 Book 6 Part 1 of the Aeneid. He said, and wept, then spread his sails before the winds and reached at length the Cumaean shore. Their anchors dropped, his crew the vessels moor. They turned their heads to sea, their sterns to land, and greet with greedy joy the Italian strand. Some strike from clashing flints their fiery seed, some gather sticks, the kindled flames to feed, or search for hollow trees and fell the woods, or trace through valleys that discovered floods. Thus, while there are several charges they fulfill, the pious prince ascends the sacred hill where Phoebus is adored and seeks the shade which hides from sight his venerable maid. Deep in a cave the Sibyl makes abode, hence full of fate returns and of the god. Through trivia's grove they walk, and now behold, and enter now the tembled roofed with gold. Were Daedalus to fly the Cretan shore his heavy limbs on jointed pinions bore, the first who sailed in air, to sung by fame, to the Cumaean coast at length he came, and here a lighting built this costly frame. In scrim to Phoebus here he hung on high the steerage of his wings that cut the sky, then o'er the lofty gate his art embossed, Androgios's death and offerings to his ghost. Seven youths from Athens yearly sent to meet the fate appointed by revengeful Crete. And next to those the dreadful urn was placed, in which the destined names by lots were cast, the mournful parents stand around in tears, and rising Crete against their shore appears. There too in living sculpture might be seen the mad affection of the Cretan queen, then how she cheats her bellowing lover's eye the rushing leap the doubtful progeny. The lower part a beast, a man above, the monument of their polluted love. Not far from thence he graved the wondrous maze, a thousand doors, a thousand winding ways, here dwells the monster hid from human view, not to be found but by the faithful clue, till the kind artist moved with pious grief, lent to the loving maid this last relief, and all those erring paths described so well that Theseus conquered, and the monster fell. Here hapless Icarus had found his part, had not the father's grief restrained his art, he twice assayed to cast his son in gold, twice from his hands he dropped the forming mold. All this with wondering eyes Aeneas viewed, each varying object his delight renewed, eager to read the rest, a Katie's came, and by his side the mad divining dame, the priestess of the god Diaphobie her name. Time suffers not, she said, to feed your eyes with empty pleasures haste the sacrifice, seven bullocks yet unyoked for Phoebus choose, and for Diana seven unspotted use. This said the servants urged the sacred rites, while to the temple she the prince invites. A spacious cave within its farmost part was hewed and fashioned by laborious art through the hills hollow sides before the place, a hundred doors, a hundred entries grace, as many voices issue and the sound of cybill's words as many times rebound. Now to the mouth they come, aloud she cries, This is the time, inquire your destinies, he comes, behold the god, thus while she said, and shivering at the sacred entry stayed, her color changed, her face was not the same, and hollow groans from her deep spirit came, her hair stood up, convulsive rage possessed, her trembling limbs and heaved her laboring breast, greater than humankind she seemed to look, and with an accent more than mortal spoke, her staring eyes with sparkling fury roll when all the gods came rushing on her soul, swiftly she turned and foaming as she spoke, why this delay she cried, the powers invoke, thy prayers alone can open this abode, else vain are my demands and dumb the god. She said no more, the trembling trojans here, or spread with a damp sweat and holy fear, the prince himself with awful dread possessed, his vows to great Apollo thus addressed. Indulgent god, propitious power to Troy, swift to relieve, unwilling to destroy, directed by whose hand the dart and dart pierced the proud Grecian's only mortal part, thus far by fates decrees and thy commands, through ambient seas and through devouring sands our exiled crew has sought the Asonian ground, and now at length the flying coast is found. Thus far the fate of Troy from place to place with fury has pursued her wandering race. Here's Ceci powers and let your vengeance end, Troy is no more and can no more offend, and thou, O sacred maid inspired to see the event of things in dark futurity, give me what heaven has promised to my fate, to conquer and command the Lation State, to fix my wandering gods and find a place for the long exiles of the Trojan race. Then shall my grateful hands at temple rear to the twin gods with vows and solemn prayer, and annual rites and festivals and games shall be performed to their auspicious names, nor shall thou want thy honors in my land, for there thy faithful oracles shall stand preserved in shrines and every sacred lay which by thy mouth Apollo shall convey, all shall be treasured by a chosen train of holy priests and ever shall remain. But, O commit not thy prophetic mind to flitting leaves the sport of every wind, lest they disperse an air our empty fate, right not but what the powers ordain relate. Struggling in vain, impatient of her load, and laboring underneath the ponderous god, the more she strove to shake him from her breast, with more and far superior force he pressed, commands his entrance, and without control usurps her organs and inspires her soul. Now, with the furious blasts the hundred doors, ope of themselves, a rushing whirlwind roars within the cave and Sibyl's voice restores. Escaped the dangers of the watery rain, yet more and greater ills by land remain, the coast so long desired, nor doubt the event, thy troops shall reach, but having reached, repent. Wars, horrid wars, I view, a field of blood, and Tiber rolling with a purple flood. Some moist Norzantha shall be wanting there, a new Achilles shall in arms appear, and he too, goddess born, fierce Juno's hate, added to hostile force shall urge thy fate, to what strange nations shall thou not resort, driven to solicit aid at every court, the cause the same which Ilium once oppressed, a foreign mistress, and a foreign guest. But thou, secure of soul, unbent with woes, the more thy fortune frowns, the more oppose, the dawnings of thy safety shall be shown, from whence thou least shall hope, a Grecian town. Thus from the dark recess the Sibyl spoke, and the resisting air the thunder broke, the cave rebelled, and the temple shook, the ambiguous god who ruled her laboring breast in these mysterious words his mind expressed. Some truth revealed in terms involved the rest. At length her fury fell, her foaming ceased, and ebbing in her soul the god decreased. Then thus the chief, no terror to my view, no frightful face of danger can be new, enured to suffer, and resolved to dare, the fates without my power shall be without my care. This let me crave, since near your grove the road to Hell lies open, and the darker bode which Acheron surrounds the navigable flood, conduct me through the region's void of light, and lead me longing to my father's sight. For him a thousand dangers I have sought, and rushing where the thickest Grecians fought, safe on my back the sacred burden brought. He for my sake the raging ocean tried, and wrath of heaven my still auspicious guide, and bore beyond the strength to crepid age supplied. Off since he breathed his last in dead of night his reverent image stood before my sight, and joined to seek below his holy shade conducted there by your unerring aid. But you, if pious minds by prayers are won, oblige the father and protect the son. Yours is the power, nor prosarpine in vain has made you priestess of her nightly reign. If Orpheus armed with his enchanting lyre the ruthless king with pity could inspire. If from the shades below redeem his wife, if Pollux offering his alternate life could free his brother and can daily go by turns aloft, by turns descend below, why name Ithesius or his greater friend who trod the downward path and upward could ascend. Not less than theirs from Jov my lineage came, my mother greater, my descent the same. So prayed the Trojan prince, and while he prayed his hands upon the holy altar laid. Then thus replied the prophetess divine, O goddess born of great Ankaizi's line, the gates of hell are open night and day, smooth the descent and easy as the way. But to return and view the cheerful skies in this the task and mighty labor lies, to few great Jupiter impart this grace, and those of shining worth and heavenly race, betwixt those regions and our upper light, deep forests and impenetrable night possess the middle space, the infernal bounds costeth us with the sable waves surrounds. But if so dire a love your soul invades, as twice below to view the trembling shades, if you so hard a toil will undertake, as twice to pass the inevitable lake, receive my counsel. In the neighboring grove there stands a tree, the queen of Stygian Jov claims it her own, thick woods and gloomy night conceal this happy plant from human sight. One bow it bears, but wondrous to behold, the ductile rind and leaves of radiant gold, this from the vulgar branches must be torn, and to fair prosurpin the present born, ere leave be given to tempt the nether skies. The first thus rent, a second will arise, and the same metal the same room supplies. Look round the wood with lifted eyes to see the lurking gold upon the fatal tree, then rend it off, as holy rites command, the willing metal will obey thy hand, following with ease, if favoured by thy fate, thou art fordoomed to view the Stygian state. If not, no labor can the tree constrain, and strength of stubborn arms and steel are vain. Besides, you know not while you here attend the unworthy fate of your unhappy friend, breathless he