 
 constrains the Teucrian cowards and their King 
 to eat their words and what they pledged refuse. 
 On his own terms I come. Bring forward, sire, 
 the sacrifice, and seal the pact I swear: 
 either to deepest hell this hand shall fling 
 yon Trojan runaway—the Latins all 
 may sit at ease and see!—and my sole sword 
 efface the general shame; or let him claim 
 the conquest, and Lavinia be his bride.”

To him Latinus with unruffled mind 
 thus made reply: “O youth surpassing brave! 
 The more thy sanguinary valor burns 
 beyond its wont, the more with toilsome care 
 I ponder with just fear what chance may fall, 
 weighing it well. Thy father Daunus' throne, 
 and many a city by thy sword subdued, 
 are still thy own. Latinus also boasts 
 much golden treasure and a liberal hand. 
 Other unwedded maids of noble stem 
 in Latium and Laurentine land are found. 
 Permit me, then, to tell thee without guile 
 things hard to utter; let them deeply fill 
 thy listening soul. My sacred duty 'twas 
 to plight my daughter's hand to nonesoe'er 
 of all her earlier wooers—so declared 
 the gods and oracles; but overcome 
 by love of thee, by thy dear, kindred blood, 
 and by the sad eyes of my mournful Queen, 
 I shattered every bond; I snatched away 
 the plighted maiden from her destined lord, 
 and took up impious arms. What evil case 
 upon that deed ensued, what hapless wars, 
 thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bear 
 the cruel burden. In wide-ranging fight 
 twice-conquered, our own city scarce upholds 
 the hope of Italy . Yon Tiber 's wave 
 still runs warm with my people's blood; the plains 
 far round us glisten with their bleaching bones. 
 Why tell it o'er and o'er? What maddening dream 
 perverts my mind? If after Turnus slain 
 I must for friendship of the Trojan sue, 
 were it not better to suspend the fray 
 while Turnus lives? For what will be the word 
 of thy Rutulian kindred—yea, of all 
 
 Italia , if to death I give thee o'er— 
 (Which Heaven avert!) because thou fain wouldst win 
 my daughter and be sworn my friend and son? 
 Bethink thee what a dubious work is war; 
 have pity on thy father's reverend years, 
 who even now thy absence daily mourns 
 in Ardea , his native land and thine.” 
 But to this pleading Turnus' frenzied soul 
 yields not at all, but rather blazes forth 
 more wildly, and his fever fiercer burns 
 beneath the healer's hand. In answer he, 
 soon as his passion gathered voice, began: 
 “This keen solicitude for love of me, 
 I pray, good sire, for love of me put by! 
 And let me traffic in the just exchange 
 of death for glory. This right hand, O King, 
 can scatter shafts not few, nor do I wield 
 untempered steel. Whene'er I make a wound 
 blood follows. For my foeman when we meet 
 will find no goddess-mother near, with hand 
 to hide him in her woman's skirt of cloud, 
 herself in dim, deluding shade concealed.”

But now the Queen, whose whole heart shrank in fear 
 from these new terms of duel, wept aloud, 
 and like one dying clasped her fiery son: 
 “O Turnus, by these tears-if in thy heart 
 thou honorest Amata still—O thou 
 who art of our distressful, dark old age 
 the only hope and peace, the kingly name 
 and glory of Latinus rests in thee; 
 thou art the mighty prop whereon is stayed 
 our falling house. One favor I implore: 
 give o'er this fight with Trojans. In such strife 
 thy destined doom is destined to be mine 
 by the same fatal stroke. For in that hour 
 this hated life shall cease, nor will I look 
 with slave's eyes on Aeneas as my son.” 
 Lavinia heard her mother's voice, and tears 
 o'erflowed her scarlet cheek, where blushes spread 
 like flame along her warm, young face and brow: 
 as when the Indian ivory must wear 
 ensanguined crimson stain, or lilies pale 
 mingled with roses seem to blush, such hues 
 her virgin features bore; and love's desire 
 disturbed his breast, as, gazing on the maid, 
 his martial passion fiercer flamed; whereon 
 in brief speech he addressed the Queen: “No tears! 
 No evil omen, mother, I implore! 
 Make me no sad farewells, as I depart 
 to the grim war-god's game! Can Turnus' hand 
 delay death's necessary coming? Go, 
 Idmon, my herald, to the Phrygian King, 
 and tell him this—a word not framed to please: 
 soon as Aurora from her crimson car 
 flushes to-morrow's sky, let him no more 
 against the Rutule lead the Teucrian line; 
 let Teucrian swords and Rutule take repose, 
 while with our own spilt blood we twain will make 
 an end of war; on yonder mortal field 
 let each man woo Lavinia for his bride.”

So saying, he hied him to his lordly halls, 
 summoned his steeds, and with pleased eye surveyed 
 their action proud: them Orithyia, bride 
 of Boreas, to Sire Pilumnus gave, 
 which in their whiteness did surpass the snow 
 in speed the wind. The nimble charioteers 
 stood by and smote with hollowed hand and palm 
 the sounding chests, or combed the necks and manes. 
 But he upon his kingly shoulders clasped 
 his corselet, thick o'erlaid with blazoned gold 
 and silvery orichalch; he fitted him 
 with falchion, shield, and helm of purple plume, 
 that falchion which the Lord of Fire had made 
 for Daunus, tempering in the Stygian wave 
 when white it glowed; next grasped he the good spear 
 which leaned its weight against a column tall 
 in the mid-court, Auruncan Actor's spoil, 
 and waved it wide in air with mighty cry: 
 “O spear, that ne'er did fail me when I called, 
 the hour is come! Once mighty Actor's hand, 
 but now the hand of Turnus is thy lord. 
 Grant me to strike that carcase to the ground, 
 and with strong hand the corselet rip and rend 
 from off that Phrygian eunuch: let the dust 
 befoul those tresses, tricked to curl so fine 
 with singeing steel and sleeked with odorous oil.” 
 Such frenzy goads him: his impassioned brow 
 is all on flame, the wild eyes flash with fire. 
 Thus, bellowing loud before the fearful fray, 
 some huge bull proves the fury of his horns, 
 pushing against a tree-trunk; his swift thrusts 
 would tear the winds in pieces; while his hoofs 
 toss up the turf and sand, rehearsing war.

That self-same day with aspect terrible 
 Aeneas girt him in the wondrous arms 
 his mother gave; made sharp his martial steel, 
 and roused his heart to ire; though glad was he 
 to seal such truce and end the general war. 
 Then he spoke comfort to his friends; and soothed 
 Iulus' fear, unfolding Heaven's intent; 
 but on Latinus bade his heralds lay 
 unyielding terms and laws of peace impose.

