The Aeneid quotes

Dido, by device of Venus, begins to have a passion for him, and, after some discourse with him, desires the history of his adventures since the siege of Troy, which is the subject of the two following books.

Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc’d by fate, And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,

Expell’d and exil’d, left the Trojan shore. Long labours, both by sea and land, he bore, And in the doubtful war, before he won The Latian realm, and built the destin’d town;

the causes and the crimes relate; What goddess was provok’d, and whence her hate; For what offence the Queen of Heav’n began To persecute so brave, so just a man; Involv’d his anxious life in endless cares, Expos’d to wants, and hurried into wars!

Can heav’nly minds such high resentment show, Or exercise their spite in human woe?

Against the Tiber’s mouth, but far away, An ancient town was seated on the sea; A Tyrian colony; the people made Stout for the war, and studious of their trade: Carthage the name; belov’d by Juno more Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore.

and all combin’d To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind. For this, far distant from the Latian coast She drove the remnants of the Trojan host; And sev’n long years th’ unhappy wand’ring train Were toss’d by storms, and scatter’d thro’ the main.

Such time, such toil, requir’d the Roman name, Such length of labour for so vast a frame.

Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars, Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores, Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign, And plowing frothy furrows in the main; When, lab’ring still with endless discontent, The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent:

Thus while he dealt it round, the pious chief With cheerful words allay’d the common grief: “

Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose To future good our past and present woes.

With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried; Th’ inhuman Cyclops and his den defied. What greater ills hereafter can you bear? Resume your courage and dismiss your care, An hour will come, with pleasure to relate Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.

Thro’ various hazards and events, we move To Latium and the realms foredoom’d by Jove. Call’d to the seat (the promise of the skies) Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise, Endure the hardships of your present state; Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate.”

These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart; His outward smiles conceal’d his inward smart.

The jolly crew, unmindful of the past, The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste. Some strip the skin; some portion out the spoil; The limbs, yet trembling, in the cauldrons boil; Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil.

Arm’d with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends, And true Achates on his steps attends. Lo! in the deep recesses of the wood, Before his eyes his goddess mother stood: A huntress in her habit and her mien;

Her dress a maid, her air confess’d a queen.

Bare were her knees, and knots her garments bind; Loose was her hair, and wanton’d in the wind; Her hand sustain’d a bow; her quiver hung behind. She seem’d a virgin of the Spartan blood:

And are Ulysses’ arts no better known? This hollow fabric either must inclose, Within its blind recess, our secret foes; Or ’tis an engine rais’d above the town, T’ o’erlook the walls, and then to batter down. Somewhat is sure design’d, by fraud or force:

Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse.

’ Thus having said, against the steed he threw His forceful spear, which, hissing as it flew, Pierc’d thro’ the yielding planks of jointed wood, And trembling in the hollow belly stood.

Fix’d on his aim, and obstinately bent To die undaunted, or to circumvent. About the captive, tides of Trojans flow; All press to see, and some insult the foe. Now hear how well the Greeks their wiles disguis’d;

Behold a nation in a man compris’d.

Trembling the miscreant stood, unarm’d and bound; He star’d, and roll’d his haggard eyes around, Then said: ‘Alas! what earth remains, what sea Is open to receive unhappy me? What fate a wretched fugitive attends, Scorn’d by my foes, abandon’d by my friends?’

“With such deceits he gain’d their easy hearts, Too prone to credit his perfidious arts. What Diomede, nor Thetis’ greater son, A thousand ships, nor ten years’ siege, had done—

False tears and fawning words the city won.

“A greater omen, and of worse portent, Did our unwary minds with fear torment, Concurring to produce the dire event. Laocoon, Neptune’s priest by lot that year, With solemn pomp then sacrific’d a steer;

Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate, We haul along the horse in solemn state; Then place the dire portent within the tow’r. Cassandra cried, and curs’d th’ unhappy hour; Foretold our fate; but, by the god’s decree,

All heard, and none believ’d the prophecy.

With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste, In jollity, the day ordain’d to be the last. Meantime the rapid heav’ns roll’d down the light, And on the shaded ocean rush’d the night;

With relics loaden, to my doors he fled, And by the hand his tender grandson led. ‘What hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run? Where make a stand? and what may yet be done?’ Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan: ‘

Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town!