lies, and his unburied ghost, deprived of funeral rites, pollutes your host. Pay first his pious dues, and for the dead, to sable sheep around his hearse be led, then living turfs upon his body lay, this done securely take the destined way to find the region's destitute of day. She said, and held her peace, Aeneas went, sad from the cave and full of discontent, unknowing what the sacred sible meant. Akates, the companion of his breast, goes walking by his side, with equal care as oppressed. Walking they talked, and fruitlessly devined, what friend the priestess by those words designed, but soon they found an object to deplore. Minesis lay extended on the shore, son of the god of winds, none so renowned, the warrior trumpet in the field to sound, with breathing brass to kindle fierce alarms, and rouse to dare their fate in honorable arms. He served great Hector, and was ever near, not with his trumpet only, but his spear. But by P'lady's arms when Hector fell he chose Aeneas, and he chose as well. Swollen with applause and aiming at still more, he now provokes the seagods from the shore, with envy triton heard the marshal sound, and the bold champion for his challenge drowned, then cast his mangled carcass on the strand, the gazing crowd around the body stand. All weep, but most Aeneas mourns his fate, and hastens to perform the funeral state. In altar-wise a stately pile they rear, the basis broad below, and top advanced in air, an ancient wood fit for the work designed, the shady covert of the salvage kind, the Trojans found, the sounding axe is plied, furs pines and pitch trees in the towering pride of forest ashes feel the fatal stroke, and piercing wedges cleave the stubborn oak. Huge trunks of trees felled from the steepy crown of the bare mountains, roll with ruin down. Armed like the rest the Trojan prince appears, and by his pious labour urges theirs. Thus while he wrought, revolving in his mind, the ways to compass what his wish designed, he cast his eyes upon the gloomy grove, and then with vows implored the queen of love. Oh, may thy power, propitious still to me, conduct my steps to find the fatal tree in this deep forest, since the sable's breath, foretold, alas, too true my Aeneas's death. Scarce had he said when, full before his sight, two doves descending from their airy flight secure upon the grassy plain alight. He knew his mother's birds, and thus he prayed, Be you my guides, with your auspicious aid, and lead my footsteps till the branch be found whose glittering shadow guilds the sacred ground, and thou great parent with celestial care in this distress, be present to my prayer. Thus having said, he stopped with watchful sight, observing still the motions of their flight, what course they took, what happy signs they show. They fed and fluttering by degrees withdrew still farther from the place, but still in view. Hopping and flying, thus they led him on, to the slow lake whose baleful stench to shun, they winged their flight aloft, then stooping low, perched on the double tree that bears the golden bow. Through the green leaves the glittering shadows glow, as on the sacred oak the wintry mistletoe, where the proud mother views her precious brood, and happier branches which she never sowed. Such was the glittering, such the ruddy rind, and dancing leaves that wantoned in the wind. He seized the shining bow with gripping hold, and rent away with ease the lingering gold, then to the Sibyl's palace bore the prize. Meantime the Trojan troops with weeping eyes to dead mycenus pay his obsequies. First from the ground a lofty pile they rear, of pitch trees, oaks, and pines, an unctuous fur, the fabrics front with cypress twigs they strew, and stick the sides with bows of baleful ewe. The topmost part his glittering arms adorn, warm waters then, in brazen cauldrons borne, are poured to wash his body, joint by joint, and fragrant oils the stiffened limbs anoint. With groans and cries mycenus they deplore, then on a bire with purple covered ore, the breathless body thus bewail delay, and fire the pile their faces turned away, such reverent rites their fathers used to pay. Pure oil and incense on the fire they throw, and fat to victims which his friends bestow. These gifts the greedy flames to dust devour, then on the living coals red wine they pour, and last the relics by themselves dispose, which in a brazen urn the priests enclose. Old Corineas compassed thrice the crew, and dipped in olive branch in holy dew, which thrice he sprinkled round and thrice allowed, invoked the dead, and then dismissed the crowd. But Good Aeneas ordered on the shore a stately tomb whose top a trumpet bore, a soldier's function, and a seamen's ore. Thus was his friend interred, and deathless fame, still to the lofty cape consigns his name. These rites performed the prince without delay haste to the nether world his destined way. Deep was the cave, and downward as it went, from the wide mouth a rocky rough descent, and here the axis a gloomy grove defends, and there the unnavigable lake extends, or whose unhappy waters void of light no bird presumes to steer his airy flight. Such deadly stenches from the depths arise, and steaming sulfur that infects the eyes. From thence the Grecian bars their legends make, and give the name Avernus to the lake. Four sable bullocks in the yoke untaught, for sacrifice the pious hero brought. The priestess pours the wine betwixt their horns, then cuts the curling hair that first ablation burns, invoking heckate hither to repair, a powerful name in hell and upper air. The sacred priests with ready knives bereave the beasts of life, and in full bowls receive the streaming blood, a lamb to hell and night, the sable wool without a streak of white. Aneus offers, and by fates decree, a barren heifer, proserpene to thee, with holocausts he Pluto's altar fills, seven brawny bulls with his own hand he kills, then on the broiling entrails oil he pours, which ointed thus the raging flame devours. Late the nocturnal sacrifice begun, nor ended till the next returning sun. Then earth began to bellow, trees to dance, and howling dogs in glimmering light advance, ere heckate came. Far hence be souls profane, the sable cried, and from the grove abstain. Now trojan, take the way thy fates afford, assume thy courage, and unshi thy sword. She said, and passed along the gloomy space the prince pursued her steps with equal pace. Ye realms yet unrevealed the human sight, ye gods who rule the regions of the night, ye gliding ghosts permit me to relate the mystic wonders of your silent state. Obscure they went through dreary shades that led, along the waste dominions of the dead. Thus wander travellers and woods by night, by the moon's doubtful and malignant light, when joe when dusky clouds involves the skies, and the fate crescent shoots by fits before their eyes, just in the gate and in the jaws of hell, revengeful cares and sullen sorrows dwell, and pale diseases, and repining age, want fear and famines unresisted rage, hear toils, and death, and death's half-brother sleep, forms terrible to view their sentry keep, with anxious pleasures of a guilty mind, deep frauds before, and open force behind, the fury's iron beds, and strife that shakes her hissing tresses and unfolds her snakes. Full in the midst of this infernal road an elm displays her dusky arms abroad, the god of sleep there hides his heavy head, and empty dreams on every leaf are spread. Of various forms unnumbered spectres more, centars and double shapes besiege the door, before the passage horrid hydra stands, embryarius with all his hundred hands, gorgons garyon with his triple frame, and vain chimera vomits empty flame. The chief unsheathed his shining steel prepared, though seized with sudden fear to force the guard, offering his brandished weapon at their face, had not the civil stopped his eager pace, and told him what those empty phantoms were, forms without bodies, and impassive air. Hence to deep acheron they take their way, whose troubled eddies, thick with ooze and clay, are world aloft, and in cosittus lost. Their acheron stands, who rules the dreary coast, a sordid god, down from his hoary chin a length of beard descends, uncommed, unclean, 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 looked in years, yet in his years were seen a youthful vigor and autumnal green. An airy crowd came rushing where he stood, which filled the margin of the fatal flood, husbands and wives, boys and unmarried maids, and mighty heroes more majestic shades, and youths entombed before their father's eyes with hollow groans and shrieks and feeble cries. Thick as the leaves in autumn strew the woods, or fowls by winter force forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands, such and so thick the shivering army stands, and press for passage with extended hands. Now these, now those, the surly boatman bore, the rest he drove to distance from the shore. The hero, who beheld with the wandering eyes, the tumult mixed with treaks, laments and cries, asked of his guide what the rude concourse meant, why to the shore the thronging people bent, what forms of law among the ghosts were used, why some were ferried o'er and some refused. Son of Ankaizi's, offspring of the gods, the Sibyl said, you see the Stygian floods, the sacred stream which heaven's imperial state attests in oaths and fears to violate. The ghosts rejected are the unhappy crew, deprived of sepulchres and funeral dew. The boatman, Keron, those the buried host, he ferries over to the farther coast, nor dares his transport vessel cross the waves with such whose bones are not composed in graves. A hundred years they wander on the shore, at length their penance done are wafted o'er. The Trojan chief his forward pace repressed, resolving anxious thoughts within his breast, he saw