Soon as the breaking dawn its glory threw 
 along the hills, and from the sea's profound 
 leaped forth the horses of the sun-god's car, 
 from lifted nostrils breathing light and fire, 
 then Teucrian and Rutulian measured out 
 a place for duel, underneath the walls 
 of the proud city. In the midst were set 
 altars of turf and hearth-stones burning bright 
 in honor of their common gods. Some brought 
 pure waters and the hallowed flame, their thighs 
 in priestly skirt arrayed, and reverend brows 
 with vervain bound. Th' Ausonians, spear in hand, 
 out from the city's crowded portals moved 
 in ordered column: next the Trojans all, 
 with Tuscan host in various martial guise, 
 equipped with arms of steel, as if they heard 
 stern summons to the fight. Their captains, too, 
 emerging from the multitude, in pride 
 of gold and purple, hurried to and fro: 
 Mnestheus of royal stem, Asilas brave; 
 and Neptune's offspring, tamer of the steed, 
 Messapus. Either host, at signal given, 
 to its own ground retiring, fixed in earth 
 the long shafts of the spears and stacked the shields. 
 Then eagerly to tower and rampart fly 
 the women, the infirm old men, the throng 
 of the unarmed, and sit them there at gaze, 
 or on the columned gates expectant stand.

But Juno, peering from that summit proud 
 which is to-day the Alban (though that time 
 nor name nor fame the hallowed mountain knew), 
 surveyed the plain below and fair array 
 of Trojan and Laurentine, by the walls 
 of King Latinus. Whereupon straightway 
 with Turnus' sister she began converse, 
 goddess with goddess; for that nymph divine 
 o'er Alba's calm lakes and loud rivers reigns; 
 Jove, the high monarch of th' ethereal sky, 
 gave her such glory when he stole away 
 her virgin zone. “O nymph“, she said, “who art 
 the pride of flowing streams, and much beloved 
 of our own heart! thou knowest thou alone 
 hast been my favorite of those Latin maids 
 that to proud Jove's unthankful bed have climbed; 
 and willingly I found thee place and share 
 in our Olympian realm. So blame not me, 
 but hear, Juturna, what sore grief is thine: 
 while chance and destiny conceded aught 
 of strength to Latium 's cause, I shielded well 
 both Turnus and thy city's wall; but now 
 I see our youthful champion make his war 
 with fates adverse. The Parcae's day of doom 
 implacably impends. My eyes refuse 
 to Iook upon such fight, such fatal league. 
 If for thy brother's life thou couldst be bold 
 to venture some swift blow, go, strike it now! 
 'T is fit and fair! Some issue fortunate 
 may tread on sorrow's heel.” She scarce had said, 
 when rained the quick tears from Juturna's eyes. 
 Three times and yet again her desperate hand 
 smote on her comely breast. But Juno cried, 
 “No tears to-day! But haste thee, haste and find 
 what way, if way there be, from clutch of death 
 to tear thy brother free; arouse the war; 
 their plighted peace destroy. I grant thee leave 
 such boldness to essay.” With this command 
 she left the nymph dismayed and grieving sore.

Meanwhile the kings ride forth: Latinus first, 
 looming tall-statured from his four-horse car; 
 twelve rays of gold encircle his bright brow, 
 sign of the sun-god, his progenitor; 
 next Turnus, driving snow-white steeds, is seen,— 
 two bread-tipped javelins in his hand he bears; 
 Aeneas, of Rome 's blood the source and sire, 
 with star-bright shield and panoply divine, 
 far-shining comes; Ascanius by his side— 
 of Roman greatness the next hope is he. 
 To camp they rode, where, garbed in blameless white, 
 with youngling swine and two-year sheep unshorn, 
 the priest before the flaming altars drove 
 his flock and offering: to the rising sun 
 all eyes are lifted, as with careful hand 
 the salted meal is scattered, while with knives 
 they mark each victim's brow, outpouring wine 
 from shallow bowls, the sacrifice to bless.

Then good Aeneas, his sword drawn, put forth 
 this votive prayer: “O Sun in heaven; and thou, 
 
 Italia , for whom such toils I bear, 
 be witness of my orison. On thee, 
 Father omnipotent, I call; on thee, 
 his Queen Saturnia,—now may she be 
 more gracious to my prayer! O glorious Mars, 
 beneath whose godhead and paternity 
 all wars begin and end, on thee I call; 
 hail, all ye river-gods and haunted springs; 
 hail, whatsoever gods have seat of awe 
 in yonder distant sky, and ye whose power 
 is in the keeping of the deep, blue sea: 
 if victory to Ausonian Turnus fall, 
 then let my vanquished people take its way 
 unto Evander's city! From these plains 
 Iulus shall retire—so stands the bond; 
 nor shall the Trojans with rebellious sword 
 bring after-trouble on this land and King. 
 But if on arms of ours success shall shine, 
 as I doubt not it shall (may gods on high 
 their will confirm!), I purpose not to chain 
 Italian captive unto Teucrian lord, 
 nor seek I kingly power. Let equal laws 
 unite in federation without end 
 the two unconquered nations; both shall share 
 my worshipped gods. Latinus, as my sire, 
 shall keep his sword, and as my sire receive 
 inviolable power. The Teucrians 
 shall build my stronghold, but our citadel 
 shall bear forevermore Lavinia's name.”

Aeneas thus: then with uplifted eyes 
 Latinus swore, his right hand raised to heaven: 
 “I too, Aeneas, take the sacred vow. 
 By earth and sea and stars in heaven I swear, 
 by fair Latona's radiant children twain, 
 and two-browed Janus; by the shadowy powers 
 of Hades and th' inexorable shrines 
 of the Infernal King; and may Jove hear, 
 who by his lightnings hallows what is sworn! 
 I touch these altars, and my lips invoke 
 the sacred altar-fires that 'twixt us burn: 
 we men of Italy will make this peace 
 inviolate, and its bond forever keep, 
 let come what will; there is no power can change 
 my purpose, not if ocean's waves o'erwhelm 
 the world in billowy deluge and obscure 
 the bounds of heaven and hell. We shall remain 
 immutable as my smooth sceptre is“ 
 (By chance a sceptre in his hand he bore), 
 “which wears no more light leaf or branching shade; 
 for long since in the grove 't was plucked away 
 from parent stem, and yielded to sharp steel 
 its leaves and limbs; erewhile 't was but a tree, 
 till the wise craftsman with fair sheath of bronze 
 encircled it and laid it in the hands 
 of Latium 's royal sires.” With words like these 
 they swore the bond, in the beholding eyes 
 of gathered princes. Then they slit the throats 
 of hallowed victims o'er the altar's blaze, 
 drew forth the quivering vitals, and with flesh 
 on loaded chargers heaped the sacrifice.

