 Book 1, Part 1 of the Aeneid. The Aeneid by Publius Virgilius Maro, translated by John Dryden. Book 1. A fateful haven. Part 1. And the man, I sing, who, forced by fate, and haughty dune-nose, unrelenting hate, expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore. Long labours, both by sea and land he bore, and in the doubtful war, before he won the Lation realm, and built the destined town, his banished gods restored to right's divine, and settled shore succession in his line, from whence the race of Alban fathers come, and the long glories of majestic Rome. O muse, the causes and the crimes relate, what goddess was provoked, and whence her hate, for what offence the Queen of Heaven began to persecute so brave, so just a man, involved his anxious life in endless cares, exposed to wants, and hurried into wars, can heavenly mine such high resentment show, or exercise their spite in human woe? Against the Tiber's mouse, 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, beloved by Juno more than her own Argos, or the Samian shore. Here stood her chariot, here, if heaven were kind, the seat of awful empire she designed. Yet she had heard an ancient rumour fly, long sighted by the people of the sky, that times to come should see the Trojan race her Carthage ruin, and her tower's deface, nor, thus confined, the yoke of sovereign sway, shall on the necks of all the nations lay. She pondered this, and feared it was in fate, nor could forget the war she waged of late, for conquering Greece against the Trojan state. Besides, long causes working in her mind, and secret seeds of envy lay behind. Deep graven in her heart, the doom remained of partial Paris, and her form disdained. The grace bestowed on ravished Ganymede, Electra's glories, and her injured bed. Each was a cause alone, and all combined to kindle vengeance in her haughty mind. For this, far distant from the Latian coast, she drove the remnants of the Trojan host, and seven long years the unhappy wandering train were tossed by storms, and scattered through the main. Such time, such toil required 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, entering with cheerful shouts the watery rain, and ploughing frothy furrows in the main, when, labouring still with endless discontent, the Queen of Heaven did thus her fury vent. Then am I vanquished? Must I yield, said she, and must the Trojans reign in Italy? So fate will have it, and Jove adds his force, nor can my power divert their happy cause. Could angry palace, with revengeful spleen the Grecian navy burn, and drown the men? She, for the fault of one offending foe, the bolts of Jove himself presumed to throw. With whirlwinds from beneath, she tossed the ship, and bare exposed the bosom of the deep. Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game, the wretch, yet hissing with her father's flame, she strongly seized, and with a burning wound transfixed, and naked on a rock she bound. But I, who walk in awful state above the Majesty of Heaven, the sister-wife of Jove, for length of years my fruitless force employ against the thin remains of ruined Troy. But nations now, to Juno's power will pray, or offerings on my slighted altar's lay. Thus raged the goddess, and with fury fraught. The restless regions of the storms she sought, where, in a spacious cave of living stone, the tyrant Eolus from his airy throne, with power imperial curbs the struggling winds, and sounding tempests in dark prison's vines. This way, and that the impatient captives tend, and, pressing for release, the mountains rend. High in his hall the undaunted monarch stands, and shakes his scepter, and their rage commands. Which did he not, their unresisted sway would sweep the world before them in their way? The earth, air, and seas through empty space would roll, and heaven would fly before the driving soul. In fear of this, the father of the gods confined their fury to those darker bodes, and locked them safe within, oppressed with mountain-loads, imposed a king with arbitrary sway to loose their fetters or their force allay. To whom the suppliant queen her prayers addressed, and thus the tenor of her suit expressed. O Eolus, for to thee the king of heaven the power of tempests and of winds has given, thy force alone their fury can restrain, and smooth the waves, or swell the troubled mane. A race of wandering slaves, abhorred by me, with prosperous passage cut the Tuscan sea, to fruitful Italy their course they steer, and for their vanquished gods design new temples there. Raise all thy winds, with night involve the skies, sink or disperse my fatal enemies. This seven, the charming daughters of the main around my person wait, and bear my train, succeed my wish, and second my design, the fairest, day a payer shall be thine, and make thee father of a happy line. To this the god, it is your zoqueen to will the work which duty binds me to fulfill. These airy kingdoms and this wide command are all the presence of your bounteous hand. Yours is my sovereign's grace, and as your guest I sit with gods at their celestial feast. Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue, dispose of empire which I hold from you. He said, and hurled against the mountainside his quivering spear, and all the god applied. The raging winds rush through the hollow wound and dance a loft in air, skim long the ground, then settling on the sea the surges sweep, raise liquid mountains and disclose the deep. South, east and west with mixed confusion roar, and a roll the foaming billows to the shore, the cables crack, the sailors fearful cries ascend, and sable night involves the skies, and heaven itself is ravished from their eyes. Loud peals of thunder from the poles ensue, then flashing fires the transient light renew, the face of things a frightful image bears, and present death in various forms appears. Struck with unusual fright, the trojan chief with lifted hands and eyes invokes relief, and thrice and four times happy those, he cried, that under Ilyan walls before their parents died. Tididdee's bravest of the Grecian train, why could not I by that strong arm be slain, and lie by noble hectare on the plain? Or great Sarpidon, in those bloody fields where Simoes rolls the bodies and the shields of heroes, whose dismembered hands yet bear the data loft, and clench the pointed spear. Thus, while the pious prince his fate bewails, fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails, and rent the sheets, the raging billows rise, and mount the tossing vessels to the skies, nor can the shivering oars sustain the blow. The galley gives her side, and turns her prow, while those astern descending from the steep, through gaping waves behold the boiling deep. Three ships were harried by the southern blast, and on the secret shelves with fury cast. Those hidden rocks the Arsonian sailors knew, they called them altars when they rose in view, and showed their spacious backs above the flood. Three more, fierce Eurus, in his angry mood, dashed on the shallows of the moving sand, and in mid-ocean left the moored a land. Orontes' bark, that bore the Lycian crew, a horrid sight, even in the hero's view from stem to stem by waves, was overborn. The trembling pilot from his rudder torn was headlong hurled, thrice round the ship was tossed, then bulged at once, and in the deep was lost. And here and there above the waves were seen arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men. The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way, and sucked through loosened planks the rushing sea. Illinius was her chief. Alithi's old, Akati's faithful, Abbas young and bold, endured not less their ships, with gaping seams admit the deluge of the Baraini streams. Meantime, imperial Neptune, heard the sound of raging billows breaking on the ground, displeased and fearing for his watery reign, he reared his awful head above the main, serene in majesty, then rolled his eyes around the space of earth and seas and skies. He saw the Trojan fleet dispersed, distressed by stormy winds and wintery heaven oppressed. Full well the God his sisters envy knew, and what her aims, and what her arts pursue. He summoned Eurus, and the western blast, and first an angry glance on both he cast, then thus rebuked. Audacious winds! From whence this bold attempt, this rebel insolence? Is it for you to ravage seas and land unauthorized by my supreme command? To raise such mountains on the troubled main? Whom I? But first, is fit the billows to restrain, and then you shall be taught obedience to my reign. To your Lord my royal mandate bear, the realms of ocean and the fields of air are mine, not his. By fatal lot to me the liquid empire fell and tried into the sea, his power to hollow caverns is confined, there let him reign the jailer of the wind. With horse commands his breathing subjects call, and boast and bluster in his empty hall. He spoke, and while he spoke he smoothed the sea, dispelled