his friends, who whelmed beneath the waves their funeral honours claimed, and asked their quiet graves. The lost Leucapsis in the crowd he knew, and brave leader of the Lycian crew, whom on the Tirhyn seas the tempests met, the sailors mastered, and the ships o'er set, amidst the spirits Pallinurus pressed, yet fresh from life a new admitted guest, who while his steering viewed the stars and bore his course from Africa to the Lycian shore fell headlong down. The Trojan fixed his view, and scarcely through the gloom the sullen shadow knew. Then thus the prince, what envious power, brought your loved life to this disastrous end. For Phoebus, ever true in all he said, has in your fate alone my faith betrayed. The God foretold you should not die before, you reached, secure from seas, the Italian shore. Is this the unerring power? The ghost replied. Nor Phoebus flattered, nor his answers lied, nor envious gods have sent me to the deep. But while the stars and course of heaven I keep, my wearied eyes were seized with fatal sleep. I fell, and with my weight the helm constrained was drawn along, which yet my grip retained. Now by the winds and raging waves I swear your safety more than mine was than my care. Lest of the guide bereft, the rudder lost, your ship should run against the rocky coast. Three blustering nights borne by the southern blast I floated, and discovered land at last, high on a mountain wave my head I bore, forcing my strength and gathering to the shore. Panting but past the danger, now I seized the craggy cliffs and my tired members eased. While combered with my dropping clothes I lay, the cruel nation, covetous of prey, stained with my blood the unhospitable coast, and now by winds and waves my lifeless limbs are tossed, which owe avert by yawn ethereal light which I have lost for this eternal night. Or if by dearer ties you may be won, by your dead sire and by your living son, redeem from this reproach my wandering ghost, or with your navy seek the vell in coast, and in a peaceful grave my corpse compose. Or if a nearer way your mother shows, without whose aid you durst not undertake this frightful passage or the Stygian lake, lend to this wretch your hand, and waft him o'er to the sweet banks of yawn forbidden shore. Scares had he said, the prophetess began, What hopes dilute the miserable man? Thinks thou thus unintumed to cross the floods, to view the furries and infernal gods, and visit without leave the darker boats? 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 heaven inflicted for thy sake with vengeance shall pursue thee in human coast, till they propitiate thy fended ghost, and raise a tomb with vows and solemn prayer, and palinorous name the place shall bear. This calmed his cares, soothed with his future fame, and pleased to hear his propagated name. Now nearer to the Stygian lake they draw, who from the shore the surly boatman saw, observed their passage through the shady wood, and marked their near approaches to the flood. Then thus he called aloud, inflamed with wrath, mortal what air, who this forbidden path in arms presumes to tread, I charge thee, stand, and tell thy name and business in the land. Know this, the realm of night, the Stygian shore, my boat conveys no living bodies o'er, nor was I pleased, great Theseus once to bear, who forced a passage with this pointed spear, nor strong eclities, men of mighty fame, and from the mortal gods their lineage came. In fetters one the barking porter tied, and took him trembling from his sovereign side, two sought by force to seize his beautyous bride. To whom the Sibyl thus, composed I mind, nor frauds are here contrived, nor force designed, still may the dog the wandering troops constrain, of airy ghosts, and vex the guilty train, and with her grisly lord his lovely queen remain. The Trojan chief, whose lineage is from Job, much famed for arms, and more for filial love, is sent to seek his sire in your Elysian Grove. If neither pity nor heaven's command can gain his passage to the Stygian Strand, this fatal present shall prevail at least. Then showed the shining bow concealed within her vest. No more was needful, for the gloomy god stood mute with awe to see the golden rod, admired the destined offering to his queen, a venerable gift so rarely seen. His fury thus appeased, he puts to land the ghost forsake their seats at his command. He clears the deck, receives the mighty freight, the leaky vessel groans beneath the weight. Slowly she sails, and scarcely stems the tides, the pressing water pours within her sides. His passengers at length are wafted o'er, exposed in muddy weeds upon the myery shore. No sooner landed in his den they found the triple porter of the Stygian Sound. Grim Cerberus, who soon began to rear his crested snakes and armed his bristling hair. The prudent Sibyl had before prepared a sop in honey steeped to charm the guard, which mixed with powerful drugs he cast before his greedy grinning jaws just o'ped to roar. With three enormous mouths he gapes, and straight, with hunger pressed, devours the pleasing bait. Long drafts of sleep his monstrous limbs enslave, he reels and falling fills the spacious cave. The keeper charmed, the chief without delay, passed on and took the arremiable way. Before the gates the cries of babes knew born, whom fate had from their tender mother's torn, assault his ears, than those whose form of laws condemned to die when traitors judge their cause. Nor want they lots, nor judges to review, the wrongful sentence and a word anew. Minos, the strict inquisitor, appears, and lives and crimes with his assessors hears. Round in his urn the blended balls he rolls, absolves the just and dooms the guilty souls. The next in place and punishment are they who prodigally throw their souls away, fools who repining at their wretched state and loathing anxious life suborn their fate. With late repentance now they would retrieve the bodies they foresook and wish to live, their pains and poverty desire to bear, to view the light of heaven and breathe the vital air. But fate forbids, the Stygian floods oppose, and with circling streams the captive souls enclose. The Aeneid by Publius Virgilius Morrow translated by John Dryden Book 6 The World Below Part 2 Not far from Thence the mournful fields appear, so called from lovers that inhabit there. The souls whom that unhappy flame invades in secret solitude and myrtle shades make endless moans and pining with desire lament too late their unextinguished fire. Here Procrus, irrefile here he found, bearing her breast yet bleeding with the wound made by her son, he saw Pesifae there, with Phaedra's ghost a foul incestuous pair. Their leodemia with the vadny moves, unhappy both, both loyal in their loves. Caneus a woman once and once a man, but ending in the sex she first began. Not far from those Phoenician Dido stood, fresh from her wound her bosom bathed in blood, whom when the Trojan hero hardly knew obscure in shades and with a doubtful view, doubtful as he who sees through dusky night, or thinks he sees the moon's uncertain light. With tears he first approached the soul in shade, and as his love inspired him, thus he said, Unhappy queen, then is the common breath of rumor true in your reported death, and I alas the cause, by heaven I vow, and all the powers that rule the realms below, unwilling I forsook your friendly state, commanded by the gods and forced by fate, those gods, that fate whose unresisted might have sent me to these regions void of light, through the vast empire of eternal night, nor dared I to presume that, pressed with grief, my flight should urge you to this dire relief. Stay, stay your steps, and listen to my vows, to the last interview that fate allows. In vain he thus attempts her mind to move, with tears and prayers and late repenting love. Disdainfully she looked, then turning round, but fixed her eyes unmoved upon the ground, and what he says and swears regards no more than the deaf rocks when the loud billows roar, but whirled away to shun his hateful sight, hid in the forest and the shades of night, then sought Sakaes through the shady grove, who answered all her cares and equalled all her love. Some pious tears the pittinging hero paid, and followed with his eyes the flitting shade, then took the forward way, by fate ordained, and with his guide the farther fields attained, were severed from the rest the warrior souls remained. Tideas he met, with Mili-Eggar's race, the pride of armies and the soldier's grace, and pale a drastas with his ghastly face. Of Trojan chiefs he viewed a numerous train, all much lamented, all in battle slain, Glaucos and Myron high above the rest, and Tenor's sons and Ciri's sacred priest, and Proudideas, Priam's charioteer, who shakes his empty reins and aims his airy spear. The gladsome ghosts encircling troops attend, and with unwearyed eyes behold their friend, delight to hover near and long to know what business brought him to the realms below. But Argyve chiefs and Agamemnon's train, when his refulgent arms flashed through the shady plane, fled from his well-known face with wanted fear, as when his thundering sword and pointed spear drove headlong to their ships and gleaned the routed rear. They raised a feeble cry with trembling notes, but the weak voice deceived their gasping throats. Here Priam's son, Diaphobus he found, whose face and limbs were one continued wound. Dishonest, with lopped armed the youth appears, spoiled of his nose and shortened of his ears. He scarcely knew him, striving to disown his blotted form and blushing to be known, and therefore first began, O Tsouser's race, who durse thy faultless figure thus to face! What heart could wish, what hand inflict this dire disgrace? To his fame, that in our last and fatal night, your single prowess long sustained the fight, till