But to Rutulian eyes th' approaching joust 
 seemed all ill-matched; and shifting hopes and fears 
 disturbed their hearts the closer they surveyed 
 th' unequal risks: still worse it was to see 
 how Turnus, silent and with downcast eyes, 
 dejectedly drew near the place of prayer, 
 worn, pale, and wasted in his youthful bloom. 
 The nymph Juturna, with a sister's fear, 
 noted the growing murmur, and perceived 
 how all the people's will did shift and change; 
 she went from rank to rank, feigning the shape 
 of Camers, scion of illustrious line, 
 with heritage of valor, and himself 
 dauntless in war; unceasingly she ran 
 from rank to rank, spreading with skilful tongue 
 opinions manifold, and thus she spoke: 
 “Will ye not blush, Rutulians, so to stake 
 one life for many heroes? Are we not 
 their match in might and numbers? O, behold 
 those Trojan sons of Heaven making league 
 with exiled Arcady; see Tuscan hordes 
 storming at Turnus. Yet we scarce could find 
 one foe apiece, forsooth, if we should dare 
 fight them with half our warriors. Of a truth 
 your champion brave shall to those gods ascend 
 before whose altars his great heart he vows; 
 and lips of men while yet on earth he stays 
 will spread his glory far. Ourselves, instead, 
 must crouch to haughty masters, and resign 
 this fatherland upon whose fruitful fields 
 we dwell at ease.” So speaking, she inflamed 
 the warriors' minds, and through the legions ran 
 increasing whisper; the Laurentine host 
 and even Latium wavered. Those who late 
 prayed but for rest and safety, clamored loud 
 for arms, desired annulment of the league, 
 and pitied Turnus' miserable doom. 
 Whereon Juturna tried a mightier stroke, 
 a sign from heaven, which more than all beside 
 confused the Latins and deceived their hearts 
 with prodigy. For through the flaming skies 
 Jove's golden eagle swooped, and scattered far 
 a clamorous tribe of river-haunting birds; 
 then, swiftly to the waters falling, seized 
 one noble swan, which with keen, curving claws 
 he ruthless bore away: th' Italians all 
 watched eagerly, while the loud-screaming flock 
 wheeled upward (wondrous sight!), with host of wings 
 shadowed the sky, and in a legion-cloud 
 chased through the air the foe; till, overborne 
 by heavier odds, the eagle from his claws 
 flung back his victim to the waves, and fled 
 to the dim, distant heaven. The Rutules then 
 hailed the good omen with consenting cry, 
 and grasped the sword and shield. Tolumnius 
 the augur spake first: “Lo, the sign I sought 
 with many a prayer! I welcome and obey 
 the powers divine. Take me for captain, me! 
 And draw your swords, ye wretches, whom th' assault 
 of yonder foreign scoundrel puts in fear 
 like feeble birds, and with his violence 
 lays waste your shore. He too shall fly away, 
 spreading his ships' wings on the distant seas. 
 Close up your ranks—one soul in all our breasts! 
 Defend in open war your stolen King.” 
 So saying, he hurled upon th' opposing foe 
 his javelin, running forward. The strong shaft 
 of corner whistled shrill, and clove the air 
 unerring. Instantly vast clamor rose, 
 and all th' onlookers at the spectacle 
 leaped up amazed, and every heart beat high. 
 The spear sped flying to the foeman's line, 
 where stood nine goodly brethren, pledges all 
 of one true Tuscan mother to her lord, 
 Gylippus of Arcadia ; it struck full 
 on one of these at his gold-belted waist, 
 and where the clasp clung, pierced the rib clean through. 
 And stretched the fair youth in his glittering arms 
 full length and lifeless on the yellow sand. 
 His brothers then, bold band to wrath aroused 
 by sorrow, seize the sword or snatch the spear 
 and blindly charge. Opposing them, the host 
 Laurentine makes advance, and close-arrayed 
 the Trojans like a torrent pour, enforced 
 by Tuscans and the gay-accoutred clans 
 of Arcady. One passion moved in all 
 to try the judgment of the sword. They tore 
 the altars down: a very storm of spears 
 rose angrily to heaven, in iron rain 
 down-pouring: while the priests bore far away 
 the sacrificial bowls and sacred fires. 
 Even Latinus fled; his stricken gods 
 far from his violated oath he bore.

Some leaped to horse or chariot and rode 
 with naked swords in air. Messapus, wild 
 to break the truce, assailed the Tuscan King, 
 Aulestes, dressed in kingly blazon fair, 
 with fearful shock of steeds; the Tuscan dropped 
 helplessly backward, striking as he fell 
 his head and shoulders on the altar-stone 
 that lay behind him. But Messapus flew, 
 infuriate, a javelin in his hand, 
 and, towering o'er the suppliant, smote him strong 
 with the great beam-like spear, and loudly cried: 
 “Down with him! Ah! no common victim he 
 to give the mighty gods!” Italia 's men 
 despoiled the dead man ere his limbs were cold. 
 Then Corynaeus snatched a burning brand 
 out of the altar, and as Ebysus 
 came toward him for to strike, he hurled the flame 
 full in his face: the big beard quickly blazed 
 with smell of singeing; while the warrior bold 
 strode over him, and seized with firm left hand 
 his quailing foe's Iong hair; then with one knee 
 he pushed and strained, compelled him to the `ground— 
 and struck straight at his heart with naked steel. 
 The shepherd Alsus in the foremost line 
 came leaping through the spears; when o'er him towered 
 huge Podalirius with a flashing sword 
 in close pursuit; the mighty battle-axe 
 clove him with swinging stroke from brow to chin, 
 and spilt along his mail the streaming gore: 
 so stern repose and iron slumber fell 
 upon that shepherd's eyes, and sealed their gaze 
 in endless night. But good Aeneas now 
 stretched forth his unarmed hand, and all unhelmed 
 thus Ioudly to his people called: “What means 
 this frantic stir, this quarrel rashly bold? 
 Recall your martial rage! The pledge is given 
 and all its terms agreed. 'T is only I 
 do lawful battle here. So let me forth, 
 and tremble not. My own hand shall confirm 
 the solemn treaty. For these rites consign 
 Turnus to none but me.” Yet while he spoke, 
 behold, a winged arrow, hissing loud, 
 the hero pierced; but what bold hand impelled 
 its whirling speed, none knew; nor if it were 
 chance or some power divine that brought this fame 
 upon Rutulia; for the glorious deed 
 was covered o'er with silence: none would boast 
 an arrow guilty of Aeneas' wound. 
 When Turnus saw Aeneas from the line 
 retreating, and the captains in dismay, 
 with sudden hope he burned: he called for steeds, 
 for arms, and, leaping to his chariot, 
 rode insolently forth, the reins in hand. 
 Many strong heroes he dispatched to die, 
 as on he flew, and many stretched half-dead, 
 or from his chariot striking, or from far 
 raining his javelins on the recreant foe. 
 As Mars, forth-speeding by the wintry stream 
 of Hebrus , smites his sanguinary shield 
 and whips the swift steeds to the front of war, 
 who, flying past the winds of eve and morn, 
 scour the wide champaign; the bounds of Thrace 
 
 beneath their hoof-beats thunder; the dark shapes 
 of Terror, Wrath, and Treachery move on 
 in escort of the god: in such grim guise 
 bold Turnus lashed into the fiercest fray 
 his streaming steeds, that pitiful to see 
 trod down the slaughtered foe; each flying hoof 
 scattered a bloody dew; their path was laid 
 in mingled blood and sand. To death he flung 
 Pholus and Sthenelus and Thamyris: 
 two smitten in close fight and one from far: 
 also from far he smote with fatal spear 
 Glaucus and Lades, the Imbrasidae, 
 whom Imbrasus himself in Lycia bred, 
 and honored them with arms of equal skill 
 when grappling with a foe, or o'er the field 
 speeding a war-horse faster than the wind.