The fatal day, th’ appointed hour, is come, When wrathful Jove’s irrevocable doom Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands. The fire consumes the town, the foe commands; And armed hosts, an unexpected force, Break from the bowels of the fatal horse.

and foes for entrance press without, With thousand others, whom I fear to name, More than from Argos or Mycenae came. To sev’ral posts their parties they divide; Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide: The bold they kill, th’ unwary they surprise;

Who fights finds death, and death finds him who flies.

The warders of the gate but scarce maintain Th’ unequal combat, and resist in vain.’

The passive gods behold the Greeks defile Their temples, and abandon to the spoil Their own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire To save a sinking town, involv’d in fire. Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes:

Despair of life the means of living shows.

’ So bold a speech incourag’d their desire Of death, and added fuel to their fire.

resolv’d to die, Resolv’d, in death, the last extremes to try. We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare Th’ unequal combat in the public square:

Night was our friend; our leader was despair.

What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night? What eyes can weep the sorrows and affright? An ancient and imperial city falls: The streets are fill’d with frequent funerals; Houses and holy temples float in blood, And hostile nations make a common flood.

Aghast, astonish’d, and struck dumb with fear, I stood; like bristles rose my stiffen’d hair. Then thus the ghost began to soothe my grief ‘

Nor tears, nor cries, can give the dead relief.

Desist, my much-lov’d lord, t’ indulge your pain; You bear no more than what the gods ordain. My fates permit me not from hence to fly; Nor he, the great controller of the sky. Long wand’ring ways for you the pow’rs decree;

I trust our common issue to your care.’ She said, and gliding pass’d unseen in air. I strove to speak: but horror tied my tongue; And thrice about her neck my arms I flung, And, thrice deceiv’d, on vain embraces hung.

Light as an empty dream at break of day, Or as a blast of wind, she rush’d away.

“Thus having pass’d the night in fruitless pain, I to my longing friends return again, Amaz’d th’ augmented number to behold, Of men and matrons mix’d, of young and old;

Who, when he saw the pow’r of Troy decline, Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join; Broke ev’ry bond of nature and of truth, And murder’d, for his wealth, the royal youth.

O sacred hunger of pernicious gold!

What bands of faith can impious lucre hold? Now, when my soul had shaken off her fears, I call my father and the Trojan peers; Relate the prodigies of Heav’n, require What he commands, and their advice desire.

“ ‘Are you alive, O goddess-born?’ she said, ‘Or if a ghost, then where is Hector’s shade?’ At this, she cast a loud and frightful cry. With broken words I made this brief reply: ‘All of me that remains appears in sight;

I live, if living be to loathe the light.

No phantom; but I drag a wretched life, My fate resembling that of Hector’s wife. What have you suffer’d since you lost your lord? By what strange blessing are you now restor’d? Still are you Hector’s?

“My dearest Anna, what new dreams affright My lab’ring soul! what visions of the night Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast With strange ideas of our Trojan guest! His worth, his actions, and majestic air, A man descended from the gods declare.

Fear ever argues a degenerate kind; His birth is well asserted by his mind.

Then, what he suffer’d, when by Fate betray’d! What brave attempts for falling Troy he made!

A milk-white heifer she with flow’rs adorns, And pours the ruddy wine betwixt her horns; And, while the priests with pray’r the gods invoke, She feeds their altars with Sabaean smoke, With hourly care the sacrifice renews, And anxiously the panting entrails views.

What priestly rites, alas! what pious art, What vows avail to cure a bleeding heart!

A gentle fire she feeds within her veins, Where the soft god secure in silence reigns.

She longs again to hear the prince relate His own adventures and the Trojan fate. He tells it o’er and o’er; but still in vain, For still she begs to hear it once again.

The hearer on the speaker’s mouth depends, And thus the tragic story never ends.

Then, when they part, when Phoebe’s paler light Withdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite, She last remains, when ev’ry guest is gone, Sits on the bed he press’d, and sighs alone; Absent, her absent hero sees and hears;

The loud report thro’ Libyan cities goes. Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows: Swift from the first; and ev’ry moment brings New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her wings.

Soon grows the pygmy to gigantic size; Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies.

Inrag’d against the gods, revengeful Earth Produc’d her last of the Titanian birth. Swift is her walk, more swift her winged haste: A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast. As many plumes as raise her lofty flight, So many piercing eyes inlarge her sight;

The loud report thro’ Libyan cities goes.

Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows: Swift from the first; and ev’ry moment brings New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her wings.