the darkness, and restored the day. Chymothwy, Triton, and the sea-green train of beautious nymphs, the daughters of the main, clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands. The God himself, with ready trident, stands and hopes the deep, and spreads the moving sands, then heaves them off the shoals. There ere he guides his finny courses, and in triumph rides the waves unruffle, and the seas subsides. As when in tumult rise the ignoble crowd, mad are their notions, and their tongues are loud, and stones and brands in rattling volleys fly, and all the rustic arms that fury can supply, if then some grave and pious man appear, they hush their noise, and lend a listening ear. He soothes with sober words their angry mood, and quenches their innate desire of blood. So when the father of the flood appears, and all the seas his sovereign trident rears their fury falls. He skims the liquid plains high on his chariot, and with loosened rains majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains. The weary Trojans apply their shattered oars to nearest land, and make the Libyan shores. Within a long recess there lies a bay, an island shades it from the rolling sea, and forms a port secure for ships to ride. Broke by the jutting land on either side, in double streams the briny waters glide. Betwixt two rows of rocks, a silvan scene appears above, and groves for evergreen. A grot is formed beneath, with mossy seats to rest the nearest, and exclude the heats. Down through the crannies of the living walls the crystal streams descend in murmuring falls. No halls as need to bind the vessels here, nor bearded anchors, for no storms they fear. Seven ships within this happy harbour meet the thin remainders of the scattered fleet. The Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes, leap on the welcome land and seek their wish to repose. First, Gudakates, with repeated strokes of clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes. Short flame succeeds, a bed of withered leaves, the dying sparkles in their fall receives, caught into life in fiery fumes they rise and, fed with stronger food, invade the skies. The Trojans, dropping wet, or stand round the cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground, some dry their corn, infected with the brine, then grind with marbles, and prepare to dine. Ineos climbs the mountain's airy brow, and takes a prospect of the seas below. If Capis thence, or Antheus he could spy, or see the streamers of Caicos fly, no vessels were in view. But on the plain, three beamy stags command a lordly train of branching heads. The more ignoble throng attend their stately steps, and slowly graze along. He stood, and while secure they fed below he took the quiver, and the trusty bow acates used to bear. The leaders first he laid along, and then the vulgar pierced, nor seized his arrows, till the shady plain seven mighty bodies with their blood disdain. For the seven ships he made an equal share, and to the port returned triumphant from the war. The jars of generous wine acesties his gift. When his Trinacrian shores the navy left, he set a brooch, and for the feast prepared, in equal portions with the venison shared. Thus, while he dealt it round, the pious chief with cheerful words allayed the common grief. And yore, and conquer, Jove will soon dispose to future good our past and present woes. With me the rocks of skillar you have tried. The inhuman cyclops and his den defied. What greater ills hereafter can you bear? Dismiss your courage and dismiss your care, and our will come, with pleasure to relate your sorrows past, as benefits of fate. Through various hazards and events we move to Latium, and the realms fordoomed by Jove. Called 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 concealed 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 cauldron's boil. Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil. Stretched on the grassy turf, at ease they dine, restore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with wine. Their hunger thus appeased, their care attends the doubtful fortune of their absent friends. Alternate hopes and fears their minds possess, whether to deem them dead or in distress. For the rest, Ineos mourns the fate of brave Orontes, and the uncertain state of Gaius, Lycus, and of Amicus. The day, but not their sorrows, ended thus. When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys earth, air, and shores, and navigable seas, at length on Libyan realms he fixed his eyes, whom, pondering thus on human miseries, when Venus saw, she, with a lowly look, not free from tears, her heavenly sire bespoke, O king of God's men, whose awful hand disperses thunder on the seas and land, disposing all with absolute command. How could my pious son thy power incense? Or what, alas, is vanished Troy's offence? For hope of Italy not only lost, on various seas by various tempests tossed, but shut from every shore, and barred from every coast. You promised once a progeny divine of Romans rising from the Trojan line, in aftertimes should hold the world in awe, and to the land and ocean give the law. How is your doom reversed? Which eased my care when Troy was ruined in that cruel war? Then, fate to fate's I could oppose, but now, when fortune still pursues her former blow, what can I hope? What worse can still succeed? What end of labours has your will decreed? Antenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts, could pass secure, and pierce the Illyrian coasts, where, rolling down the steep Timavus raves and through nine channels, disembokes his waves. At length he founded Patu as happy-seat, and gave his Trojans a secure retreat. There fixed their arms, and there renewed their name, and there in quiet rules and crowned with fame. But we, descended from your sacred line, entitled to your heaven and right's divine, are banished earth, and, for the wrath of a one removed from Latium and the Promised Throne, are these our sceptres, these our due rewards, and is it thus that drove his plighted faith-regards? To whom? The father of the immortal race, smiling with that serene, indulgent face with which he drives the clouds and clears the skies first, gave a holy kiss, then thus replies, Daughter, dismiss thy fears. To thy desire the fates of thine are fixed, and stand entire. Thou shalt behold thy wished Lavinian walls, and, ripe for heaven, when fate inears calls, then shalt thou bear him up sublime to me. No councils have reversed my firm decree. Lest new fears disturb thy happy state, no, I have searched the mystic rolls of fate, thy son, nor is the appointed season far, in Italy shall wage successful war. Shall tame fierce nations in the bloody field, and sovereign laws impose, and cities build, till, after every foe subdued, the son thrice through the signs his annual race shall run. This is his time prefixed. Ascarnius, then, now called Ulus, shall begin his reign. He, thirty rolling years the crown shall wear, then, from Lavinium shall the seat transfer, and, with hard labour, alber longer build. The throne, with his succession, shall be filled three hundred circuits more. Then shall be seen Ilia the Fair, a priestess and a queen, who, full of Mars in time, with kindly throes, shall, at a birth, two goodly boys disclose. The royal babes, a tawny wolf shall drain. Then Romulus, his grand size throne, shall gain, of marshal towers the founder shall become, the people Romans call, the city Rome. To them no bounds of empire I assign, nor turn of years to their immortal line. Even Hortiduno, who, with endless broils, earth, seas, and heaven, and jove himself termiles, at length atoned, her friendly power shall join to cherish and advance the Trojan line. The subject world shall Rome's dominion own, and prostrate shall adore the nation of the Gaon. An age is ripening, in revolving fate, when Troy shall overturn the Grecian state, and sweet revenge her conquering sons shall call, to crush the people that conspired her fall. Then Caesar, from the Julian stock shall rise, whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies alone shall bound, whom, fraught with eastern spoils, our heaven, the just reward of human toils securely shall repay with rights divine, and incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine. Then dire debate and impious war shall cease, and the stern age be softened into peace. Then banished faith shall once again return, and vestal fires in hallowed temples burn, and remus, with quereness shall sustain the righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain. Janus himself, before his fame shall wait, and keep the dreadful issues of his gate with bolts and iron bars, within remains imprisoned fury, bound in brazen chains, high on a trophy raised of useless arms he sits, and threats the world with vain alarms. He said, and sent Calenius, with command, to free the ports, and ope the Punic land to Trojan