Elsewhere Eumedes through a throng of foes 
 to battle rode, the high-born Dolon's child, 
 famous in war, who bore his grandsire's name, 
 but seemed in might and courage like his sire: 
 that prince, who reconnoitring crept so near 
 the Argive camp, he dared to claim for spoil 
 the chariot of Achilles; but that day 
 great Diomed for such audacious deed 
 paid wages otherwise,—and he no more 
 dreamed to possess the steeds of Peleus' son. 
 When Turnus recognized in open field 
 this warrior, though far, he aimed and flung 
 his javelin through the spacious air; then stayed 
 his coursers twain, and, leaping from his car, 
 found the wretch helpless fallen; so planted he 
 his foot upon his neck, and from his hand 
 wrested the sword and thrust it glittering 
 deep in the throat, thus taunting as he slew: 
 “There's land for thee, thou Trojan! Measure there 
 th' Hesperian provinces thy sword would find. 
 Such reward will I give to all who dare 
 draw steel on me; such cities they shall build.” 
 To bear him company his spear laid low 
 Asbutes, Sybaris, Thersilochus, 
 Chloreus and Dares, and Thymoetes thrown 
 sheer off the shoulders of his balking steed. 
 As when from Thrace the north wind thunders down 
 the vast Aegean , flinging the swift flood 
 against the shore, and where his blasts assail 
 the cloudy cohorts vanish out of heaven: 
 so before Turnus, where his path he clove, 
 the lines fell back, the wheeling legions fled. 
 The warrior's own wild impulse swept him on, 
 and every wind that o'er his chariot blew 
 shook out his plume in air. But such advance 
 so bold, so furious, Phegeus could not brook, 
 but, fronting the swift chariot's path, he seized 
 the foam-flecked bridles of its coursers wild, 
 while from the yoke his body trailed and swung; 
 the broad lance found his naked side, and tore 
 his double corselet, pricking lightly through 
 the outer flesh; but he with lifted shield 
 still fought his foe and thrust with falchion bare; 
 but the fierce pace of whirling wheel and pole 
 flung him down prone, and stretched him on the plain. 
 Then Turnus, aiming with relentless sword 
 between the corselet's edge and helmet's rim 
 struck off his whole head, leaving on the sands 
 the mutilated corpse. While thus afield 
 victorious Turnus dealt out death and doom, 
 Mnestheus, Achates true, and by their side 
 Ascanius, have carried to the camp 
 Aeneas, gashed and bleeding, whose long lance 
 sustained his limping step. With fruitless rage 
 he struggled with the spear-head's splintered barb, 
 and bade them help him by the swiftest way 
 to carve the wound out with a sword, to rip 
 the clinging weapon forth, and send him back 
 to meet the battle. Quickly to his side 
 came Iapyx, dear favorite and friend 
 of Phoebus, upon whom the god bestowed 
 his own wise craft and power, Iove-impelled. 
 The gifts of augury were given, and song, 
 with arrows of swift wing: he when his sire 
 was carried forth to die, deferred the doom 
 for many a day, by herbs of virtue known 
 to leechcraft; and without reward or praise 
 his silent art he plied. Aeneas stood, 
 bitterly grieving, propped upon his spear; 
 a throng of warriors were near him, and 
 Iulus, sorrowing. The aged man 
 gathered his garments up as leeches do, 
 and with skilled hand and Phoebus' herbs of power 
 bustled in vain; in vain his surgery 
 pried at the shaft, and with a forceps strong 
 seized on the buried barb. But Fortune gave 
 no remedy, nor did Apollo aid 
 his votary. So more and more grim fear 
 stalks o'er the field of war, and nearer hies 
 the fatal hour; the very heavens are dust; 
 the horsemen charge, and in the midmost camp 
 a rain of javelins pours. The dismal cry 
 of men in fierce fight, and of men who fall 
 beneath relentless Mars, rends all the air.

Then Venus, by her offspring's guiltless woe 
 sore moved, did cull from Cretan Ida's crest 
 some dittany, with downy leaf and stem 
 and flowers of purple bloom—a simple known 
 to mountain goats, when to their haunches clings 
 an arrow gone astray. This Venus brought, 
 mantling her shape in cloud; and this she steeped 
 in bowls of glass, infusing secretly 
 ambrosia's healing essence and sweet drops 
 of fragrant panacea. Such a balm 
 aged Iapyx poured upon the wound, 
 though unaware; and sudden from the flesh 
 all pain departed and the blood was staunched, 
 while from the gash the arrow uncompelled 
 followed the hand and dropped: his wonted strength 
 flowed freshly through the hero's frame. “Make haste! 
 Bring forth his arms! Why tarry any more?” 
 Iapyx shouted, being first to fire 
 their courage 'gainst the foe. “This thing is done 
 not of man's knowledge, nor by sovereign skill; 
 nor has my hand, Aeneas, set thee free. 
 Some mighty god thy vigor gives again 
 for mighty deeds.” Aeneas now put on, 
 all fever for the fight, his golden greaves, 
 and, brooking not delay, waved wide his spear. 
 Soon as the corselet and the shield were bound 
 on back and side, he clasped Ascanius 
 to his mailed breast, and through his helmet grim 
 tenderly kissed his son. “My boy", he cried, 
 “What valor is and patient, genuine toil 
 learn thou of me; let others guide thy feet 
 to prosperous fortune. Let this hand and sword 
 defend thee through the war and lead thee on 
 to high rewards. Thou also play the man! 
 And when thy riper vigor soon shall bloom, 
 forget not in thy heart to ponder well 
 the story of our line. Heed honor's call, 
 like Sire Aeneas and Hector thy close kin.”

After such farewell word, he from the gates 
 in mighty stature strode, and swung on high 
 his giant spear. With him in serried line 
 Antheus and Mnestheus moved, and all the host 
 from the forsaken fortress poured. The plain 
 was darkened with their dust; the startled earth 
 shook where their footing fell. From distant hill 
 Turnus beheld them coming, and the eyes 
 of all Ausonia saw: a chill of fear 
 shot through each soldier's marrow; in their van 
 Juturna knew full well the dreadful sound, 
 and fled before it, shuddering. But he 
 hurried his murky cohorts o'er the plain. 
 As when a tempest from the riven sky 
 drives landward o'er mid-ocean, and from far 
 the hearts of husbandmen, foreboding woe, 
 quake ruefully,—for this will come and rend 
 their trees asunder, kill the harvests all, 
 and sow destruction broadcast; in its path 
 fly roaring winds, swift heralds of the storm: 
 such dire approach the Trojan chieftain showed 
 before his gathered foes. In close array 
 they wedge their ranks about him. With a sword 
 Thymbraeus cuts huge-limbed Osiris down; 
 Mnestheus, Arcetius; from Epulo 
 Achates shears the head; from Ufens, Gyas; 
 Tolumnius the augur falls, the same 
 who flung the first spear to the foeman's line. 
 Uprose to heaven the cries. In panic now 
 the Rutules in retreating clouds of dust 
 scattered across the plain. Aeneas scorned 
 either the recreant or resisting foe 
 to slaughter, or the men who shoot from far: 
 for through the war-cloud he but seeks the arms 
 of Turnus, and to single combat calls.