tired, not forced, a glorious fate you chose, and fell upon a heap of slaughtered foes. But in remembrance of so brave a deed, a tomb and funeral honors I decreed, thrice called your mains on the trojan planes, the place your armor and your name retains. Your body, too, I sought, and had I found, designed for burial in your native ground. The ghost replied, Your piety has paid all needful rights to rest my wandering shade. But cruel fate, and my more cruel wife, to Grecian swords betrayed my sleeping life. These are the monuments of Helen's love, the shame I bear below, the marks I bore above. You know in what deluding joys we passed, the night that was by heaven decreed our last, for when the fatal horse descending down, pregnant with arms or well in the unhappy town, she feigned nocturnal orgies, left my bed, and mixed with trojan dames the dances led, then waving high her torts the signal made, which roused the Grecians from their amboscade. With watching overworn, with cares oppressed, unhappy I had lain me down to rest, and heavy sleep my weary limbs possessed. Meantime my worthy wife our arms mislaid, and from beneath my head my sword conveyed. The door unlatched, and with repeated calls invites her former lord within my walls. Thus in her crime her confidence she placed, and with new treason would redeem the past. What need I more? Into the room they ran, and meanly murdered a defenceless man. Ulysses, basely born, first led the way, avenging powers with justice if I pray that fortune be their own another day, but answer you, and in your turn relate what brought you living to the Stygian State, driven by the winds and errors of the sea, or did you heaven's superior doom obey? Or tell what other chance conducts your way to view with mortal eyes our dark retreats, tumults and torments of the infernal seats? While thus in talk the flying hours they pass, the sun had finished more than half his race, and they, perhaps in words and tears has spent the little time of stay which heaven had lent, but thus the civil chides their long delay. Night rushes down and headlong drives the day, to sear in different paths the way divides, the right to Pluto's golden palace guides, the left to that unhappy region tens, which to the depth of Tartarus descends, the seat of night profound and punished fiends. Then thus the Iphobus, O sacred maid, for bear to chide and be your will obeyed, lo to the secret shadows I retire, to pay my penance till my years expire, proceed auspicious prince with glory crowned and born to better fates than I have found. He said, and while he said his steps he turned, to secret shadows and in silence mourned. The hero looking on the left espied a lofty tower and strong on every side with treble walls which Phlegathon surrounds, whose fiery flood the burning empire bounds, and pressed betwixt the rocks the bellowing noise resounds. Wide is the fronting gate, and raised on high with adamantine columns threats the sky, vain is the force of man and heavens as vain to crush the pillars which the pile sustain. Sublime on these a tower of steel is reared, and dire to Siphony there keeps the ward, girt in her sanguine gown by night and day, observant of the souls that pass the downward way. From thence are heard the groans of ghosts, the pains of sounding lashes and of dragging chains. The Trojan stood astonished at their cries, and asked his guide from whence those yells arise on what the crimes and what the tortures were, and loud laments that rent the liquid air. She thus replied, The chaste and holy race are all forbidden this polluted place, but heckate when she gave to rule the woods, then led me trembling through these dire abodes, and taught the tortures of the avenging gods. These are the realms of unrelenting fate, and awful rudder month this rules the state. He hears and judges each committed crime, enquires into the matter, place, and time. The conscious wretch must all his acts reveal, loath to confess, unable to conceal, from the first moment of his vital breath, to his last hour of unrepenting death. Straight o'er the guilty ghost the fury shakes, the sounding whip, and brandishes her snakes, and the pale sinner with her sisters takes. Then of itself unfolds the eternal door, with dreadful sounds the brazen hinges roar, You see before the gate what stalking ghost commands the guard, what sentries keep the post, more formidable hydra stands within, whose jaws with iron teeth severely grin. The gaping gulf low to the center lies, and twice as deep as earth is distant from the skies. The rivals of the gods, the titan race, hear singed with lightning roll within the infatum space. Here lie the alien twins, I saw them both, enormous bodies of gigantic growth, who dared in fight the thunderer to defy, affect his heaven and force him from the sky. Salmonius suffering cruel pains, I found, for emulating Job the rattling sound of mimic thunder and the glittering blaze of pointed lightnings and their forky rays. Through Elis and the Grecian towns he flew, the audacious wretch for fiery courses drew, he waved a torch aloft and madly vain, sought godlike worship from a servile train, ambitious fool with horny hooves to pass or hollow arches of resounding brass to rival thunder in his rapid course and imitate inimitable force. But he, the king of heaven obscure on high, bared his red arm and launching from the sky his writhe and bolt, not shaking empty smoke, down to the deep abyss the flaming felons struck. There Titius was to see who took his birth from heaven, his nursing from the foodful earth. Here his gigantic limbs with large embrace enfold nine acres of infernal space. A ravenous vulture in his opened side her crooked beak and cruel talons tried, still for the growing liver digged his breast, the growing liver still supplied the feast, still are his entrails fruitful to their pains, the immortal hunger last, the immortal food remains. Ixion and Perthus I could name, and more Thessalian chiefs of mighty fame, high o'er their heads a mouldering rock is placed, that promises a fall and shakes at every blast, they lie below on golden beds displayed and genial feasts with regal pomp are made. The queen of furies by their sides is set, and snatches from their mouths the untasted meat, which if they touch her hissing snake she rears, tossing her torch and thundering in their ears. Then they, who brothers better claimed his own, expel their parents and usurp the throne, defraud their clients and to lucre sold, sit brooding on unprofitable gold, who dare not give and even refuse to lend to their poor kindred or a wanting friend. Vast is the throng of these, nor lest the train of lustful youths for foul adultery slain, hosts of deserters who their honour sold, and basely broke their faith for bribes of gold. All these within the dungeon's depth remain, despairing pardon and expecting pain. Ask not what pains nor further seek to know their process or the forms of law below. Some roll the weighty stone, some laid along and bound with burning wires, unspokes of wheels are hung, unhappy theseus, doomed for ever there, is fixed by fate on his eternal chair, and wretched Flegius warns the world with prize, good warning make the world more just or wise. Learn righteousness and dread the avenging deities. To tyrants others have their country sold, imposing foreign lords for foreign gold. Some have old laws repealed, new statutes made, not as the people pleased, but as they paid, with incest some their daughters' beds profaned, all dared the worst of ills, and what they dared attained. Had I a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, and throats of brass inspired with iron lungs, I could not half those horrid crimes repeat, nor half the punishments those crimes have met. But let us haste our voyage to pursue. The walls of Pluto's palace are in view, the gate and iron arch above it stands on anvils laboured by the cyclops' hands. Before our farther way the fates allow, here must we fix, on high, the golden bow. She said, and through the gloomy shades they passed, and choose the middle path. Arrived at last the prince with living water sprinkled oar, his limbs in body, then approached the door, possessed the porch, and on the front above, he fixed the fatal bow required by Pluto's love. These holy rites performed, they took their way, where long extended planes of pleasure lay, the verdant fields with those of heaven may vie, with ether vested and a purple sky, the blissful seats of happy souls below, stars of their own and their own sons 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, his flying fingers and harmonious quill strike seven distinguished notes, and seven at once they fill, here found they twosers old heroic rays, born better times and happier years to grace. Aceracus and Elas here enjoy, perpetual fame with him who founded Troy. The chief beheld their chariots from afar, their shining arms and coarsers trained to war, their lances fixed in earth, their steeds around, free from their harness, grazed the flowery 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 Poe mounts up to woods above and hides his head below. Here patriots live, who for their country's good in fighting fields were prodigal of blood, priests of unblemished lives here make abode, and poets worthy there inspiring God, and searching wits of more mechanic parts who graced their age with new invented arts. Those who to worth their bounty did extend, and those who knew that bounty to commend. The heads of these with holy fillets bound, and all their temples were with garlands crowned. To these the civil thus her speech addressed, and first to him surrounded by the rest, towering his height, and ample was his breast. Say happy souls, divine Musaeus say, where live Zancheses, and where lies our way, to