Soon grows the pygmy to gigantic size; Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies. Inrag’d against the gods, revengeful Earth Produc’d her last of the Titanian birth. Swift is her walk, more swift her winged haste: A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast.

No slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes; By day, from lofty tow’rs her head she shews, And spreads thro’ trembling crowds disastrous news; With court informers haunts, and royal spies; Things done relates, not done she feigns, and mingles truth with lies.

Talk is her business, and her chief delight To tell of prodigies and cause affright.

She fills the people’s ears with Dido’s name, Who, lost to honour and the sense of shame, Admits into her throne and nuptial bed A wand’ring guest, who from his country fled:

But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise: (What arts can blind a jealous woman’s eyes!) She was the first to find the secret fraud, Before the fatal news was blaz’d abroad.

Love the first motions of the lover hears, Quick to presage, and ev’n in safety fears.

Nor impious Fame was wanting to report The ships repair’d, the Trojans’ thick resort, And purpose to forsake the Tyrian court. Frantic with fear, impatient of the wound, And impotent of mind, she roves the city round.

But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise: (

What arts can blind a jealous woman’s eyes!

) She was the first to find the secret fraud, Before the fatal news was blaz’d abroad. Love the first motions of the lover hears, Quick to presage, and ev’n in safety fears.

Of man’s injustice why should I complain? The gods, and Jove himself, behold in vain Triumphant treason; yet no thunder flies, Nor Juno views my wrongs with equal eyes;

Faithless is earth, and faithless are the skies!

Justice is fled, and Truth is now no more! I sav’d the shipwreck’d exile on my shore; With needful food his hungry Trojans fed; I took the traitor to my throne and bed:

The sea with ships will soon be cover’d o’er, And blazing firebrands kindle all the shore. Prevent her rage, while night obscures the skies, And sail before the purple morn arise. Who knows what hazards thy delay may bring?

Woman’s a various and a changeful thing.

” Thus Hermes in the dream; then took his flight Aloft in air unseen, and mix’d with night.

These clamours with disdain the Scylla heard, Much grudg’d the praise, but more the robb’d reward: Resolv’d to hold their own, they mend their pace, All obstinate to die, or gain the race. Rais’d with success, the Dolphin swiftly ran;

For they can conquer, who believe they can.

Both urge their oars, and fortune both supplies, And both perhaps had shar’d an equal prize; When to the seas Cloanthus holds his hands, And succour from the wat’ry pow’rs demands: “Gods of the liquid realms, on which I row!

Beroe but now I left, whom, pin’d with pain, Her age and anguish from these rites detain,” She said. The matrons, seiz’d with new amaze, Roll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze. They fear, and hope, and neither part obey:

They hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way.

The goddess, having done her task below, Mounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow. Struck with the sight, and seiz’d with rage divine, The matrons prosecute their mad design: They shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands, The food of altars;

Vers’d in portents, experienc’d, and inspir’d To tell events, and what the fates requir’d; Thus while he stood, to neither part inclin’d, With cheerful words reliev’d his lab’ring mind: “O goddess-born, resign’d in ev’ry state, With patience bear, with prudence push your fate.

By suff’ring well, our Fortune we subdue; Fly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue.

Your friend Acestes is of Trojan kind; To him disclose the secrets of your mind: Trust in his hands your old and useless train; Too num’rous for the ships which yet remain:

Meantime the mother goddess, full of fears, To Neptune thus address’d, with tender tears: “The pride of Jove’s imperious queen, the rage, The malice which no suff’rings can assuage, Compel me to these pray’rs; since neither fate, Nor time, nor pity, can remove her hate:

Ev’n Jove is thwarted by his haughty wife; Still vanquish’d, yet she still renews the strife.

As if ’twere little to consume the town Which aw’d the world, and wore th’ imperial crown, She prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains, And gnaws, ev’n to the bones, the last remains. Let her the causes of her hatred tell;

Still vanquish’d, yet she still renews the strife. As if ’twere little to consume the town Which aw’d the world, and wore th’ imperial crown, She prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains, And gnaws, ev’n to the bones, the last remains.

Let her the causes of her hatred tell; But you can witness its effects too well.

You saw the storm she rais’d on Libyan floods, That mix’d the mounting billows with the clouds; When, bribing Aeolus, she shook the main, And mov’d rebellion in your wat’ry reign.