The warrior-maid Juturna, seeing this, 
 distraught with terror, strikes down from his place 
 Metiscus, Turnus' charioteer, who dropped 
 forward among the reins and off the pole. 
 Him leaving on the field, her own hand grasped 
 the loosely waving reins, while she took on 
 Metiscus' shape, his voice, and blazoned arms. 
 As when through some rich master's spacious halls 
 speeds the black swallow on her lightsome wing, 
 exploring the high roof, or harvesting 
 some scanty morsel for her twittering brood, 
 round empty corridors or garden-pools 
 noisily flitting: so Juturna roams 
 among the hostile ranks, and wings her way 
 behind the swift steeds of the whirling car. 
 At divers points she lets the people see 
 her brother's glory, but not yet allows 
 the final tug of war; her pathless flight 
 keeps far away. Aeneas too must take 
 a course circuitous, and follows close 
 his foeman's track; Ioud o'er the scattered lines 
 he shouts his challenge. But whene'er his eyes 
 discern the foe, and fain he would confront 
 the flying-footed steeds, Juturna veers 
 the chariot round and flies. What can he do? 
 Aeneas' wrath storms vainly to and fro, 
 and wavering purposes his heart divide. 
 Against him lightly leaped Messapus forth, 
 bearing two pliant javelins tipped with steel; 
 and, whirling one in air, he aimed it well, 
 with stroke unfailing. Great Aeneas paused 
 in cover of his shield and crouched low down 
 upon his haunches. But the driven spear 
 battered his helmet's peak and plucked away 
 the margin of his plume. Then burst his rage: 
 his cunning foes had forced him; so at last, 
 while steeds and chariot in the distance fly, 
 he plunged him in the fray, and called on Jove 
 the altars of that broken oath to see. 
 Now by the war-god's favor he began 
 grim, never-pitying slaughter, and flung free 
 the bridle of his rage.

What voice divine 
 such horror can make known? What song declare 
 the bloodshed manifold, the princes slain, 
 or flying o'er the field from Turnus' blade, 
 or from the Trojan King? Did Jove ordain 
 so vast a shock of arms should interpose 
 'twixt nations destined to perpetual bond? 
 Aeneas met the Rutule Sucro—thus 
 staying the Trojan charge—and with swift blow 
 struck at him sidewise, where the way of death 
 is quickest, cleaving ribs and rounded side 
 with reeking sword. Turnus met Amycus, 
 unhorsed him, though himself afoot, and slew 
 Diores, his fair brother (one was pierced 
 fronting the spear, the other felled to earth 
 by strike of sword), and both their severed heads 
 he hung all dripping to his chariot's rim. 
 But Talon, Tanais, and Cethegus brave, 
 three in one onset, unto death went down 
 at great Aeneas' hand; and he dispatched 
 ill-starred Onites of Echion's line, 
 fair Peridia's child. Then Turnus slew 
 two Lycian brothers unto Phoebus dear, 
 and young Menoetes, an Arcadian, 
 who hated war (though vainly) when he plied 
 his native fisher-craft in Lerna 's streams, 
 where from his mean abode he ne'er went forth 
 to wait at great men's doors, but with his sire 
 reaped the scant harvest of a rented glebe. 
 as from two sides two conflagrations sweep 
 dry woodlands or full copse of crackling bay, 
 or as, swift-leaping from the mountain-vales, 
 two flooded, foaming rivers seaward roar, 
 each on its path of death, not less uproused, 
 speed Turnus and Aeneas o'er the field; 
 now storms their martial rage; now fiercely swells 
 either indomitable heart; and now 
 each hero's full strength to the slaughter moves.

Behold Murranus, boasting his high birth 
 from far-descended sires of storied name, 
 the line of Latium 's kings! Aeneas now 
 with mountain-boulder lays him low in dust, 
 smitten with whirlwind of the monster stone; 
 and o'er him fallen under yoke and rein 
 roll his own chariot wheels, while with swift tread 
 the mad hoofs of his horses stamp him down, 
 not knowing him their lord. But Turnus found 
 proud Hyllus fronting him with frantic rage, 
 and at his golden helmet launched the shaft 
 that pierced it; in his cloven brain it clung. 
 Nor could thy sword, O Cretheus, save thee then 
 from Turnus, though of bravest Greeks the peer; 
 nor did Cupencus' gods their priest defend 
 against Aeneas, but his breast he gave 
 unto the hostile blade; his brazen shield 
 delayed no whit his miserable doom. 
 Thee also, Aeolus, Laurentum saw 
 spread thy huge body dying on the ground; 
 yea, dying, thou whom Greeks in serried arms 
 subdued not, nor Achilles' hand that hurled 
 the throne of Priam down: here didst thou touch 
 thy goal of death; one stately house was thine 
 on Ida's mountain, at Lyrnessus, one; 
 Laurentum's hallowed earth was but thy grave. 
 Now the whole host contends; all Latium meets 
 all Ilium ; Mnestheus and Serestus bold; 
 Messapus, the steed-breaker, and high-soured 
 Asilas; Tuscans in a phalanx proud; 
 Arcadian riders of Evander's train: 
 each warrior lifts him to his height supreme 
 of might and skill; no sloth nor lingering now, 
 but in one far-spread conflict all contend.

His goddess-mother in Aeneas' mind 
 now stirred the purpose to make sudden way 
 against the city-wall, in swift advance 
 of all his line, confounding Latium so 
 with slaughter and surprise. His roving glance, 
 seeking for Turnus through the scattered lines 
 this way and that, beholds in distant view 
 the city yet unscathed and calmly free 
 from the wide-raging fight. Then on his soul 
 rushed the swift vision of a mightier war. 
 Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus brave, 
 his chosen chiefs, he summons to his side, 
 and stands upon a hillock, whither throng 
 the Teucrian legions, each man holding fast 
 his shield and spear. He, towering high, 
 thus from the rampart to his people calls: 
 “Perform my bidding swiftly: Jove's own hand 
 sustains our power. Be ye not slack, because 
 the thing I do is sudden. For this day 
 I will pluck out th' offending root of war,— 
 yon city where Latinus reigns. Unless 
 it bear our yoke and heed a conqueror's will, 
 will lay low in dust its blazing towers. 
 Must I wait Turnus' pleasure, till he deign 
 to meet my stroke, and have a mind once more, 
 though vanquished, to show fight? My countrymen, 
 see yonder stronghold of their impious war! 
 Bring flames; avenge the broken oath with fire!” 
 Scarce had he said, when with consenting souls, 
 they speed them to the walls in dense array, 
 forming a wedge. Ladders now leap in air, 
 and sudden-blazing fires. In various war 
 some troops run charging at the city-gates, 
 and slay the guards; some fling the whirling spear 
 and darken heaven with arrows. In their van, 
 his right hand lifted to the wails and towers, 
 Aeneas, calling on the gods to hear, 
 loudly upbraids Latinus that once more 
 conflict is thrust upon him; that once more 
 Italians are his foes and violate 
 their second pledge of peace. So blazes forth 
 dissension 'twixt the frighted citizens: 
 some would give o'er the city and fling wide 
 its portals to the Trojan, or drag forth 
 the King himself to parley; others fly 
 to arms, and at the rampart make a stand. 
 'T is thus some shepherd from a caverned crag 
 stirs up the nested bees with plenteous fume 
 of bitter smoke; they, posting to and fro, 
 fly desperate round the waxen citadel, 
 and whet their buzzing fury; through their halls 
 the stench and blackness rolls; within the caves 
 noise and confusion ring; the fatal cloud 
 pours forth incessant on the vacant air.