find the hero for whose only sake we sought the darker bodes and crossed the bitter lake. To this the sacred poet thus replied, In no fixed place the happy souls reside, in groves we live and lie on mossy beds by crystal streams that murmur through the meads, but pass yon easy hill and thence descend, the path conducts you to your journey's end. This said he led them up the mountains brow, and shows them all the shining fields below. They wind the hill, and through the blissful meadows go. But old Ancheses, in a flowery veil, reviewed his mustard race and took the tale those happy spirits which ordained by fate, for future beings and new bodies wait, with studious thought observed the lustrous throng, in nature's order as they passed along, their names, their fates, their conduct, and their care, in peaceful senates and successful war. He, when Aeneas on the plain appears, meets him with open arms and falling tears. Welcome, he said, the God's undoubted brace, O long expected to my dear embrace, once more it has given me to behold your face. Once more it has given me to behold your face. The love and pious duty which you pay have passed the perils of so hard a way. Tis true, computing times I now believed, the happy day approached, nor are my hopes deceived. What length of lands, what oceans have you passed? What storms sustained, and on what shores been cast? How have I feared your fate, but feared it most when love assailed you on the Libyan coast? To this the filial duty thus replies, your sacred ghost before my sleeping eyes appeared, and often urged this painful enterprise. After long tossing on the Tyrene Sea, my navy rides at anchor in the bay, but reach your hand, O parent shade, the dear embraces of your longing sun, he said, and falling tears his face bedew, then thrice around his neck his arms he threw, and thrice the flitting shadow slipped away, like winds or empty dreams that fly the day. Now in his secret veil the Trojan sees a separate grove through which a gentle breeze plays with a passing breath and whispers through the trees, and just before the confines of the wood the gliding lethe leads her silent flood. About the boughs an airy nation flew, thick as the humming bees that hunt the golden dew, in summer's heat on tops of lilies feed, and creep within their bells to suck the balmy seed. The winged army roams the fields around, the rivers and the rocks remermer to the sound. A neus wandering stood, then asked the cause which to the stream the crowding people draws. Then thus the sire, the souls that throng the flood, are those to whom by fate our other bodies owed, and lethe's lake they long oblivion taste, of future life secure, forgetful of the past. Long has my soul desired this time and place to set before your sight your glorious race, that this presaging joy may fire your mind to seek the shores by destiny designed. Oh, Father, can it be that souls sublime return to visit our terrestrial climb, and that the generous mind released by death can covet lazy limbs and mortal breath? And Kaisie's then in order thus began to clear those wonders to his godlike son. Know first that heaven and earth's compacted frame and flowing waters and the starry flame, and both the radiant lights, one common soul, inspires and feeds and animates the whole. This active mind, infused through all the space, unites and mingles with the mighty mass, hence men and beasts the breath of life obtain, and birds of air and monsters of the main. The ethereal vigor is in all the same, and every soul is filled with equal flame, as much as earthy limbs and gross allay of mortal members, subject to decay, blunt not the beams of heaven and edge of day. From this coarse mixture of terrestrial parts, desire and fear by turns possess their hearts, and grief and joy, nor can the groveling mind in the dark dungeon of the limbs confined assert the native skies or own its heavenly kind, nor death itself can holy wash their stains, but long contracted filth even in the soul remains, the relics of inveterate vise they wear, and spots of sin obscene in every face appear. For this are varied penances enjoined, and some are hung to bleach upon the wind, some plunged in waters, others purged in fires, till all the dregs are drained, and all the rust expires. All have their mains, and those mains bear, the few so cleansed to these abode's repair, and breathe in ample fields the soft Elysian air. Then are they happy, when by length of time the scurf is worn away of each committed crime, no speck is left of their habitual stains, but the pure ether of the soul remains. But when a thousand rolling years are passed, so long their punishments and penance last, whole droves of minds are, by the driving God, compelled to drink the deep lithium flood, in large forgetful drafts to steep the cares of their past labours and their irksome years, that unremembering of its former pain, the soul may suffer mortal flesh again. Thus having said, the Father's spirit leads, the Priestess and his Son through swarms of shades, and takes a rising ground from thence to see the long procession of his progeny. Survey, pursued the sire, this airy throng, as offered to thy view they pass along. These are the Italian names which fate will join with ours and graph upon the Trojan line. Observe the youth who first appears in sight, and holds the nearest station to the light, already seems to snuff the vital air, and leans just forward on a shining spear, Sylveus is he, thy last begotten race, but first in order sent to fill thy place, an Alban name, but mixed with Darden blood, born in the covert of a shady wood. Him fair Lavinia, thy surviving wife, shall breed in groves to lead a solitary life. In Alba shall he fix his royal seat, and born a king, a race of kings beget. Then Procus, honour of the Trojan name, capis a new mature of endless fame. A second Sylveus after these appears, Sylveus Aeneus, for thy name he bears, for arms and justice equally renowned, who late restored in Alba shall be crowned. How great they look, how vigourously they wield, their weighty lances and sustain the shield, but they, who crowned with oaken wreaths appear, shall gabion walls and strong Fidina rear, nomenthum Bola, with Pomecia found, and raised Colatians towers on rocky ground. All these shall then be towns of mighty fame, though now they lie obscure, and lands without a name. See Romulus the great, born to restore, the crown that once has injured Grand Sire war. This prince, a priestess of your blood shall bear, and like his siren arms he shall appear. Two rising crests, his royal head adorn, born from a god, himself to god had born, his sire already signs him for the skies, and marks the seat amidst the deities. Auspicious chief, thy race and times to come shall spread the conquest of imperial Rome. Rome, whose ascending towers shall heaven invade, involving earth and ocean in her shade, high as the mother of the gods in place, and proud, like her, of an immortal race. Then when in pomp she makes the Phrygian round, with golden turrets on her temple's crown, a hundred gods her sweeping train supply, her offspring all, and all command the sky. Now fix your sight, and stand intent to see, your Roman race and Julian progeny. The mighty Caesar waits his vital hour, impatient for the world, and grasps his promised power. But next behold the youth of form divine. Caesar himself, exalted in his line, Augustus, promised oft, and long foretold, sent to the realm that Saturn ruled of old, born to restore a better age of gold. Africa and India shall his powers obey. He shall extend his propagated sway beyond the solar year, without the starry way, where Atlas turns the rolling heavens around, and his broad shoulders, with their lights, are crowned. At his foreseen approach already quake, the Caspian kingdoms and Mayoshin lake, their seers behold the tempest from afar, and threatening oracles denounce the war. Nile hears him knocking at his sevenfold gates, and seeks his hidden spring, and fears his nephew's fates. Nor Hercules more lands or labours new. Not though the brazen footed hind, he slew. Freed Aramanthus from the foaming bore, and dipped his arrows in Laernean gore. Nor Bacchus, turning from his Indian war, by tigers drawn triumphant in his car, from Nice's top descending on the plains, with curling vines around his purple reins. And doubt we yet through dangers to pursue, the paths of honour, and a crown in view? But what's the man who from afar appears? His head, with olive crowned, his hand a censor bears. His hoary beard and holy vestments bring, his lost idea back. I know the Roman king. He shall to peaceful Rome new laws ordain, called from his mean abode a scepter to sustain. Him Tullus next in dignity succeeds, an active prince, and prone to marshal deeds. He shall his troops for fighting fields prepare, disused to toils, and triumphs of the war. By dint of sword his crown he shall increase, and scour his armour from the rust of peace. Whom Ancus follows, with a fawning air, but vain within, and proudly popular. Next view the Tarquin kings, the venging sword, of Brutus justly drawn, and Rome restored. He first renews the rods and acts severe, and gives the consuls royal robes to wear. His sons, who seek the tyrant to sustain, and long for arbitrary lords again, with ignominy scourged and open sight, he dooms to death deserved, asserting public right. Unhappy man to break the pious laws of nature pleading in his children's cause. How ere the doubtful fact is understood, to his love of honour, and his country's good, the consul, not the father, sheds the blood. Behold Tarquatus the same track pursue, and next the two devoted DCI view, the Druzion line, Camillus loaded home, with standards well redeemed and foreign foes or come, the pair you see in equal armour