guests, lest, ignorant of fate, the queen might force them from her town and state. One from the steep of heaven, Calenius flies, and cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies. Soon on the Libyan shore descends the guard, performs his message, and displays his rod. The surly murmurs of the people cease, and, as the fates required, they give the peace. The queen herself suspends the rigid laws, the Trojans' pities, and protects their cause. In time, in shades of night, he nears lies, care seized his soul and sleep forsook his eyes. But when the sun restored the cheerful day, he rose, the coast and country to survey, anxious and eager to discover more. It looked a wild, uncultivated shore, but, whether humankind, or beasts alone, possessed the newfound region, was unknown. With a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides, tall trees surround the mountain's shady sides, the bending brow above a safe retreat provides. Armed with two-pointed darts, he leaves his friends, and true carties on his steps attend. Low, in the deep recesses of the wood before his eyes, his goddess mother stood. A huntress, in her habit and her mean, her dress amade, her air confessed a queen. Bare were her knees, and knots her garment's bind, loose was her hair, and wantoned in the wind. Her hand sustained a bow, her quiver hung behind. She seemed a virgin of the Spartan blood. With such array her palacy bestrode her thration-courser, and outstripped the rapid flood. Oh, strangers, have you lately seen, she said, one of my sisters, like myself a raid, who crossed the lawn or in the forest strayed? A painted quiver at her back she bore, varied with spots, a links his hide she wore, and, at full cry, pursued the tusky bore. End of book one, part one. Thus Venus. Thus her son replied again, None of your sisters have we seen or heard, O virgin, or whether the name you bear above that style, O more than mortal fare, your voice and mean celestial birth betray. If, as you seem, the daughter of the day, or one at least of Chase Diana's train, let not an humble suppliant sue in vain, but tell a stranger, long and tempest-tosts, what earth we tread, and who commands the coast. Then on your name shall wretched mortals call and offered victims at your altars fall. I dare not, she replied, assume the name of goddess or celestial honors claim, for Tyrian virgins, bows and quivers bear, and purple buskins or their ankles wear. No, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are, a people rude in peace and rough in war. The rising city, which from far you see, is Carthage, an Atarian colony. Phoenician Dido rules the growing state, who fled from Tyre to shun her brother's hate. Great were her wrongs, her story full of fate, which I will sum in short. Sicaeus, known for wealth and brother to the Punic throne, possessed Fair Dido's bed, and either heart at once was wounded with an equal dart. Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid. Pygmalion, then the Tyrian sceptre swayed, one who condemned divine and human law. Then strife ensued and cursed gold the cause, the monarch blinded by desire of wealth, with steel invades his brother's life by stealth. Before the sacred altar made him bleed, and long from her concealed the cruel deed. Some tale, some new pretence, he daily coined to soothe his sister and elude her mind. At last, in dead of night, the ghost appears of her unhappy lord. The specter stared, and with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bears. The cruel alters and his fate, he tells. And the dire secret of his house reveals. Then warns the widow with her household gods to seek a refuge in remote abodes. Last, to support her in so long away, he shows her where his hidden treasure lay. Admonished thus and seized with mortal fright, the queen provides companions of her flight. They meet and all combine to leave the state who hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate. They seize a fleet, which ready rigged they find. Nor is Pygmalion's treasure left behind the vessel's heavy laden put to sea. With prosperous winds, a woman leads the way. I know not if my stress or weather-driven or was their fatal course disposed by heaven. At last they landed, where from far your eyes may view the turrets of new carthage rise. There, bought a space of ground which Bryser called from the bull's hide, they first enclosed and walled. But whence are you? What country claims your birth? What seek you, strangers? On our Libyan earth. To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes and deeply sighing, thus her son replies, could you with patience here, or I relate, oh nymph, the tedious annals of our faith? Through such a train of woes, if I should run, the day would sooner than the tale be done. From ancient Troy, by force expelled, we came, if you by chance have heard the Trojan name. On various seas, by various tempests tossed, at length we landed on your Libyan coast. The good Aeneas, I am called, a name while fortune favored, not unknown to fame. My household guards, companions of my woes, with pious care I rescued from our foes. To fruitful Italy my course was bent, and from the king of heaven is my descent. With twice ten sails I crossed the Phrygian sea. Fate and my mother goddess led my way. Scarce seven the thin remainders of my fate from storms preserved within your harbour meet. Myself distressed, an exile and unknown. Debarred from Europe and from Asia thrown. In Libyan deserts wander thus alone. His tender parent could no longer bear, but interposing sought to soothe his care. Where you are, not unbeloved by heaven, since on our friendly shore your ships are driven. Have courage to the gods permit the rest, and to the queen expose your just request. Now take this earnest of success. For more, your scattered fleet is joined upon the shore. The winds are changed, your friends from danger free, or I renounce my skill and augury. Twelve swans behold in beautyous order move, and stoop with closing pinions from above, whom late the bird of Jove had driven along. And though the clouds pursued at the scattering throng, now all united in a goodly team, they skim the ground and seek the quiet stream. As they, with joy returning, clap their wings and ride the circuit of the skies in rings. Not otherwise your ships and every friend already hold the port, or with swift sails descend. No more advice is needful, but pursue the path before you and the town and view. Thus having said, she turned, and made appear her neck refulgent and disheveled hair, which flowing from her shoulders reached the ground, and widely spread ambrosial scents around. In length of train descends her sweeping gown, and by her graceful walk the queen of love is known. The prince pursued departing deity with words like these. Ah, whither do you fly, unkind and cruel, to deceive your son in borrowed shapes and his embrace to shun? Never to bless my sight but thus unknown, and still to speak in accents, not your own. Against the goddess these complaints he made, but took the path, and her commands obeyed. They march obscure, for Venus kindly shrouds with mist their persons, and involves in clouds that, thus in scene, their passage none might stay or force to tell the causes of their way. This part performed, the goddess flies sublime to visit Paphos and her native climb. Where garlands ever green and fair, with vows are offered, and with solemn prayer. A hundred altars in her temple smoke, a thousand bleeding hearts her power invoke. They climb the next ascent, and looking down now at a nearer distance view the town. The prince, with wonder, sees the stately towers, which late were huts and shepherds homely bowers. The gates and streets, and his, from every part, the noise and busy concourse of them all. The toiling tyrians on each other call to ply the labor, some extend the wall, some build the citadel, the brawny thong, or dig, or push unwieldy stones along. Some, for their dwellings, choose a spot of ground, which, first designed, with ditches they surround. Some, laws ordain, and some attend the choice of holy senates, and elect by voice. Here some design a mole, while others there lay deep foundations for a theater, from marble quarries, mighty columns hew, for ornaments of scene and future view. Such is their toil, and such their busy pains, as exercise the bees in flowery plains. When winter passed, and summer scares begun, invites them forth to labor in the sun. Some lead their youth abroad, while some condense their liquid store, and some in sales dispense. Some at the gate stand ready to receive the golden burden, and their friends relieve. All with united force, combined to drive the lazy drones from the laborious hive. With envy stung, they view each other's deeds, the fragrant work with diligence precedes. Trice-happy you, whose walls already rise, Anais said, and viewed with lifted eyes their lofty towers. Then, entering