But now a new adversity befell 
 the weary Latins, which with common woe 
 shook the whole city to its heart. The Queen, 
 when at her hearth she saw the close assault 
 of enemies, the walls beset, and fire 
 spreading from roof to roof, but no defence 
 from the Rutulian arms, nor front of war 
 with Turnus leading,—she, poor soul, believed 
 her youthful champion in the conflict slain; 
 and, mad with sudden sorrow, shrieked aloud 
 against herself, the guilty chief and cause 
 of all this ill; and, babbling her wild woe 
 in endless words, she rent her purple pall, 
 and with her own hand from the rafter swung 
 a noose for her foul death. The tidings dire 
 among the moaning wives of Latium spread, 
 and young Lavinia's frantic fingers tore 
 her rose-red cheek and hyacinthine hair. 
 Then all her company of women shrieked 
 in anguish, and the wailing echoed far 
 along the royal seat; from whence the tale 
 of sorrow through the peopled city flew; 
 hearts sank; Latinus rent his robes, appalled 
 to see his consort's doom, his falling throne; 
 and heaped foul dust upon his hoary hair.

Meanwhile the warrior Turnus far afield 
 pursued a scattered few; but less his speed, 
 for less and less his worn steeds worked his will; 
 and now wind-wafted to his straining ear 
 a nameless horror came, a dull, wild roar, 
 the city's tumult and distressful cry. 
 “Alack,” he cried, “what stirs in yonder walls 
 such anguish? Or why rings from side to side 
 such wailing through the city?” Asking so, 
 he tightened frantic grasp upon the rein. 
 To him his sister, counterfeiting still 
 the charioteer Metiscus, while she swayed 
 rein, steeds, and chariot, this answer made: 
 “Hither, my Turnus, let our arms pursue 
 the sons of Troy . Here lies the nearest way 
 to speedy triumph. There be other swords 
 to keep yon city safe. Aeneas now 
 storms against Italy in active war; 
 we also on this Trojan host may hurl 
 grim havoc. Nor shalt thou the strife give o'er 
 in glory second, nor in tale of slain.” 
 Turnus replied, “O sister, Iong ago 
 I knew thee what thou wert, when guilefully 
 thou didst confound their treaty, and enlist 
 thy whole heart in this war. No Ionger now 
 thy craft divine deceives me. But what god 
 compelled thee, from Olympus fallen so far, 
 to bear these cruel burdens? Wouldst thou see 
 thy wretched brother slaughtered? For what else 
 is in my power? What flattering hazard still 
 holds forth deliverance? My own eyes have seen 
 Murranus (more than any now on earth 
 my chosen friend) who, calling on my name, 
 died like a hero by a hero's sword. 
 Ill-fated Ufens fell, enduring not 
 to Iook upon my shame; the Teucrians 
 divide his arms for spoil and keep his bones. 
 Shall I stand tamely, till my hearth and home 
 are levelled with the ground? For this would be 
 the only blow not fallen. Shall my sword 
 not give the lie to Drances' insolence? 
 Shall I take flight and let my country see 
 her Turnus renegade? Is death a thing 
 so much to weep for? O propitious dead, 
 O spirits of the dark, receive and bless 
 me whom yon gods of light have cast away! 
 Sacred and guiltless shall my soul descend 
 to join your company; I have not been 
 unworthy offspring of my kingly sires.”

Scarce had he said, when through the foeman's line 
 Saces dashed forth upon a foaming steed, 
 his face gashed by an arrow. He cried loud 
 on Turnus' name: “O Turnus, but in thee 
 our last hope lies. Have pity on the woe 
 of all thy friends and kin! Aeneas hurls 
 his thunderbolt of war, and menaces 
 to crush the strongholds of all Italy , 
 and lay them low; already where we dwell 
 his firebrands are raining. Unto thee 
 the Latins Iook, and for thy valor call. 
 The King sits dumb and helpless, even he, 
 in doubt which son-in-law, which cause to choose. 
 Yea, and the Queen, thy truest friend, is fallen 
 by her own hand; gone mad with grief and fear, 
 she fled the light of day. At yonder gates 
 Messapus only and Atinas bear 
 the brunt of battle; round us closely draw 
 the serried ranks; their naked blades of steel 
 are thick as ripening corn; wilt thou the while 
 speed in thy chariot o'er this empty plain?” 
 Dazed and bewildered by such host of ills, 
 Turnus stood dumb; in his pent bosom stirred 
 shame, frenzy, sorrow, a despairing love 
 goaded to fury, and a warrior's pride 
 of valor proven.

But when first the light 
 of reason to his blinded soul returned, 
 he strained his flaming eyeballs to behold 
 the distant wall, and from his chariot gazed 
 in wonder at the lordly citadel. 
 For, lo, a pointed peak of flame uprolled 
 from tier to tier, and surging skyward seized 
 a tower—the very tower his own proud hands 
 had built of firm-set beams and wheeled in place, 
 and slung its Iofty bridges high in air. 
 “Fate is too strong, my sister! Seek no more 
 to stay the stroke. But let me hence pursue 
 that path where Heaven and cruel Fortune call. 
 Aeneas I must meet; and I must bear 
 the bitterness of death, whate'er it be. 
 O sister, thou shalt look upon my shame 
 no longer. But first grant a madman's will!” 
 He spoke; and leaping from his chariot, sped 
 through foes and foemen's spears, not seeing now 
 his sister's sorrow, as in swift career 
 he burst from line to line. Thus headlong falls 
 a mountain-boulder by a whirlwind flung 
 from lofty peak, or loosened by much rain, 
 or by insidious lapse of seasons gone; 
 the huge, resistless crag goes plunging down 
 by leaps and bounds, o'erwhelming as it flies 
 tall forests, Bocks and herds, and mortal men: 
 so through the scattered legions Turnus ran 
 straight to the city walls, where all the ground 
 was drenched with blood, and every passing air 
 shrieked with the noise of spears. His lifted hand 
 made sign of silence as he loudly called: 
 “Refrain, Rutulians! O ye Latins all, 
 your spears withhold! The issue of the fray 
 is all my own. I only can repair 
 our broken truce by judgment of the sword.” 
 Back fell the hostile lines, and cleared the field.

But Sire Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name, 
 down the steep rampart from the citadel 
 unlingering tried, all lesser task laid by, 
 with joy exultant and dread-thundering arms. 
 Like Athos ' crest he loomed, or soaring top 
 of Eryx , when the nodding oaks resound, 
 or sovereign Apennine that lifts in air 
 his forehead of triumphant snow. All eyes 
 of Troy , Rutulia, and Italy 
 
 were fixed his way; and all who kept a guard 
 on lofty rampart, or in siege below 
 were battering the foundations, now laid by 
 their implements and arms. Latinus too 
 stood awestruck to behold such champions, born 
 in lands far-sundered, met upon one field 
 for one decisive stroke of sword with sword. 
 Swift striding forth where spread the vacant plain, 
 they hurled their spears from far; then in close fight 
 the brazen shields rang. Beneath their tread 
 Earth groaned aloud, as with redoubling blows 
 their falchions fell; nor could a mortal eye 
 'twixt chance and courage the dread work divide. 
 As o'er Taburnus' top, or spacious hills 
 of Sila, in relentless shock of war, 
 two bulls rush brow to brow, while terror-pale 
 the herdsmen fly; the herd is hushed with fear; 
 the heifers dumbly marvel which shall be 
 true monarch of the grove, whom all the kine 
 obedient follow; but the rival twain, 
 commingling mightily wound after wound, 
 thrust with opposing horns, and bathe their necks 
 in streams of blood; the forest far and wide 
 repeats their bellowing rage: not otherwise 
 Trojan Aeneas and King Daunus' son 
 clashed shield on shield, till all the vaulted sky 
 felt the tremendous sound. The hand of Jove 
 held scales in equipoise, and threw thereon 
 th' unequal fortunes of the heroes twain: 
 one to vast labors doomed and one to die.