shine. Now friends below in close embraces join, but when they leave the shady realms of night, and clothes in bodies breathe your upper light, with mortal hate each other shall pursue. What wars, what wounds, what slaughter shall ensue, from alpine heights the father first descends, his daughter's husband in the plain attends, his daughter's husband arms his eastern friends. Embrace again, my sons, be foes no more, nor stain your country with her children's gore. And thou, the first, lay down thy lawless claim, thou of my blood who bears the Julian name, another comes, who shall in triumph ride, and to the capital his chariot guide, from conquered Corinth rich with Grecian spoils, and yet another, famed for war-like toils, on Argos shall impose the Roman laws, and on the Greeks revenge the Trojan cause, shall drag in change their Achillian race, shall vindicate his ancestors' disgrace, and palace for her violated place. Great Cato there, for gravity renowned, and conquering Cossus goes with Laurel's crown. Who can omit the Gratiae? Who declare the Scipio's worth, those thunderbolts of war, the double bane of Carthage? Who can see, without esteem for virtuous poverty, severe Fabricius, or can cease to admire, the plowman consul in his course attire? Tired as I am, I praise the Fabiae claim, and thou, great hero, greatest of thy name, ordained in war to save the sinking state, and by delays to put a stop to fate. Let others better mould the running mass of metals, and inform the breathing brass, and soften into flesh a marble face, plead better at the bar, describe the skies, and when the stars descend and when they rise, but roam tis thine alone with awful sway to rule mankind, and make the world obey, disposing peace and war by thine own majestic way, to tame the proud, the fettered slave to free, these are imperial arts, and worthy thee. He paused, and while with wondering eyes they viewed the passing spirits, thus his speech renewed. See great Marcellus. How, untired in toils, he moves with manly grace, how rich with regal spoils. He, when his country threatened with alarms, requires his courage, and his conquering arms, shall more than once the punic bands afright, shall kill the gallish king in single fight, than to the capital and triumph move, and the third spoil shall grace Ferritrian Joe. A neus here beheld of form divine, a god-like youth in glittering armorshine, with great Marcellus keeping equal pace, but gloomy were his eyes, dejected was his face. He saw, and, wondering, asked his airy guide, what and of whence was he who pressed the hero's side? His son, or one of his illustrious name? How, like the former, and almost the same? Observe the crowds that compass him around, all gaze and all admire and raise a shouting sound, but hovering mists around his brows are spread, and night with sable shades involves his head. 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 snatched away. The gods too high had raised the Roman state, where but their gifts as permanent as great, what groans of men shall feel the Martian field, how fierce a blaze his flaming pile shall yield, what funeral pump shall flowing Tiber see, when rising from his bed he views the sad solemnity. No youth shall equal hopes of glory give, no youth afford so great a cause to grieve. The Trojan honor and the Roman boast admired when living and adored when lost. Mirror of ancient faith and early youth, undaunted worth, inviolable truth. No foe unpunished in the fighting field shall dare thee, foot to foot, with sword and shield, much less in arms oppose thy matchless force, when thy sharp spurs shall urge thy foaming horse. Ah, couldst thou break through fate's severe decree, a new Marcellus shall arise in thee. Full canisters of fragrant lilies bring, mixed with the purple roses of the spring, let me with funeral flowers his body's straw, this gift which parents to their children's owe, this unavailing gift at least I may bestow. Thus, having said, he led the hero round the confines of the blessed Elysian ground, which when and Kaisi's to his son had shown, and fired his mind to mount the promised throne, he tells the future wars ordained by fate, the strength and customs of the Laysian 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 polished ivory this, that of transparent horn, true visions through transparent horn arise, through polished ivory past deluding lies, of various things discoursing as he passed, and Kaisi's hither bends his steps at last. Then, through the gate of ivory, he dismissed his valiant offspring and divining guest. Straight to the ships, Aeneas's way, embarked his men and skimmed along the sea, still coasting till he gained Kejita's bay. At length on Uzi ground his galleys moor, their heads are turned to sea, their sterns to shore. End of book six, recording by Joshua Christensen. Book seven, part one of the Aeneid. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Alan Brown. The Aeneid by Publius Virgilius Morrow. Translated by John Dryden. Book seven, Juno served by a fury, part one. And thou, omatron of immortal fame, here dying, to the shore hast left thy name. Kejita still the place is called from thee, the nurse of great Aeneas infancy. Here rest thy bones in rich Hesperia's plains, thy name. Tizala ghost can have remains. Now when the prince her funeral rites had paid, he plowed the tyrene seas with sails displayed. From land a gentle breeze arose by night, serenely shown the stars, the moon was bright, and the sea trembled with her silver light. Now near the shelves of Cersei's shores they run. Cersei the rich, the daughter of the sun. A dangerous coast, the goddess wastes her days, enjoy as songs the rocks resound her lays. In spinning are the loom she spins the night, and cedar brands supply her father's light. From hints were heard rebellowing to the main the roars of lions that refuse the chain, the grunts of bristled boars, the groans of bears, and herds of howling wolves that stun the sailor's ears. These from their caverns at the close of night fill the sad isle with horror and a fright. Darkling they mourn their fate, whom Cersei's power, that watched the moon in planetary hour, with words and wicked herbs from humankind, had altered, and in brutal shapes confined. Which monsters, lest the Trojans pious hosts should bear, or touch upon the enchanted coast, propitious Neptune steered their course by night with rising gales that sped their happy flight. Supplied with these, they skim the sounding shore, and hear the swelling surges vainly roar. Now, when the rosy mourn began to rise and waved her saffron streamer through the skies, when Thetis blushed in purple not her own, and from her face the breathing winds were blown. A sudden silence sat upon the sea, and sweeping oars with struggling urged their way. The Trojan from the main beheld a wood, which thick with shades and a brown horror stood. Betwixt the trees that Tiber took his course, with whirlpools dimpled, and with downward force that drove the sand along he took his way, and rolled his yellow billows to the sea. About him and above, and round the wood, the birds that haunt the borders of his flood, that bathed within are basked upon his side, to tuneful songs their narrow throats applied. The captain gives command, the joyful train glide through the gloomy shade, and leave the main. Now, Iratto, thy poet's mind inspire, and fill his soul with thy celestial fire. Relate what Latham was, her ancient kings, declare the past in state of things, when first the Trojan fleet Ausonius sought, and how the rivals loved, and how they fought. These are my theme, and how the war began, and how concluded by the godlike man. For I shall sing of battles, blood, and rage, which princes and their people did engage, and haughty souls that moved with mutual hate in fighting fields pursued and found their fate, that roused the tyrene realm with loud alarms, and peaceful Italy involved in arms. A larger scene of action is displayed, and rising hints a greater work is weighed. Latinus, old and mild, had long possessed the Latin scepter, and his people blessed. His father Faunus, a larynxian dame his mother, Fair Marica, was her name. But Faunus came from Pius. Pius drew his birth from Saturn, if records be true. Thus King Latinus, in the third degree, had Saturn author of his family. But his old peaceful prince, his heaven decreed, was blessed with no male issue to succeed. His sons in blooming youth were snatched by fate. One only daughter aired the royal state, fired with her love and with ambition led the neighboring prince's quarter-nuptial bed. Among the crowd, but far above the rest, young Ternus to the beautyous maid addressed. Ternus, for high descent and graceful mean, was first, and favored by the Lation Queen. With him she strove to join Lavinia's hand, but dire portents the purposed match withstand. Deep in the palace of long growth there stood a laurel's trunk, a venerable wood, where rites divine were paid, whose holy hair was kept and cut with superstitious care. This plant, Latinus, when his town he walled, then found and from the tree Larentum called. And last, in honor of his new abode, he vowed the laurel to the laurel's god. It happened once, a boating prodigy, a swarm of bees that cut the liquid sky, unknown from whence they took their airy flight, upon the topmost branch in clouds alight. There with their clasping feet together clung, and a long cluster from the laurel hung. An ancient auger, prophesied from hints, Behold, on Lation shores a foreign prince, from the same parts of heaven his navy stands, to the same parts on earth his army lands, the town he conquers, and the tower commands. Yet more, when fair Lavinia fed the fire before the gods, and stood beside her sire, strange to relate, the flames, involved in smoke