at the gate, concealed in clouds, prodigious to relate, he mixed, unmarked, among the busy throng, borne by the tide, and passed unseen along. Full in the center of the town, there stood, thick set with trees, a venerable wood. The Tyrians landed near this holy ground, and digging here a prosperous omen found. From under earth, a coarser's head they drew, their growth and fortune to foreshadow. This fated sign their foundrous Juno gave of a soil fruitful and a people brave. Sedonian Daito, here with solemn state, did Juno's temple build and consecrate, enriched with gift and with a golden shrine. But more the goddess made the place divine. Unbrazen steps the marvel-thrush old rose, and brazen plates the cedar beams and clothes. The rafters are with brazen coverings crowned, the lofty doors on brazen hinges sound. When first Anais, this place beheld, revived his courage and his fear expelled. For while, expecting there the coming, he raised his wondering eyes and round the temple gazed. He admired the fortune of the rising town, the striving artists and their arts renowned. He saw in order, painted on the wall, whatever did unhappy Troy before, the wars that fame around the world had blown, all to the life and every leader known. There, Agamemnon, Priam here he spies, and fierce Achilles who both kings devise. He stopped, and weeping said, oh friend, even here the monuments of Trojan walls appear. Our known disaster fill even foreign lands. See here where old unhappy Priam stands. Even the mute walls relate the warriors' fame. And Trojan grieves the Tyrion's pity claim. He said, his tears are ready passage find, devouring what he saw so well designed, and with an empty picture fed his mind. For there he saw the fainting Grecian's yield, and here the trembling Trojans quit the field, pursued by fierce Achilles through the plain, on his high chariot driving all the slain. The tempts of Rhesus next his grief renew, by their white sails betrayed to nightly view. And wakeful Diomed, whose cruel sword the century slew, nor spared their slumbering lord, then took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food of Troy they taste or drink the Xanthian flood. Elsewhere he saw where Troylius defied Achilles and unequal combat tried. Then, where boy disarmed with loosened reins, was by his horses hurried o'er the plains, hung by the neck and hair, and dragged around with hostile spear yet sticking in his wand, with tracks of blood inscribed the dusty ground. Meantime, the Trojan dames oppressed with woe to palace feign and long procession go, in hopes to reconcile their heavenly foe. They weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair, then rich embroidered vests for presence bear. But the stern goddess stands unmoved with prayer. Thrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew the corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew. Here Priam soos, and therefore sums of gold the lifeless body of his son his soul. So sad an object, and so well expressed, drew sighs and groans from the grieved hero's breast, to see the figure of his lifeless friend, and his old sire, his helpless hand extend. Himself he saw among the Grecian train, mixed in the bloody battle on the plain. And swore the memnon in his arms he knew, his pompous ensigns and his Indian crew. Pencilia there, with haughty grace, leads to the walls an Amazonian race. In their right hands, appointed dark, they weep. The left forward sustains the lunar shield. A thwart her breast, a golden belt she throws. Amid the press alone provokes a thousand foam. Dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose. Thus, while the Trojan prince employs his eyes fixed on the walls with wonder and surprise, the beauteous die-doh with a numerous train and pomp of gods descends the sacred fane. Such on Eurotus banks, or Synthesite, Diana seems, and so she charms the sight. When in the dance the graceful goddess leads, the quire of nymphs and ore tops their heads. Known by her quiver and her lofty beam, she walks majestic and she looks, their queen. Latona sees her shine above the rest and feeds with secret joy her silent breast. Such die-doh was. With such becoming state amidst the crowd, she walks serenely great. Their labor to her future sway she speeds and passing with a gracious glance proceeds. One mounts the throne high placed before the shrine. In crowds around the swarming people join. She takes petitions and dispenses laws, hears and determines every private cause. Their tasks in equal portions she divides and where unequal there by lot decides. Another way, by chance, Anais bends his eyes and unexpected sees his friend. Antheus suggests this grave, Clouanthus straw, and at their backs a mighty Trojan throng, whom late the tempest on the billows tossed and widely scattered on another coast. The prince unseen, surprised with wonder-stands and longs with joysful haste to join their hands. But doubtful of the wished event he stays, and from the howl-cloud his friend surveils. Impatient till they told their present state and where they left their ships and what their fate, why they came and what was their request. For these were sent, commissioned by the rest, to sue for leave to land the sickly men, and gain admission to the gracious queen. Entering with cries they filled the holy fain, and thus with lowly voice. Ileonius began, O queen, indulge by favor of the gods to found an empire in these newer bodes to build a town with statutes to restrain the wild inhabitants beneath thy reign. We, wretched Trojans, tossed on every shore from sea to see thy clemency implore, forbid the fires our shipping to deface, receive unhappy fugitives to grace, and spare the remnant of a pious race. We come not with design of wasteful prey to drive the country, force the swains away, nor such our strength, nor such is our desire. The vanquished dare not two such thoughts aspire. A land there is, Hesperia named of old, the soil is fruitful, and the men are bold. The only trians held it once by common fame, now called italia from the leader's name. To that sweet region was our voyage bent, when winds in every warring element disturbed our course, and far from sight of land cast our torn vessels on the moving sand. The sea came on, the south with mighty roar, dispersed and dashed the rest upon the rocky shore. These few you see escaped the storm, and fear unless you interpose a shipwreck here. What men, what monsters, what inhuman race, what laws, what barbarous customs of the place, shot up in a desert shore to drowning men, and drive us to the cruel seas again. If our hard fortune no compassion draws, nor hospitable rights, nor human laws, the gods are just, and will revenge our cause. Anais was our prince, a juster lord or nobler warrior never drew a sword. Observant of the right, religious of his word, if yet he lives and draws this vital heir, nor we his friends of safety shall despair. Nor you great queen, these officers repent, which he will equal and perhaps augment. We want not cities nor Sicilian coasts, where king and sestes trojan lineage boasts. Permit our ships a shelter on your shores, refitted from your woods with planks and oars. That, if our prince be safe, we may renew our destined course and Italy pursue. But if, o best of men, the fates ordain that you are swallowed in the Libyan may, and if our young Julius be no more, dismiss our navy from your friendly shore. That we too good and sestes may return, and with our friends our counter losses mourn. Thus spokes Ileonius, the trojan crew, with cries and clamors his request renew. The modest queen, while with downcast eyes, pondered the speech. Then briefly thus reply, Trojans, dismiss your fears. My cruel fate and doubts attending an unsettled state, force me to guard my coast from foreign foes. Who has not heard the story of your woes, the name and fortune of your native place, the fame and valor of the Phrygian race? We Tyrians are not so devoid of sense nor so remote from Phoebus influence. Whether to Latian shores your course is bend, or driven by tempests from your first intent, you seek the good assestes government. Your men shall be received, your fleet repaired, and sail with ships to convoy for your guard, or would you stay and join your friendly powers to raise and to defend Phrygian towers? My wealth, my city, and myself are yours. And would to heaven the storm you felt would bring on Carthaginian coasts your wandering king? My people shall, by my command, explore the ports and creeks of every winding shore, and towns and wiles and shady woods in quest of so renowned and so desired a guest. Raised in his mind the Trojan hero stood, and longed to break out from his ambient cloud, a cart he's founded, and thus urged his way. From whence, oh, God, has borne this long delay, what more can you desire? Your welcome shore, your fleet and safety, and your friends secure. One only wants, and him we saw in vain a pose of the storm, and swattered in the main, orrantes in his fate are offered paid. The rest agrees with what your mother said. Scarce had he spoken, and the cloud gave way. The mists flew upward, and dissolved today. The Trojan chief appeared in open sight, or gustin visage, and serenely bright. His mother goddess, with her hands divine, had formed his curling locks and made his temple shy. And given his rolling eyes a sparkling grace, and breathed a youthful vigor on his face, like polished ivory, beautiest to behold, of parry and marble when encased in goldite. Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke, and thus with manly modesty he spoke. He whom you seek am I, by tempest tossed and saved from shipwreck on your Libyan coast. Presenting a gracious queen before your throne, a prince that owes his life to you alone. Fair majesty, the refuge and redress of those whom fate pursues and wants oppress. You, who our pious officers employ to save the relics of abandoned Troy, receive the shipwreck on your friendly shore, with hospitable rites relieve the poor. Associate in your town a wandering dream, and strangers in your palace entertain. What thanks can wretched fugitives return, who scattered through the world in exile more? The gods, if gods to goodness are inclined, if acts of mercy touch their heavenly mind, and more than all, their gods your generous heart, conscious of worth, requite its own dessert. In you this age is happy and this earth, and parents more than mortal gave you birth. While rolling rivers into seas shall run, and round the space of heaven the radiant sun, while trees the mountaintops with shade supply, your honor, name, and praise shall never die. What air abode my fortune has assigned, your image shall be present in my mind. Thus having said, he turned with pious taste, and joyful his expecting friends embraced. With his right hand Ileonius was graced, Cerestus with his left, then to his breast Cloanthus thus, and the noble Gaius pressed, and so by turns descended to the rest. The Tyrian queen stood fixed upon his face, pleased with his motions ravished with his grace. They admired his fortunes, more admired the man. Then recollected stood, and thus began. What fate, O goddess born, what angry powers have cast you shipwrecked on our barren shores? Are you the great Aeneas known to fame, who from Celestial seed your lineage claim? The same Aeneas whom fair Venus bore to famed Ankaizes on the Idean shore? It calls unto my mind, though then a child, when Tusa came from Salamis exiled, and sought my father's aid to be restored. My father Bellis, then, with fire and sword invaded Cyprus, made the regent bear and conquering, finished the successful war. From him the Trojan seas I understood, the Grecian chiefs and your illustrious blood, your foe himself, the Darden Valor, praised, and his own ancestry from Trojans raised. Enter, my noble guest, and you shall find, if not a costly welcome yet a kind. I, for myself like you, have been distressed, till heaven afforded me this place of rest. Like you, an alien, in a land unknown, I learned to pity woes, so like my own. She said, and to the palace led her guest, then offered incense and proclaimed a feast. Nor yet less careful for her absent friends, twice ten fat oxen to the ships he sends. Besides a hundred boars and a hundred lambs, with bleating cries, a ten day naughty dance, and jars of generous wine and spacious bowls she gives, cheer the sailor's drooping souls. Now purple hangings clothe the palace walls, and sumptuous feasts are made in splendid hall, untirey and carpets richly wrought they die. With loads of massy plate the sideboards shone, and antique vases all of gold embossed, the gold himself inferior to the cost. Of curious work were on the sides were seen the fights and figures of illustrious men, from their first founder to the present queen. The good anayas, paternal care, eulious absence, could no longer bear, dispatched acates to the ships in haste, to give a glad relation of the past, and fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy snatch from the ruins of unhappy Troy, a robe of tissue stiff with golden wire, an upper vest once Helen's richetide, from Argos by the famed adulterous brat, with golden flowers and winding foliage wrought. Her mother led us present when she came to ruin Troy and set the world on flame. Decepta, Priam's eldest daughter bore, her orient necklace and the crown she wore. Of double texture, glorious to behold, one order set with gems and one with gold. Instructed this, the wise acates goes, and in his diligence his duty showed. But Venus, anxious for her son's affairs, new counsels tries, and new designs prepares. That Cupid should assume the shape and face of sweet Ascanius and the spikly grace, should bring presence in her nephew's stead. And in Eliza's veins the gentle poison shed. For much she feared the Tyrian's double tongue, and knew the town to Juno's care belong. These thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke, and thus along to winged love she spoke. My son, my strength whose mighty power alone controls the thunderer on his awful throne. To thee thy much-afflicted mother flies, and on thy sucker and thy faith relies. Thou knowest, my son, how Joe's revengeful wife by force and fraud attempts thy brother's life, and often hast thou mourned with me his pains. Him died o' now with blandishment detains. But I suspect the town where Juno reigns. For this is needful to prevent her art, and fire with love the proud Phoenician's heart. A love so violent, so strong, so sure, as neither age can change nor art can cure. How this may be performed, and I'll take my mind. Ascanius, by his father, is designed to come with presence laden from the port, to gratify the queen and gain the court. I mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep, and ravish in battalion powers to keep on high sitterer. That the sweet deceit may pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat. Take thou his form and shape, I beg the grace, but only for a knight's revolving space. Lyself, a boy, assume a boy's dissembled face, that when, amidst the fervor of the feast, the Tyrion hugs and farns thee on her breast, and with sweet kisses in her arms constrain. Thou mayest infuse thy venom in her veins. The God of love obeys, and sets aside his bow and quiver, and his plumey pride. He walks eulious in his mother's sight, and in the sweet resemblance takes delight. The goddess, then, to young Ascanius flies, and in a pleasing slumber seals his eye. Lull in her lap amidst a train of loves, she gently bears him to her blissful groves. Then, with a wreath of myrtle, crowns his head, and softly lays him in a flowery bed. Cupid, meantime, assumed his form and faith, following acates with a shorter pace, and brought the gifts. The queen already sat amid the Trojan lords in shining state. High on a golden bed, her princely guest was next to sigh. In order, saith the rest, then canisters with bread are heaped on high. The attendants water for the hand-supply, and, having washed with silken towels dry, next fifty handmaids in long order bore the senses, and with fumes the gods adore. Then youths, and virgins twice as many, join to place the dishes and to serve the wine. The Tyrian train, admitted to the feast, approached, and on the painted couches rest. All on the Trojans gifts with wonder gaze, but view the beauteous boy with more amaze. His rosy-colored cheeks, his radiant eyes, his motions, voice and shape, and all the gods' disguise. Nor pass unpraised the vest and veil divine, which wandering foliage and which flowers enter twine. Far above the rest, the royal dame, already doomed to love disastrous frame, with eyes in satiate and tumultuous joy, beholds the presence and admires the boy. The guileful god, about the hero long, with children's play and false embraces hung. Then sought the queen. She took him to her arms, with greedy pleasure, and devoured his charms. Unhappy didle, little thought would guest, how dire a god she drew so near her breast. But he, not mindless of his mother's prayer, works in the pliant bosom of the fit, and molds her heart anew, and blots her former care. And dead is to the living love resigned, and all a naeus enters in her mind. Now, when the rage of hunger was appeased, the meat removed and every guest was pleased, the golden bowls with sparkling wine are crowned. And through the palace, cheerful cries resound. From gilded roofs to pending lamps display nocturnal beams that emulate the day, a golden bowl that's shown with gems divine the queen commanded to be crowned with wine. That bowl that Bellis used and all that Tyrian lie. Then silence through the hall proclaimed, as she spoke. O hospitable jove, we thus invoke with solemn rites thy sacred name and power. Bless to both nations this auspicious hour. So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line