Soon Turnus, reckless of the risk, leaped forth, 
 upreached his whole height to his lifted sword, 
 and struck: the Trojans and the Latins pale 
 cried mightily, and all eyes turned one way 
 expectant. But the weak, perfidious sword 
 broke off, and as the blow descended, failed 
 its furious master, whose sole succor now 
 was flight; and swifter than the wind he flew. 
 But, lo! a hilt of form and fashion strange 
 lay in his helpless hand. For in his haste, 
 when to the battle-field his team he drove, 
 his father's sword forgotten (such the tale), 
 he snatched Metiscus' weapon. This endured 
 to strike at Trojan backs, as he pursued, 
 but when on Vulcan's armory divine 
 its earthly metal smote, the brittle blade 
 broke off like ice, and o'er the yellow sands 
 in flashing fragments scattered. Turnus now 
 takes mad flight o'er the distant plain, and winds 
 in wavering gyration round and round; 
 for Troy 's close ring confines him, and one way 
 a wide swamp lies, one way a frowning wall.

But lo! Aeneas—though the arrow's wound 
 still slackens him and oft his knees refuse 
 their wonted step—pursues infuriate 
 his quailing foe, and dogs him stride for stride. 
 As when a stag-hound drives the baffled roe 
 to torrent's edge (or where the flaunting snare 
 of crimson feathers fearfully confines) 
 and with incessant barking swift pursues; 
 while through the snared copse or embankment high 
 the frightened creature by a thousand ways 
 doubles and turns; but that keen Umbrian hound 
 with wide jaws, undesisting, grasps his prey, 
 or, thinking that he grasps it, snaps his teeth 
 cracking together, and deludes his rage, 
 devouring empty air: then peal on peal 
 the cry of hunters bursts; the lake and shore 
 reecho, and confusion fills the sky:— 
 such was the flight of Turnus, who reviled 
 the Rutules as he fled, and loudly sued 
 of each by name to fetch his own lost sword. 
 Aeneas vowed destruction and swift death 
 to all who dared come near, and terrified 
 their trembling souls with menace that his power 
 would raze their city to the ground. Straightway, 
 though wounded, he gave chase, and five times round 
 in circles ran; then winding left and right 
 coursed the swift circles o'er. For, lo! the prize 
 is no light laurel or a youthful game: 
 for Turnus' doom and death their race is run.

But haply in that place a sacred tree, 
 a bitter-leaved wild-olive, once had grown, 
 to Faunus dear, and venerated oft 
 by mariners safe-rescued from the waves, 
 who nailed their gifts thereon, or hung in air 
 their votive garments to Laurentum's god. 
 But, heeding not, the Teucrians had shorn 
 the stem away, to clear the field for war. 
 'T was here Aeneas' lance stuck fast; its speed 
 had driven it firmly inward, and it clave 
 to the hard, clinging root. Anchises' son 
 bent o'er it, and would wrench his weapon free, 
 and follow with a far-flung javelin 
 the swift out-speeding foe. But Turnus then, 
 bewildered and in terror, cried aloud: 
 “O Faunus, pity me and heed my prayer! 
 Hold fast his weapon, O benignant Earth! 
 If ere these hands have rendered offering due, 
 where yon polluting Teucrians fight and slay.” 
 He spoke; invoking succor of the god, 
 with no Iost prayer. For tugging valiantly 
 and laboring long against the stubborn stem, 
 Aeneas with his whole strength could but fail 
 to Ioose the clasping tree. While fiercely thus 
 he strove and strained, Juturna once again, 
 wearing the charioteer Metiscus' shape, 
 ran to her brother's aid, restoring him 
 his own true sword. But Venus, wroth to see 
 what license to the dauntless nymph was given, 
 herself came near, and plucked from that deep root 
 the javelin forth. So both with lofty mien 
 strode forth new-armed, new-hearted: one made bold 
 by his good sword, the other, spear in hand, 
 uptowered in wrath, and with confronting brows 
 they set them to the war-god's breathless game.

Meanwhile th' Olympian sovereign supreme 
 to Juno speaks, as from an amber cloud 
 the strife she views: “My Queen, what end shall be? 
 What yet remains? Thou seest Aeneas' name 
 numbered with tutelary gods of power; 
 and well thou know'st what station in the sky 
 his starward destiny intends. What scheme 
 vexes thy bosom still? What stubborn hope, 
 fostered in cloud and cold? O, was it well 
 to desecrate a god with mortal wound; 
 or well (what were a nymph unhelped by thee?) 
 to give back Turnus his lost sword, and lend 
 strength unavailing to the fallen brave? 
 Give o'er, and to our supplication yield; 
 let not such grief thy voiceless heart devour; 
 nor from thy sweet lips let thy mournful care 
 so oft assail my mind. For now is come 
 the last decisive day. Thy power availed 
 to vex the Trojans upon land and sea, 
 to wake abominable war, bring shame 
 upon a royal house, and mix the songs 
 of marriage and the grave: but further act 
 I thee refuse.” Such was the word of Jove. 
 
 Thus Saturn's daughter answered, drooping low 
 her brows divine: “Because, great Jove, I knew 
 thy pleasure, I from yonder earth retired 
 and Turnus' cause, tho, with unwilling mind. 
 Else shouldst thou not behold me at this hour 
 Upon my solitary throne of air 
 enduring fair and foul; I should be found 
 flame-girded on the battle's deadly verge, 
 tempting the Teucrians to a hated war. 
 Yea, 't was my motion thrust Juturna forth 
 to help her hapless brother. I approved— 
 to save his life—that she should be too bold; 
 but bade no whirl of spear nor bending bow: 
 I swear it by th' inexorable fount 
 whence flow the Stygian rivers, the sole seat 
 where gods of light bow down in awful prayer. 
 I yield me now; heart-sick I quit the war. 
 But ask one boon, which in the book of fate 
 is not denied; for Latium 's good I sue, 
 and high prerogatives of men that be 
 thy kith and kin: when happy wedlock vows 
 (aye, be it so!) shall join them by strong laws 
 of chartered peace, let not the Latins Iose 
 their ancient, native name. Bid them not pass 
 for Trojans, nor be hailed as Teucer's sons; 
 no alien speech, no alien garb impose. 
 Let it be Latium ever; let the lords 
 of Alba unto distant ages reign; 
 let the strong, master blood of Rome receive 
 the manhood and the might of Italy . 
 
 Troy perished: let its name and glory die!” 
 The Author of mankind and all that is, 
 smiling benignant, answered thus her plea: 
 “Jove's sister true, and Saturn's second child, 
 what seas of anger vex thy heart divine! 
 But come, relinquish thy rash, fruitless rage: 
 I give thee this desire, and yield to thee 
 free submission. The Ausonian tribes 
 shall keep the speech and customs of their sires; 
 the name remains as now; the Teucrian race, 
 abiding in the land, shall but infuse 
 the mixture of its blood. I will bestow 
 a league of worship, and to Latins give 
 one language only. From the mingled breed 
 a people shall come forth whom thou shalt see 
 surpass all mortal men and even outvie 
 the faithfulness of gods; for none that live 
 shall render to thy name an equal praise.” 
 So Juno bowed consent, and let her will 
 be changed, as with much comfort in her breast 
 she left Olympus and her haunt of cloud.