And now, at length, the flying coast is found. Thus far the fate of Troy, from place to place, With fury has pursued her wand’ring race. Here cease, ye pow’rs, and let your vengeance end:

Troy is no more, and can no more offend.

And thou, O sacred maid, inspir’d to see Th’ event of things in dark futurity; Give me what Heav’n has promis’d to my fate, To conquer and command the Latian state;

Then thus replied the prophetess divine: “O goddess-born of great Anchises’ line,

The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labour lies.

To few great Jupiter imparts this grace, And those of shining worth and heav’nly race. Betwixt those regions and our upper light, Deep forests and impenetrable night Possess the middle space: th’ infernal bounds Cocytus, with his sable waves, surrounds.

His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire; A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire. He spreads his canvas; with his pole he steers; The freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears.

He look’d in years; yet in his years were seen A youthful vigour and autumnal green.

An airy crowd came rushing where he stood, Which fill’d the margin of the fatal flood: Husbands and wives, boys and unmarried maids, And mighty heroes’ more majestic shades, And youths, intomb’d before their fathers’ eyes, With hollow groans, and shrieks, and feeble cries.

Scarce had he said, the prophetess began: “What hopes delude thee, miserable man? Think’st thou, thus unintomb’d, to cross the floods, To view the Furies and infernal gods, And visit, without leave, the dark abodes? Attend the term of long revolving years;

Fate, and the dooming gods, are deaf to tears.

This comfort of thy dire misfortune take: The wrath of Heav’n, inflicted for thy sake, With vengeance shall pursue th’ inhuman coast, Till they propitiate thy offended ghost, And raise a tomb, with vows and solemn pray’r; And Palinurus’ name the place shall bear.”

Thro’ Elis and the Grecian towns he flew; Th’ audacious wretch four fiery coursers drew: He wav’d a torch aloft, and, madly vain, Sought godlike worship from a servile train. Ambitious fool! with horny hoofs to pass O’er hollow arches of resounding brass,

To rival thunder in its rapid course, And imitate inimitable force!

But he, the King of Heav’n, obscure on high, Bar’d his red arm, and, launching from the sky His writhen bolt, not shaking empty smoke, Down to the deep abyss the flaming felon strook.

Assaracus and Ilus here enjoy Perpetual fame, with him who founded Troy. The chief beheld their chariots from afar, Their shining arms, and coursers train’d to war: Their lances fix’d in earth, their steeds around, Free from their harness, graze the flow’ry ground.

The love of horses which they had, alive, And care of chariots, after death survive.

Some cheerful souls were feasting on the plain; Some did the song, and some the choir maintain, Beneath a laurel shade, where mighty Po Mounts up to woods above, and hides his head below.

These holy rites perform’d, they took their way Where long extended plains of pleasure lay: The verdant fields with those of heav’n may vie, With ether vested, and a purple sky; The blissful seats of happy souls below.

Stars of their own, and their own suns, they know;

Their airy limbs in sports they exercise, And on the green contend the wrestler’s prize. Some in heroic verse divinely sing; Others in artful measures led the ring. The Thracian bard, surrounded by the rest, There stands conspicuous in his flowing vest;

Plead better at the bar; describe the skies, And when the stars descend, and when they rise. But, Rome, ’tis thine alone, with awful sway, To rule mankind, and make the world obey, Disposing peace and war by thy own majestic way;

To tame the proud, the fetter’d slave to free: These are imperial arts, and worthy thee.

”

“Seek not to know,” the ghost replied with tears, “The sorrows of thy sons in future years. This youth (the blissful vision of a day) Shall just be shown on earth, and snatch’d away.

The gods too high had rais’d the Roman state, Were but their gifts as permanent as great.

What groans of men shall fill the Martian field! How fierce a blaze his flaming pile shall yield! What fun’ral pomp shall floating Tiber see, When, rising from his bed, he views the sad solemnity!

The strength and customs of the Latian state; The prince, and people; and forearms his care With rules, to push his fortune, or to bear.

Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn; Of polish’d ivory this, that of transparent horn: True visions thro’ transparent horn arise; Thro’ polish’d ivory pass deluding lies.

Of various things discoursing as he pass’d, Anchises hither bends his steps at last. Then, thro’ the gate of iv’ry, he dismiss’d His valiant offspring and divining guest.