of incense from the sacred altar broke, caught her dishevelled hair and rich attire, her crown and jewels crackled in the fire. From fence the fuming trail began to spread, in lambent glories danced about her head. This new portent, the seer with wonder views, then pausing thus his prophecy renews. The nymph, who scatters flaming fires around, shall shine with honor, shall herself be crowned. But, caused by her irrevocable fate, war, shall the country waste and change the state. Latinus, frighted with his dire ostent, for counsel to his father Faunus went, and sought the shades renowned for prophecy, which near Albunia's sulphurous fountain lie. To these, the lace in the Sabine land fly, when distressed, and thence relief demand. The priest, on skins of offerings, takes his ease, and nightly visions in his slumber seize. A swarm of thin, aerial shapes appears, and fluttering round his temples defs his ears. These he consults, and the future fates to know, from powers above and from the fiends below. Here, for the God's advice, Latinus flies, offering a hundred sheep for sacrifice. Their woolly fleeces, as the rites required, he laid beneath him, and to rest retired. No sooner were his eyes in slumber bound, when from above a more than mortal sound invades his ears, and thus the vision spoke, Seek not my seed in Lation bands to yoke, our fair Lavinia, nor the God's provoke. A foreign sun upon thy shore descends, whose martial fame from pole to pole extends. His race in arms, and arts of peace renowned, not Lation shall contain, nor Europe bound. Tis theirs, what ere the sun surveys around. These answers, in the silent night received, the king himself divulged, the land believed. The fame through all the neighboring nations flew, when now the Trojan Navy was in view. Beneath a shady tree, the hero spread his table on the turf. With cakes of bread and with his chiefs on forest fruits he fed. They sate, and a knot without the God's command. Their homely fare dispatched, the hungry band invade their trenchers next, and soon devour to mend the scanty meal their cakes of flour. Ascanius thus observed, and smiling said, See, we devour the plates on which we fed. The speech had omen, that the Trojan race should find repose in this the time and place. Aeneus took the word, and thus replies, Confessing fate with wonder in his eyes. All hail, O earth, all hail, my household gods, Behold the destined place of your abodes, For thus Ancaici's prophesied of old, In this our fatal place of rest foretold, When, on a foreign shore instead of meat, By famine forced, your trenchers shall you eat. Then ease your weary Trojans, will attend, And the long labours of your voyage end. Remember, on that happy coast to build, And with a trench in close the fruitful field. This was that famine, this the fatal place Which ends the wandering of our exiled race. Then on tomorrow's dawn your care employ, To search the land in where the cities lie, And what the men but give this day to joy. Now pour to Jove, and after Jove is blessed, Call great Ancaici's to the genial feast, Crown high the goblets with a cheerful draft, Enjoy the present hour, adjourn the future thought. Thus, having said, the hero bound his brows, With leafy branches then performed his vows, Adoring first the genius of the place, Then earth the mother of the heavenly race. The nymphs and native godheads Yet unknown in night, And all the stars that gild her sable throne. The ancient Sibel, an Idean Jove, And last his sire below, and mother queen above, Then Heaven's high monarch thundered thrice aloud, And thrice he shook aloft a golden cloud. Soon, through the joyful camp of rumor flew, The time was come, their city to renew. Then every brow with cheerful green is crowned, The feasts are doubled, And the bowls go round. When next the rosy morn disclose the day, The scouts to several parts divide their way, To learn the native's names, Their towns explore, the coasts and trendings of the crooked shore. Here Tiber flows, and here Numicus stands. Here warlike latins hold the happy lands, The pious chief, who sought by peaceful ways to found his empire, And his town to raise a hundred youths From all his trains selects, And to the Lation court their course directs. The spacious palace where their Prince resides, And all their heads with wreaths of olive hides, They go commissioned to require peace, And carry presence to procure access. Thus, while they speed their pace, The Prince designs his new elected seat, And draws the lines. The Trojans round the place a Rampire cast in palisades about the trenches placed. Meantime, the train, proceeding on their way, From the far-the-town and lofty tower's survey, At length approached the walls. Without the gate they see the boys in Lation youth debate, The marshal prizes on the dusty plain. Some drive the cars, and some the coarsers reign. Some bend the stubborn bow for victory, And some with darts their active sinews try. A posting messenger dispatched from hints Of this fair troop advised their aged Prince, That foreign men of mighty stature came, Uncooth their habit, and unknown their name. The King ordains their entrance, And ascends his regal seat surrounded by his friends. The palace, built by Pycus, vast and proud, Supported by a hundred pillars stood, And round encompassed with a rising wood. The pile, or looked to town, And drew the sight, surprised at once With reverence and delight. There kings received the marks of sovereign power. In state the monarchs marched. The lictors bore their awful axes, And the rods before. Here the tribunal stood, the house of prayer, And here the sacred senators repair. All at large tables, in long order set, A ram their offering, and a ram their meat. Above the portal carved in cedar wood, Placed in their ranks their godlike grandsires stood, Old Saturn with his crooked scythe on high, And idleness that led the colony, And ancient Janus with his double face And a bunch of keys, the porter of the place. There Good Sabinus, planter of the vines, On a short pruning hook his head reclines, And studiously surveys his generous wines. Then warlike kings who for their country fought, And honorable wounds from battle brought. Around the posts hung helmets, darts, And spears, and captive chariots, axes, shields and bars, And broken beaks of ships, The trophies of their wars. Above the rest, his chief of all the band, Was Pycus placed, a buckler in his hand. His other waved a long, divining wand. Gert in his gaban gown, the hero's sate, Yet could not with his art avoid his fate. For Cersei Long had loved the youth in vain, Till love refused converted to disdain, Then mixing powerful herbs with magic art, She changed his form, Who could not change his heart. His constrained him in a bird, And made him fly with party-colored plumes, A chattering pie. In this high temple, on a chair of state, The seat of audience, old Latina's sate, And gave admission to the Trojan train, And thus with pleasing accents he began. Tell me, ye Trojans, for that name you own, Nor is your course upon our coasts unknown. Say what you seek, and whither were you bound? Were you by stress of weather cast aground? Such dangers as on seas are often seen, And oft befall to miserable men. Or come, your shipping in our port's delay, Spent and disabled in so long away. Say what you want, the lations you shall find, Not forced to goodness, but by will inclined. For since the time of Saturn's holy reign, His hospitable customs we retain, I call to mind. But time the tale has worn, The Oronky told that, Dardanus, though born on Lachon plains, Yet sought the Phrygian shore, And Samosratia, Samos called before. From Tuscan Coritum he claimed his birth, But after, when exempt from mortal earth, From thence ascended to his kindred skies, A god, and as a god, Augments their sacrifice. He said, Ileonius made this reply, O king of Faunus royal family, Nor wintry winds to Lachon forced our way, Nor did the stars our wandering course betray. Willing we sought your shores, And hitherbound the port so long desired, At length we found. From our sweet homes and ancient realms expelled, Great is the greatest that the sun beheld. The god began our line who rules above, And as our race our king descends from Jove, And hither are we come by his command To crave admission in your happy land. How dire a tempest from Mycenae poured, Our plains, our temples, and our town devoured. What was the waste of war? What fierce alarms shook Asia's crown with European arms? Even such have heard, if such there be, Whose earth is bounded by the frozen sea, And such is born beneath the burning sky and sultry sun, Betwixt the tropics lie. From that dire deluge, through the watery waste, Such length of years, Such various perils past it last escaped, To Lachon we repair, to beg what you, Without your want may spare. The common water, and the common air, Sheds, which ourselves will build, And mean abodes fit to receive and serve Our banished gods. Nor our admission shall your realm disgrace, Nor length of time our gratitude efface. Besides what endless honor you shall gain To save in sheltered troys, unhappy train, Now by My sovereign and his fate I swear, Renowned for faith in peace, for force in war, Offed our alliance other lands desired, And what we seek of you, of us required. Despite not then that in our hands we bear These holy bowels, sue with words of prayer, Fate in the gods by their supreme command Have doomed our ships to seek the Lachon land, To these abodes are fleet Apollo's sins. Here Dardanus was born in hither-tins, Where Tuscan Tyber rolls with rapid force, And where Numicus opes his holy source. Besides, our prince presents with his request Some small remains of what his sire possessed. This golden charger, Snatched from burning Troy, and Caesces did