in lasting concord from this day come by. Thou, backers God of joys and friendly cheer, and gracious Juno, both be present here. And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address to heaven with mine to ratify the peace. The goblet then she took with nectar crowned, sprinkling the first libations on the ground, then raised it to her mouth with silver grace, then sipping off it to the next place. Twisbiteus, whom she called a thirsty soul, he took the challenge and embraced the bowl. With pleasure swill the gold, nor ceased to draw till he the bottom of the brimmer saw. The goblet goes around. Thy opus brought his golden lyre and sun what ancient Atlas taught. The various labours of the wandering moon and whence proceeds the eclipses of the sun. The original of man and beast and whence the rain arise and fires their warmth dispense, and fixed and airing stars dispose their influence. What shakes the earth? What cause delays the summer night and shortens with the days? With peals of shouts the tyrians praise the song. Those peals are echoed by the Trojans. The unhappy queen with talk prolonged the night and drank large drafts of love with vast delight. Of Priam much inquired of Hector Moore then asked what arms the swathe menon wore, what troops he landed on the Trojans saw. The steeds of diameter varied the discourse and fierce archillies with his matchless force. At length as faith and her ill stars required to hear the series of the war desired, relate at large by God like guests she said, the Grecian stratagems that town betrayed, the fatal issue of Solana war. Your flight, your wanderings and your woes declare. For since on every sea, on every coast, your men have been distressed, your navy tossed. Seven times the sun has either tropic viewed, the winter banished, and the spring renewed. End of book one. Recording by Joseph Early, Falls Church, Virginia. Book two, part one of the INAID. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The INAID by Publius Regilius Maro, translated by John Dryden, book two, how they took the city, part one. All were attentive to the God-like man when from his lofty couch he thus began. Great Queen, what you command me to relate, renews the sad remembrance of our fate. An empire from its old foundation's rent, and every woe the Trojans underwent. A peopled city made a desert place. All that I saw, and part of which I was, not even the hardest of our foes could hear, nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear. And now the latter watch of wasting night and setting stars to kindly rest in bite. But since you take such interest in our woe, and Troj's disastrous end, desire to know, I will restrain my tears and briefly tell, what in our last and fatal night befell. By destiny compelled and in despair, the Greeks grew weary of the tedious war, and by Minerva's aid a fabric reared, which like a steed of monstrous height appeared. The sides were planked with pine, they feigned it made, for their return, and thus this vow they paid. Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side, selected numbers of their soldiers hide, with inward arms the dire machines they load, and iron bowels stuff the dark abode. Inside of Troj lies Tenedos and Isle, while Fortune did on Priam's empire's smile. Renowned for wealth, but since a faithless bay, where ships exposed to wind and weather lay, there was their fleet concealed, we thought for Greece, their sails were hoisted, and our fears release. The Trojans cooped within their walls so long, unbar their gates in issue and a throng, like swarming bees and with delight survey, the camp deserted where the Grecians lay. The quarters of the several chiefs they showed, here Phoenix, here Achilles made abode. Here joined the battles, here the navy rode. Part on the pile their wandering eyes employ, the pile by Pallas raised to ruin Troy. Thimoates first, Tiz is doubtful whether hired, or so the Trojan destiny required, moved that the ramparts might be broken down to lodge the monster fabric in the town, but Cappies and the rest of Soundermind, the fatal present to the flames designed, or to the watery deep, at least to bore, the hollow sides and hidden frauds explore. The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide, with noise say nothing and in parts divide. Lowakoun, followed by a numerous crowd, ran from the fort and cried from afar, allowed. Oh wretched countrymen, what fury reigns, what more than madness has possessed your brains? Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone, and are Ulysses' arts no better known? This hollow fabric either must enclose, within its blind recesses are secret foes, or Tiz's an engine raised above the town, to overlook the walls and then to batter down. Somewhat is sure designed by fraud or force, trust not their presence, nor admit the horse. Thus having said against the steed he threw, his forceful spear, which hissing as flew, pierced through the yielding planks of jointed wood, and trembling in the hollow body stood. The sides transpierced returned a rattling sound, and groans of Greeks enclosed come issuing through the wound, and had not heaven the fall of Troy designed, or had not men been faded to be blind. Enough was said and done to inspire a better mind. Then had our lances pierced the treacherous wood, and illion towers and primes empire stood. Meantime with shouts the Trojan shepherds bring, a captive Greek in bands before the king, taken to take, who made himself their prey, to impose on their belief and Troy betray, fixed on his arm and obstinately bent, to die undaunted or to circumvent. About the captive, tides of Trojan's flow, all pressed to sea and some insult the foe. Now hear how well the Greeks, their wiles disguised, behold a nation in a man comprised. Trembling, the miscreant stood, unarmed and bound, he starred and rolled, his haggard eyes around. Then said, alas, what earth remains, what sea is open to receive unhappy me? What fate a wretched fugitive attends, scorned by my foes, abandoned by my friends. He said, inside, and cast a rueful eye, our pity kindles and our passions die. We cheer youth to make his own defense, and freely tell us what he was and whence. What news he could impart we long to know, and what to credit from a captive foe? His fear at length dismissed, he said, Whatever my fate ordains, my word shall be sincere. I neither can nor dare my birth disclaim. Greece is my country, Sinon is my name. Though plunged by fortune's power and misery, does not in fortune's power to make me lie. If any chance has hitherto brought me the name of Palomites not unknown to fame, who suffered from the malice of the times, accused and sentenced for pretended crimes. Because these fatal wars he would prevent, whose death the wretched Greeks too late lament, me, then a boy, my father, poor and bare, of other means committed to his care, his kinsmen and companion in the war. While fortune favored, while his arms support, the cause and ruled the councils of the court, I made some figure there, nor was my name, obscure nor I without my share of fame. But when Ulysses with fallacious arts had made impression in the people's hearts and forged a treason in my patron's name, I speak of things too far divulged by fame. My kinsmen fell, then I without support, in private mourned his loss and left the court. Mad as I was, I could not bear his fate, with silent grief but loudly blame the state, and cursed the dial for author of my woes, which was told again and hence my ruin rose. I threatened if indulgent heaven, once more, would land me safely on my native shore, his death with double vengeance to restore. This moved the murderer's hate, and thus ensued, the effects of malice from a man so proud. Ambiguous rumors through the camp he spread, and sought by treason my devoted head. New crimes invented, left unturned no stone, to make my guilt appear and hide his own, till Calchus was by force and threatening wrought. But why, why dwell I on that anxious thought, if on my nation just prevent you seek? And it is to appear a foe, to appear a Greek. Already you, my name and country know, assuage your thirst of blood and strike the blow. My death will both the kingly brothers please, and set in satious Ithicus at ease. This fair, unfinished tale, these broken starts, raised expectations in our longing hearts, unknowing as we were in Grecian arts. His former trembling, once again renewed, with acted fear the villain thus pursued. Long had the Grecians, tired with fruitless care, and wearied with an unsuccessful war, resolved to raise the siege and leave the town, and had the gods permitted they had gone. But off the wintry seas and southern winds, withstood their passage home and changed their minds. Portents and prodigies their souls amazed, but most when this stupendous pile was raised. Then flaming meteors hung in air were seen, and thunders rattled