And thou, O matron of immortal fame, Here dying, to the shore hast left thy name; Cajeta still the place is call’d from thee, The nurse of great Aeneas’ infancy. Here rest thy bones in rich Hesperia’s plains;

Thy name (’tis all a ghost can have) remains.

Now, when the prince her fun’ral rites had paid, He plow’d the Tyrrhene seas with sails display’d. From land a gentle breeze arose by night, Serenely shone the stars, the moon was bright, And the sea trembled with her silver light.

but give this day to joy. Now pour to Jove; and, after Jove is blest, Call great Anchises to the genial feast: Crown high the goblets with a cheerful draught;

Enjoy the present hour; adjourn the future thought.

”

And either place the founder’s name retains. Discoursing thus together, they resort Where poor Evander kept his country court. They view’d the ground of Rome’s litigious hall; (

Once oxen low’d, where now the lawyers bawl;

) Then, stooping, thro’ the narrow gate they press’d, When thus the king bespoke his Trojan guest: “Mean as it is, this palace, and this door, Receiv’d Alcides, then a conqueror. Dare to be poor;

(Once oxen low’d, where now the lawyers bawl;) Then, stooping, thro’ the narrow gate they press’d, When thus the king bespoke his Trojan guest: “Mean as it is, this palace, and this door, Receiv’d Alcides, then a conqueror.

Dare to be poor; accept our homely food, Which feasted him, and emulate a god.

” Then underneath a lowly roof he led The weary prince, and laid him on a bed; The stuffing leaves, with hides of bears o’erspread.

But now, by Jove’s command, and fate’s decree, His race is doom’d to reign in Italy: With humble suit I beg thy needful art, O still propitious pow’r, that rules my heart!

A mother kneels a suppliant for her son.

By Thetis and Aurora thou wert won To forge impenetrable shields, and grace With fated arms a less illustrious race.

nor Jove, nor fate, Confin’d their empire to so short a date. And, if you now desire new wars to wage, My skill I promise, and my pains engage. Whatever melting metals can conspire, Or breathing bellows, or the forming fire,

Is freely yours: your anxious fears remove, And think no task is difficult to love.

” Trembling he spoke; and, eager of her charms, He snatch’d the willing goddess to his arms; Till in her lap infus’d, he lay possess’d Of full desire, and sunk to pleasing rest.

Not so my father taught my childhood arms; Born in a siege, and bred among alarms! Nor is my youth unworthy of my friend, Nor of the heav’n-born hero I attend.

The thing call’d life, with ease I can disclaim, And think it over-sold to purchase fame.

”

“Me! me!” he cried—“turn all your swords alone On me—the fact confess’d, the fault my own. He neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth: Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth!

His only crime (if friendship can offend) Is too much love to his unhappy friend.

” Too late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides, Driv’n with full force, had pierc’d his tender sides. Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound Gush’d out a purple stream, and stain’d the ground.

Too late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides, Driv’n with full force, had pierc’d his tender sides. Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound Gush’d out a purple stream, and stain’d the ground.

His snowy neck reclines upon his breast, Like a fair flow’r by the keen share oppress’d;

Like a white poppy sinking on the plain, Whose heavy head is overcharg’d with rain. Despair, and rage, and vengeance justly vow’d, Drove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd. Volscens he seeks; on him alone he bends:

and, with a stroke so strong, The helm flies off, and bears the head along. Next him, the huntsman Amycus he kill’d, In darts envenom’d and in poison skill’d. Then Clytius fell beneath his fatal spear, And Creteus, whom the Muses held so dear:

He fought with courage, and he sung the fight; Arms were his bus’ness, verses his delight.

The Trojan chiefs behold, with rage and grief, Their slaughter’d friends, and hasten their relief. Bold Mnestheus rallies first the broken train, Whom brave Seresthus and his troop sustain. To save the living, and revenge the dead, Against one warrior’s arms all Troy they led.

Be mindful of the race from whence you came, And emulate in arms your fathers’ fame. Now take the time, while stagg’ring yet they stand With feet unfirm, and prepossess the strand:

Fortune befriends the bold.

” Nor more he said, But balanc’d whom to leave, and whom to lead; Then these elects, the landing to prevent; And those he leaves, to keep the city pent.

Assist my great attempt to gain this prize, And let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes, His ravish’d spoils.” ’Twas heard, the vain request; Alcides mourn’d, and stifled sighs within his breast. Then Jove, to soothe his sorrow, thus began: “

Short bounds of life are set to mortal man. ’Tis virtue’s work alone to stretch the narrow span.