in sacrifice employ. This royal robe, and this tiara-war, old priam, And this golden scepter bore, In full assemblies, and in solemn games, These purple vests were weaved by Dardan Dames. Thus, while he spoke, Latinus rolled around his eyes, And fixed a while upon the ground, intent he seemed, and anxious in his breast, Not by the scepter moved or kingly vest, But pondering future things of wondrous weight. Succession, empire, and his daughter's fate. On these he mused within his thoughtful mind, And then revolved what Faunus had divined. This was the foreign prince, by fate decreed, To share his scepter and Lavinia's bed. This was the race that sure portents for shoe To sway the world in land and sea subdued. At length he raised his cheerful head and spoke. The powers, said he, the powers we both invoke To you and yours, and mine, Propitious be, and firm our purpose with their augury. Have what you ask, your presence I receive. Land, where and when you please, with ample leave. Partake and use my kingdom as your own. All shall be yours while I command the crown. And if my wished alliance please your king, Tell him he should not sin the peace but bring. Then let him not a friend's embraces fear. The peace is made when I behold him here. Besides this answer tell my royal guest, I add to his commands my own request. One only daughter airs my crown and state, Whom not our oracles, nor heaven, nor fate, nor frequent prodigies permit to join with any native of the Alsonian line. A foreign son-in-law shall come from far, such as our doom, A chief renowned in war, whose race shall barrel off the nation name, And through the conquered world diffuse our fame. Himself to be the man the fates require, I, firmly judge, and what I judge, desire. He said, and then on each bestowed a steed, Three hundred horses in high stables fed, stood ready, shining all, and smoothly dressed. Of these he chose the fairest and the best to mount the Trojan troop. At his command the steeds comparison'd with purple stand, With golden trappings glorious to behold, And champ betwixt their teeth the foaming gold. Then to his absent guest the king decreed a pair of corsers born of heavenly breed, Who from their nostrils breath'd ethereal fire, Whom Cersei stole from her celestial sire. By substituting mares produced on earth, Whose wombs conceived a more than mortal birth, These draw the chariot which Latinus sends, And the rich present to the prince commends, Sublime on stately steeds the Trojans born, To their expecting lord with peace return. But jealous Juno from Pachina's height, As she from Argus took her airy flight, Beheld with envious eyes this hateful sight, She saw the Trojan and his joyful train Descend upon the shore, Dessert the main, Design a town and with unhoped success The ambassadors return with promised peace. Then pierced with pain she shook her haughty head, Side from her inward soul, and thus she said, Oh, hated offspring of my frigid foes, Oh, fates of Troi which Juno's fates oppose, Could they not fall unpitied on the plain, But slain revive and take and escape again? When excruble Troi and Ashes lay through fires and swords and seas, They forced their way. Then vanquished Juno must in vain contend, Her rage disarmed, her empire at an end. Breathless and tired is all my fury spent, Or does my glutted spleen at length relent? As if to word little from their town to chase, I, through the seas, pursued their exiled race, Engaged the heavens, Opposed the stormy main, But billows roared in tempest-raged in vain. What if my sillage and my surty's done, When these they overpass, In those they shun? On Tybur's shores they land, secure of fate, Triumphant were the storms in Juno's hate. Mars could in mutual blood the centaur's bathe, And Jove himself gave way to Cynthia's wrath, Who sent the Tuskegee-Boar to Caledon. What great offense had either people done? But I, consort of the Thunderer, Have waged a long and unsuccessful war, With various arts and arms in vain have toiled, And by a mortal man at length and foiled. If native power prevailed not, Shall I doubt to seek for needful sucker from without? If Jove and heaven my just desires deny, Hell shall the power of heaven and Jove supply. Grant that the fates have firmed by their decree the Trojan race to reign in Italy. At least I can defer the nuptial day, And with protracted wars the peace delay, With blood the dear alliance shall be bought In both the people near destruction brought. So shall the son-in-law and father join With ruin, war, and waste of either line. O fatal maid, thy marriage is endowed With frigid relation and retulian blood. Belona leads thee to thy lover's hand. Another queen brings forth another brand. To burn with foreign fires another land. A second Paris, differing but in name, Shall fire his country with a second flame. Thus, having said, she sinks beneath the ground with furious haste and shoots The Stygian sound to rouse Olecto from the infernal seat of her dire sisters and their dark retreat. This fury fit for her intent she chose, One who delights in wars and human woes. Even Pluto hates his own misshapen race. Her sister fury's fly her hideous face. So frightful are the forms the monster takes, So fierce the hissings of her speckled snakes. Her Juno finds, and thus inflames her spite. Oh virgin daughter of eternal night, Give me this once thy labor to sustain My right, and execute my just disdain. Let not the Trojans with a feigned pretense Of proffered peace delude the laceen prince. Expel from Italy that odious name, And let not Juno's suffer in her fame. Tis thine to ruin realms, or turn a state Betwixt the dearest friends to raise debate, And kindle kindred blood to mutual hate. Thy hand, or towns the funeral torch displays, And forms a thousand ills, ten thousand ways. Now shake, out thy fruitful breast, The seeds of envy discord and of cruel deeds, Confound the peace established, And prepare their souls to hatred, And their hands to war. Smeared as she was with black Gorgonian blood, The fury sprang above the Stygian flood, And on her wicker wings sublime through night, She to the laceen palace took her flight. There sought the queen's apartment, Stood before the peaceful threshold, And besieged the door. Restless Amata lay, Her swelling breast fired with disdain, For Ternus dispossessed, And the new nuptials of the Trojan guest. From her black bloody locks the fury shakes her darling plague, The favorite of her snakes. With her full force, She threw the poisonous dart and fixed it deep Within Amata's heart, That thus in venomed she might kindle rage, And sacrifice to strife her house husband's age. Unseen unfelt the fiery serpent's skims, Betwixt her linen and her naked limbs, His baleful breath inspiring as he glides, Now like a chain around her neck he rides, Now like a fillet to her head repairs, And with his circling volumes folds her hairs. At first the silent venom slid with ease, And seized her cooler senses by degrees. Then ere the infected mass was fired too far, In plaintive accents she began the war. And thus bespoke her husband. Shell, she said, a wandering prince in joy, Lavinia's bed, If nature plead not in a parent's heart, Pity my tears and pity her dessert. I know, my dearest lord, the time will come, You in vain reverse your cruel doom. The faithless pirate soon will set to see, And bear the royal virgin far away. A guest like him, a Trojan guest before, In shoe of friendship sought the Spartan shore In ravaged Helen from her husband Boar. Think on a king's inviolable word, And think on Ternus, her once plighted lord. To this false foreigner you give your throne, And wrong a friend, a kinsman and a son. Resume your ancient care, And if the god your sire and you resolve on foreign blood, Know all are foreign, in a larger sense, Not borne your subjects or derived from hints. Then, if the line of Ternus you retrace, He springs from Inicus of Argyve race. But when she saw her reasons idly spent, And could not move him from his fixed intent, She flew to rage, for now the snake possessed her vital parts, And poisoned all her breast. She raves, she runs with a distracted pace, In fills with horrid howls, the public place. And as young striplings whip the top for sport, On the smooth pavement of an empty court, The wooden engine flies and whorls about, Admired with clamors of the beardless rout, They lash aloud, each other they provoke, And lend their little souls at every stroke. Thus fares the queen, And thus her fury blows amidst the crowd, And kindles as she goes. Nor yet content she strains her malice more, And adds new ills to those contrived before. She flies the town, and mixing with a throng Of matting matrons, bears the bride along, Wandering through the woods and wiles, And devious ways, And with these arts the Trojan match delays. She feigned the rites of Bacchus, cried aloud, And to the buxom god the virgin vowed, Evoy obacus, thus began the song, And evoy answered all the female throng, O virgin, worthy thee alone, she cried, O worthy thee alone, the crew replied, For thee she feeds her hair, She leaves thy dance, and with thy winding ivy Reaves her lance, like fury sees the rest. The progress known, all seek the mountains, And forsake the town, All clad in skins of beasts, the javelin bear, Give to the wanton winds their flowing hair, And shrieks and shouting's rend the suffering air. The queen herself inspired with rage divine, Shooked high up of her head a flaming pine. Then rolled her haggard eyes around the throng, And sung an internist's name, the nuptial song, E-O-E-Lation-Dames, if any here, Hold your unhappy queen amata dear, If there be here, she said, Who dare maintain my right, Nor think the name of Mother Vane, Unbind your fillets loose, Your flowing hair in orgies and nocturnal rites prepare.