After these things Jove gave his kingly mind 
 to further action, that he might forthwith 
 cut off Juturna from her brother's cause. 
 Two plagues there be, called Furies, which were spawned 
 at one birth from the womb of wrathful Night 
 with dread Megaera, phantom out of hell; 
 and of their mother's gift, each Fury wears 
 grim-coiling serpents and tempestuous wings. 
 These at Jove's throne attend, and watch the doors 
 of that stern King—to whet the edge of fear 
 for wretched mortals, when the King of gods 
 hurls pestilence and death, or terrifies 
 offending nations with the scourge of war. 
 'T was one of these which Jove sent speeding down 
 from his ethereal seat, and bade her cross 
 the pathway of Juturna for a sign. 
 Her wings she spread, and earthward seemed to ride 
 upon a whirling storm. As when some shaft, 
 with Parthian poison tipped or Cretan gall, 
 a barb of death, shoots cloudward from the bow, 
 and hissing through the dark hastes forth unseen: 
 so earthward flew that daughter of the night. 
 Soon as she spied the Teucrians in array 
 and Turnus' lines, she shrivelled to the shape 
 of that small bird which on lone tombs and towers 
 sits perching through the midnight, and prolongs 
 in shadow and deep gloom her troubling cry. 
 In such disguise the Fury, screaming shrill, 
 flitted in Turnus' face, and with her wings 
 smote on his hollow shield. A strange affright 
 palsied his every limb; each several hair 
 lifted with horror, and his gasping voice 
 died on his lips. But when Juturna knew 
 from far the shrieking fiend's infernal wing, 
 she loosed her tresses, and their beauty tore, 
 to tell a sister's woe; with clenching hands 
 she marred her cheeks and beat her naked breast. 
 “What remedy or help, my Turnus, now 
 is in a sister's power? What way remains 
 for stubborn me? Or with what further guile 
 thy life prolong? What can my strength oppose 
 to this foul thing? I quit the strife at last. 
 Withdraw thy terror from my fearful eyes, 
 thou bird accurst! The tumult of thy wings 
 I know full well, and thy death-boding call. 
 The harsh decrees of that large-minded Jove 
 I plainly see. Is this the price he pays 
 for my lost maidenhood? Why flatter me 
 with immortality, and snatch away 
 my property of death? What boon it were 
 to end this grief this hour, and hie away 
 to be my brother's helpmeet in his grave! 
 I, an immortal? O, what dear delight 
 is mine, sweet brother, living without thee? 
 O, where will earth yawn deep enough and wide 
 to hide a goddess with the ghosts below?” 
 She spoke; and veiled in glistening mantle gray 
 her mournful brow; then in her stream divine 
 the nymph sank sighing to its utmost cave.

Aeneas now is near; and waving wide 
 a spear like some tall tree, he called aloud 
 with unrelenting heart: “What stays thee now? 
 Or wherefore, Turnus, backward fly? Our work 
 is not a foot-race, but the wrathful strife 
 of man with man. Aye, hasten to put on 
 tricks and disguises; gather all thou hast 
 of skill or courage; wish thou wert a bird 
 to fly to starry heaven, or hide thy head 
 safe in the hollow ground!” The other then 
 shook his head, saying: “It is not thy words, 
 not thy hot words, affright me, savage man! 
 Only the gods I fear, and hostile Jove.” 
 Silent he stood, and glancing round him saw 
 a huge rock Iying by, huge rock and old, 
 a landmark justly sundering field from field, 
 which scarce six strong men's shoulders might upraise, 
 such men as mother-Earth brings forth to-day: 
 this grasped he with impetuous hand and hurled, 
 stretched at full height and roused to all his speed, 
 against his foe. Yet scarcely could he feel 
 it was himself that ran, himself that moved 
 with lifted hand to fling the monster stone; 
 for his knees trembled, and his languid blood 
 ran shuddering cold; nor could the stone he threw, 
 tumbling in empty air, attain its goal 
 nor strike the destined blow. But as in dreams, 
 when helpless slumber binds the darkened eyes, 
 we seem with fond desire to tread in vain 
 along a lengthening road, yet faint and fall 
 when straining to the utmost, and the tongue 
 is palsied, and the body's wonted power 
 obeys not, and we have no speech or cry: 
 so unto Turnus, whatsoever way 
 his valiant spirit moved, the direful Fiend 
 stopped in the act his will. Swift-changing thoughts 
 rush o'er his soul; on the Rutulian host, 
 then at the town he glares, shrinks back in fear, 
 and trembles at th' impending lance; nor sees 
 what path to fly, what way confront the foe:— 
 no chariot now, nor sister-charioteer!

Above his faltering terror gleams in air 
 Aeneas' fatal spear; whose eye perceived 
 the moment of success, and all whose strength 
 struck forth: the vast and ponderous rock outflung 
 from engines which make breach in sieged walls 
 not louder roars nor breaks in thunder-sound 
 more terrible; like some black whirlwind flew 
 the death-delivering spear, and, rending wide 
 the corselet's edges and the heavy rim 
 of the last circles of the seven-fold shield, 
 pierced, hissing, through the thigh. Huge Turnus sinks 
 o'erwhelmed upon the ground with doubling knee. 
 Up spring the Rutules, groaning; the whole hill 
 roars answering round them, and from far and wide 
 the lofty groves give back an echoing cry. 
 Lowly, with suppliant eyes, and holding forth 
 his hand in prayer: “I have my meed,” he cried, 
 “Nor ask for mercy. Use what Fate has given! 
 But if a father's grief upon thy heart 
 have power at all,—for Sire Anchises once 
 to thee was dear,—I pray thee to show grace 
 to Daunus in his desolate old age; 
 and me, or, if thou wilt, my lifeless clay, 
 to him and his restore. For, lo, thou art 
 my conqueror! Ausonia's eyes have seen 
 me suppliant, me fallen. Thou hast made 
 Lavinia thy bride. Why further urge 
 our enmity?”With swift and dreadful arms 
 Aeneas o'er him stood, with rolling eyes, 
 but his bare sword restraining; for such words 
 moved on him more and more: when suddenly, 
 over the mighty shoulder slung, he saw 
 that fatal baldric studded with bright gold 
 which youthful Pallas wore, what time he fell 
 vanquished by Turnus' stroke, whose shoulders now 
 carried such trophy of a foeman slain. 
 Aeneas' eyes took sure and slow survey 
 of spoils that were the proof and memory 
 of cruel sorrow; then with kindling rage 
 and terrifying look, he cried, “Wouldst thou, 
 clad in a prize stripped off my chosen friend, 
 escape this hand? In this thy mortal wound 
 't is Pallas has a victim; Pallas takes 
 the lawful forfeit of thy guilty blood!” 
 He said, and buried deep his furious blade 
 in the opposer's heart. The failing limbs 
 sank cold and helpless; and the vital breath 
 with moan of wrath to darkness fled away.