through a sky serene, dismayed in fearful of some dire event, Euripilus to inquire their fate was sent. He from the gods this dreadful answer brought. O Grecians, when the Trojan shores you sought, your passage with a virgin's blood was bought, so must your safe return be bought again, and Grecian blood, once more to atone the main. The spreading rumor round the people ran, all feared in each believed himself the man. Ulysses took the advantage of their fright, caught couches and produced an open sight. Then, bait him, named the wretch, ordained by fate, the public victim, to redeem the state. Already some presaged the dire event, and saw what sacrifice Ulysses meant. For twice five days the old seer withstood, the intended treason and was dumb to blood, till tired with endless clamors and pursuit, of Ithicus he stood no longer mute. But as it was agreed, pronounced that I was destined by the wrathful gods to die, all praise the sentence, please the storm should fall, on one alone whose fury threatened all. The dismal day was come, the priests prepare, the eleven cakes and fillets for my hair. I followed nature's laws, and must avow, I broke my bonds and fled the fatal blow. Hid in a weedy lake all night I lay, secure of safety when they sailed away. But now what further hopes for me remain, to see my friends or native soil again? My tender infants, or my careful sire, whom they returning will to death require, will perpetrate on them their first design, and take the forfeit of their heads for mine. Which I, if pity mortal minds could move, if there be faith below or gods above, if innocence and truth can claim dessert, ye Trojans from an injured wretch avert. False tears, true pity move, the king commands, to loose his fetters and unbind his hands. Then adds these friendly words, dismiss thy fears, forget the Greeks, be mine, as thou were theirs. But truly tell, was it for force or guile, or some religious end you raise the pile. Thus said the king, he, full of fraudful arts, thus well invented tale for truth in parts, ye lamps of heaven, he said, and lifted high, his hands now free, thou venerable sky, inviolable powers adorned with dread, ye fatal fillets that once bound this head, ye sacred altars from whose flames I fled, be of all adjured and grant I may, without a crime the ungrateful Greeks betray. Reveal the secrets of the guilty state, and justly punish whom I hate. But you, O king, preserve the faith you gave, if I, to save myself, your empire save. The Grecian hopes and all the attempts they made, were only founded on Minerva's aid, but from the time when impious diamond-y'd and false Ulysses, that inventive head. Her fatal image from the temple drew, the sleeping guardians of the castle slew, her virgin statue with the bloody hands polluted and profane'd her holy bands. From thence the tide of fortune left their shore, and ebbed much faster than it flow'd before. Their courage languished as their hopes decayed, and Pallas now adverse refused her aid. Nor did the goddess doubtfully declare, her altered mind and alienated care. When first her fatal image touched the ground, she sternly cast her glaring eyes around. That sparkled as they rolled and seemed to threat, her heavenly limbs distilled a briny sweat. Thrice from the ground she leapt, and was seen to wield, her brandish lanced, and shake her horrid shield. Then Couch's bade are host for flight, and hope no conquest from the tedious war. Till first they sailed for Greece, their prayers be sought, her injured power and better omens brought. And now their navies plow'd the watery main. Yet soon expect it on your shores again, with Pallas pleased, as Couch's did ordain, and first to reconcile the blue-eyed maid. For her stolen statue and her tower betrayed. Warned by the steer to her offended name, we raised and dedicated this wondrous frame. So lofty, lest through your forbidden gates, it past and intercept our betterfates. For once admitted there, our hopes are lost, and Troy may then a new palladium boast. For so religion in God's ordain, that if you violate with hands profane, Minerva's gift, your town in flame shall burn, which omen, O ye gods, on Grisha turn. But if it climb with your assisting hands, the Trojan walls, and in the city stands, then Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn, and the reverse of fate on us return. With such deceits he gained their easy hearts, too prone to credit his perfidious arts, but Diomedi, nor Thetis's greater son, a thousand ships, nor tenure siege, had done. False tears and fawning words, the city won. A greater omen, and of worse portent, did our unwary minds with fear torbent, concurring to produce the dire event. Lauakun, Neptune's priest by lot that year, with solemn pomp, then sacrificed a steer. Then, dreadful to behold, from the sea we spied, two serpents rank abreast the seas divide, and smoothly seep along the swelling tide. Their flaming crests above the waves they show, their bellies seem to burn the seas below, their speckled tails advance to steer their course, and on the sounding shore the flying billows force. And now the strand, and now the plain they held, their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were filled, their nimble tongues they brandished as they came, and licked their hissing jaws that spluttered flame. We fled amazed, their destined way to take, and to Lauakun and to his children make. At first round the tender boys they wind, then with their sharpened fangs their limbs and bodies grind. The wretched father running to their aid, with pious haste but vain, they next invade. Twice round his waist their winding volumes rolled, and twice about his grasping throat they fold. The priest thus doubly choked, their crests divide, and towering over his head in triumph-ride. With both his hands he labors at the knots, his holy fillets the blue venom blots, his roaring fills the flitting air around, thus when an ox receives a glancing wound. He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies, and with loud bellowing breaks the yielding skies. Their tasks perform the serpents quit their prey, and to the tower of Pallas make their way. Couched at her feet they lie protected there, by her large buckler and pretended spear. Amazement seizes all, the general cry, proclaims Lauakun justly doomed to die, whose hand the will of Pallas had withstood, and dared to violate the sacred wood. All vote to admit the steed, that vows be paid, and incense offered to the offended made. A spacious breech is made, the towel lies bare, some hoisting levers, some the wheels prepare, and fasten to the horse's feet the rest, with cables haul along the unwieldy beast. Each on his own fellow for assistance calls, at length the fatal fabric mounts the walls. Big with destruction, boys with chaplets crowned, inquires of virgins, sing and dance around. Pallas raised aloft, and then descending down. It enters over our heads, and threats the town. O sacred city, built by hands divine, O valent heroes of the Trojan line! Four times he struck, as oft the clashing sound, of arms were heard, and inward groans rebound. Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate, we haul along the horse in solemn state. Then placed the dire portent within the tower. Cassandra cried, and cursed the unhappy hour. Fortold our fate, but by the God's decree, all heard, but none believed, the prophecy. With branches we, the fains adorn and waste. In joviality the day ordain to be the last. Meantime the rapid heavens rolled down the light, and on the shaded ocean rushed the night. Nor men secure, nor guards, nor sentries held, but easy sleep their weary limbs compelled. The Grecians had embarked their naval powers, from Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores. Safe under covert of the silent night, and guided by the imperial galley's light, when Sinon, favored by the partial gods, unlocked the horse, and opt his dark abodes. And we heard to the vital air our hidden foes. Who, joyful from their long confinement rows, Tysander bold and stoneless their guide, and Diolisses down the cable slide. Then Thoes, Athimus, and Pyrrhus haste. Nor was the Patellarian hero last. Nor injured Menelaus, nor the famed Epius, who the fatal engine framed. A nameless crowd succeed, their forces joined, and bathed the town, oppressed with sleep and wine. Those few they find awake first meet their fate, then to their fellows they unbar their gate. Twas in the dead of the night, when sleep prepares, our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares. When Hector's ghost before my sight appears, a bloody shroud he seemed, and bathed in tears. Such as he was when, by Pellidus slain, the Sallian corsairs dragged him over the plain, swollen where his feet as when the throngs were thrust, through the bored holes, his body black with dust. Unlike that Hector, who returned from toils, a war triumphant in Achaean