So many sons of gods, in bloody fight, Around the walls of Troy, have lost the light: My own Sarpedon fell beneath his foe; Nor I, his mighty sire, could ward the blow.

In an ill hour insulting Turnus tore Those golden spoils, and in a worse he wore.

O mortals, blind in fate, who never know To bear high fortune, or endure the low!

The time shall come, when Turnus, but in vain, Shall wish untouch’d the trophies of the slain; Shall wish the fatal belt were far away, And curse the dire remembrance of the day.

A lofty house I have, and wealth untold, In silver ingots, and in bars of gold: All these, and sums besides, which see no day, The ransom of this one poor life shall pay. If I survive, will Troy the less prevail?

A single soul’s too light to turn the scale.

” He said. The hero sternly thus replied: “Thy bars and ingots, and the sums beside, Leave for thy children’s lot. Thy Turnus broke All rules of war by one relentless stroke, When Pallas fell:

Struggling, and wildly staring on the skies, With scarce recover’d sight he thus replies: “Why these insulting words, this waste of breath, To souls undaunted, and secure of death? ’Tis no dishonour for the brave to die, Nor came I here with hope victory;

Nor ask I life, nor fought with that design: As I had us’d my fortune, use thou thine.

My dying son contracted no such band; The gift is hateful from his murd’rer’s hand. For this, this only favour let me sue, If pity can to conquer’d foes be due: Refuse it not;

Hard elements of unauspicious war, Vain vows to Heav’n, and unavailing care! Thrice happy thou, dear partner of my bed, Whose holy soul the stroke of Fortune fled, Prescious of ills, and leaving me behind, To drink the dregs of life by fate assign’d!

Beyond the goal of nature I have gone: My Pallas late set out, but reach’d too soon.

If, for my league against th’ Ausonian state, Amidst their weapons I had found my fate, (Deserv’d from them,) then I had been return’d A breathless victor, and my son had mourn’d.

Yet will I not my Trojan friend upbraid, Nor grudge th’ alliance I so gladly made.

’Twas not his fault, my Pallas fell so young, But my own crime, for having liv’d too long.

Yet, since the gods had destin’d him to die, At least he led the way to victory: First for his friends he won the fatal shore, And sent whole herds of slaughter’d foes before; A death too great, too glorious to deplore.

Such arms this hand shall never more employ; No hate remains with me to ruin’d Troy.

I war not with its dust; nor am I glad To think of past events, or good or bad.

Your presents I return: whate’er you bring To buy my friendship, send the Trojan king. We met in fight; I know him, to my cost: With what a whirling force his lance he toss’d! Heav’ns! what a spring was in his arm, to throw!

unconquer’d in the field, Or, conquer’d, yet unknowing how to yield. What hopes you had in Diomedes, lay down: Our hopes must centre on ourselves alone. Yet those how feeble, and, indeed, how vain, You see too well; nor need my words explain.

Vanquish’d without resource; laid flat by fate; Factions within, a foe without the gate!

Not but I grant that all perform’d their parts With manly force, and with undaunted hearts: With our united strength the war we wag’d; With equal numbers, equal arms, engag’d.

Then Drancës took the word, who grudg’d, long since, The rising glories of the Daunian prince. Factious and rich, bold at the council board, But cautious in the field, he shunn’d the sword;

A close caballer, and tongue-valiant lord.

Noble his mother was, and near the throne; But, what his father’s parentage, unknown. He rose, and took th’ advantage of the times, To load young Turnus with invidious crimes.

Yet, if desire of fame, and thirst of pow’r, A beauteous princess, with a crown in dow’r, So fire your mind, in arms assert your right, And meet your foe, who dares you to the fight.

Mankind, it seems, is made for you alone; We, but the slaves who mount you to the throne:

A base ignoble crowd, without a name, Unwept, unworthy, of the fun’ral flame, By duty bound to forfeit each his life, That Turnus may possess a royal wife.

Say rapid Aufidus with awful dread Runs backward from the sea, and hides his head, When the great Trojan on his bank appears; For that’s as true as thy dissembled fears Of my revenge. Dismiss that vanity: Thou, Drancës, art below a death from me.

Let that vile soul in that vile body rest; The lodging is well worthy of the guest.