spoils, or him who made the fainting Greeks retire, and launched from their navy, frigy and fire, his hair and beards stood stiffened with his gore. All the wounds he for his country bore, now streamed afresh, and with new purple ran, I wept to see the visionary man, and while my trance continued, thus began. O light of Trojans and support of Troy, thy father's champion and thy country's joy, O long expected by thy friends, from whence, art thou so late returned for our defense? Do we behold thee, wearied as we are, with length of labors and with toils of war, after so many funerals of our own, art thou restored to thy declining town? But say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace deforms the manly features of thy face? To this the specter, no reply did frame, but answered to the calls for which he came. And groaning from the bottom of his breast, this warning in these mournful words expressed, O goddess born, escape by timely flight, the flames and horrors of this fatal night, the foes already have possessed the wall, Troy nods from high and totters to her fall. Enough has paid to primes royal name, more than enough to duty and to fame, if by a mortal hand my father's throne could be defended, twas by mine alone. Now Troy to thee commends her future state, and gives her gods companions of thy fate. From their assistance walls expect, which wandering long and last thou shalt erect. He said and brought to me from their blessed abodes, the venerable statues of the gods, with ancient Vesta from the sacred choir, the wreaths and relics of the immortal fire. Now peals of shouts came thundering from afar, cries, threats and loud laments and mingled war. The noise approaches, though our palace stood, aloof from streets, encompassed with a wood. Louder and yet more loud, I hear the alarms, of human cries distinct and clashing arms. Fear broke my slumbers, I no longer stay, but mount the terrace, thence the town survey, and harken what the frightful sounds convey. Thus when a flood of fire by wind is born, crackling at rolls and mouths the standing corn, or deluges descending on the plains, sweeping over the yellow year, destroy the pains, of laboring oxen and peasants' gains. Unroot the forest oaks and bear away, flocks, folds and trees and undistinguished prey, the shepherd climbs the cliff and sees from afar, the wasteful ravaging of the watery war. Then Hector's faith was manifestly cleared, and the Grecian frauds and open light appeared. The palace of Dave Phobos ascends, and smoky flames and catches on his friends. Ukalagon burns next, the seas are bright, with splendor not their own, and shine with Trojan light. New clamors and new clangers now arise, the sound of trumpets mixed with fighting cries. With frenzy seized I run to meet the alarms, resolved on death, resolved to die in arms. But first to gather friends and with them to oppose, if fortune favored, and repel the foes, spurred by my courage and by my country fired, with sense of honor and revenge inspired. Pantheos, Apollo's priest, a sacred name, had escaped the Grecian swords and passed the flame, with relics loaded to my doors he fled, and by the hand of his tender grandson led. What hope, O Pantheos, whither can we run? Where make a stand, and what yet may be done? Scarce said I, when Pantheos with a groan. Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town. The fatal day, the appointed hour has come, when wrathful joves, irrevocable doom, transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands. The fire consumes the town, the foe commands. And arm hosts, an unexpected force, break from the boughs of the fatal horse. Within the gates, proud Sinon throws about, the flames and foes for entrance press without. With thousand others, whom I feared a name, more than from Argos or Mycenae came, to several posts their parties they divide. Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide. The bold they kill, the unwary they surprise. Who fights finds death, and death finds him who flies. The waters of the gate, but scarce maintain, the unequal combat and resist in vain. I heard, and heaven that well-born soul inspires, prompts me through lifted swords and rising fires, to run where clashing arms and clamor calls, and rush undaunted to defend the walls. Riphius and Iphetus by my side engage, for Valar won renowned and won for age. Dimus and Hypenus by moonlight new, my motions and my Mian into my party drew. With young Coribus, who by love was led, to win renowned and fair Cassandra's bed, and lately brought his troops to Priam's aid, for warrent in vain by the prophetic maid. Whom when I saw resolved in arms to fall, and that one spirit animated all. Brave souls, said I, but brave alast in vain, come finish what our cruel fates ordain. You see the desperate state of our fares, and heavens protecting powers are death to prayers. The passive gods behold the Greeks defile, their temples and abandoned to the spoil. Their own abodes, we feeble few conspire, to save a sinking town involved in fire. Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes, despair of life, the means of living shows. So bold a speech encouraged their desire of death and added fuel to their fire. As hungry wolves with raging appetite, scour through the fields nor fear the stormy night, their whelps at home expect the promised food, and long to temper their dry chaps in blood. So rushed we forth at once, resolved to die, resolved in death the last extremes to try. We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare the 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 in a fright? An ancient and imperial city falls, the streets are filled with frequent funerals. Houses and holy temples float in blood, and hostile nations make a common flood. Not only Trojans fall, but in their turn, the vanquished triumph and the victors mourn. Ours take courage from despair in night, confused the fortune is, confused the fight. All parts resound with tumults, planes and fears, and grisly death in sundry shapes appears. Androgios fell among us with his band, who thought us Grecians newly come to land. From whence said he, my friends, this long delay? You loiter, while the spoils are borne away, our ships are laden with the Trojan store, and you, like truans, come too late ashore. He said but soon corrected his mistake, found by the doubtful answers which we make. Emazed he would have shunned the unequal fight, but we, more numerous, intercepted his flight. As when some peasant in a bushy break has with unwary footing pressed a snake. He starts aside, astonished when he spies, his rising crest blue neck enrolling highs. So from our arms surprised Androgios flies, in vain, for him and his we compassed round, possessed with fear, unknowing of the ground, and of their lives an easy conquest found, thus fortune, on our first endeavour, smiled. Coribus then, with youthful hopes beguiled, swollen with success and a daring mind, this new invention fatally designed. My friends said he, since fortune shows the way, to his fit that we should the auspicious guide obey. For what has she, these Grecian arms bestowed, but their destruction and the Trojans good? Then change we shields and their devices bare, let fraud supply the want of force and war. They find us arms, this said, himself he dressed, in dead Androgios' spoils, his upper vest, his painted buckler, and his plumey crest. Thus riftius, dimus, all the Trojan train, lay down their own attire and strip the slain, mixed with the Greeks we go with ill-pressage, flattered with hopes to glut our greedy rage, unknown, assaulting whom we blindly met, and strew with Grecian carcasses the street, thus while their straggling parties we defeat, some to the shore and safer ships retreat, and some oppressed with more ignoble fear, remount the hollow horse and pant in secret there. But ah, what use of valor can be made when heaven's propitious powers refuse their aid? Behold, the royal prophetess, the fair, Cassandra dragged by her disheveled hair, whom, not menerva shrine nor sacred bands, in safety could protect from sacrilegious hands. On heaven she cast her eyes, she sighed, she cried, to as all she could her tender arms were tied. So sad a sight, Corbus could not bear, but fired with rage, distracted with despair, amid the barbarous ravagers he flew, our leader's rash example we pursue, but storms of stones from the proud temple's height, pour down and on our battered helms alight. We from our friends received this fatal blow, who thought as Grecians as we seemed in show. They aim at the mistaken crests from high, and ours beneath the ponderous runes lie. Then moved with anger and disdain to see, their troops dispersed, the royal virgins free. The Grecians rally in their powers unite, with fury charges and renew the fight. The brother kings with Ajax join their force, and the whole squadron of the salient horse. End of book two, part one.