“Now, royal father, to the present state Of our affairs, and of this high debate: If in your arms thus early you diffide, And think your fortune is already tried;

Their losses equal’d ours; and, for their slain, With equal fires they fill’d the shining plain; Why thus, unforc’d, should we so tamely yield, And, ere the trumpet sounds, resign the field?

Good unexpected, evils unforeseen, Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene:

Some, rais’d aloft, come tumbling down amain; Then fall so hard, they bound and rise again. If Diomede refuse his aid to lend, The great Messapus yet remains our friend: Tolumnius, who foretells events, is ours; Th’ Italian chiefs and princes join their pow’rs:

His fasten’d spear he pull’d from out the ground, And, victor of his vows, his infant nymph unbound; Nor, after that, in towns which walls inclose, Would trust his hunted life amidst his foes; But, rough, in open air he chose to lie;

Earth was his couch, his cov’ring was the sky.

On hills unshorn, or in a desert den, He shunn’d the dire society of men. A shepherd’s solitary life he led; His daughter with the milk of mares he fed.

Adds the remembrance of the spur, and hides The goring rowels in his bleeding sides. “Vain fool, and coward!” cries the lofty maid, “Caught in the train which thou thyself hast laid! On others practice thy Ligurian arts;

Thin stratagems and tricks of little hearts Are lost on me

: nor shalt thou safe retire, With vaunting lies, to thy fallacious sire.” At this, so fast her flying feet she sped, That soon she strain’d beyond his horse’s head:

Not thus you fly your female foes by night, Nor shun the feast, when the full bowls invite; When to fat off’rings the glad augur calls, And the shrill hornpipe sounds to bacchanals. These are your studied cares, your lewd delight:

Swift to debauch, but slow to manly fight.

” Thus having said, he spurs amid the foes, Not managing the life he meant to lose. The first he found he seiz’d with headlong haste, In his strong gripe, and clasp’d around the waist;

Ev’n in the sight of home, the wretched sire Looks on, and sees his helpless son expire. Then, in a fright, the folding gates they close, But leave their friends excluded with their foes. The vanquish’d cry; the victors loudly shout;

’Tis terror all within, and slaughter all without.

Blind in their fear, they bounce against the wall, Or, to the moats pursued, precipitate their fall.

And, should you fall in fight, (which Heav’n defend!) How curse the cause which hasten’d to his end The daughter’s lover and the father’s friend? Weigh in your mind the various chance of war; Pity your parent’s age, and ease his care.”

Such balmy words he pour’d, but all in vain: The proffer’d med’cine but provok’d the pain.

The wrathful youth, disdaining the relief, With intermitting sobs thus vents his grief: “The care, O best of fathers, which you take For my concerns, at my desire forsake.

The wish’d insult the Latine troops embrace, And meet their ardour in the middle space. The Trojans, Tuscans, and Arcadian line, With equal courage obviate their design.

Peace leaves the violated fields, and hate Both armies urges to their mutual fate.

With impious haste their altars are o’erturn’d, The sacrifice half-broil’d, and half-unburn’d. Thick storms of steel from either army fly, And clouds of clashing darts obscure the sky; Brands from the fire are missive weapons made, With chargers, bowls, and all the priestly trade.

Thus while he spoke, unmindful of defence, A winged arrow struck the pious prince. But, whether from some human hand it came, Or hostile god, is left unknown by fame:

No human hand or hostile god was found, To boast the triumph of so base a wound.

When Turnus saw the Trojan quit the plain, His chiefs dismay’d, his troops a fainting train, Th’ unhop’d event his heighten’d soul inspires: At once his arms and coursers he requires;

The driving dust proclaims the danger near; And first their friends, and then their foes appear: Their friends retreat; their foes pursue the rear. The camp is fill’d with terror and affright: The hissing shafts within the trench alight; An undistinguish’d noise ascends the sky,

The shouts of those who kill, and groans of those who die.

But now the goddess mother, mov’d with grief, And pierc’d with pity, hastens her relief. A branch of healing dittany she brought, Which in the Cretan fields with care she sought: Rough is the stern, which woolly leafs surround;

“Arms! arms!” he cries; “the sword and shield prepare, And send the willing chief, renew’d, to war. This is no mortal work, no cure of mine, Nor art’s effect, but done by hands divine.

Some god our general to the battle sends; Some god preserves his life for greater ends.

”