Virgil's Æneid.
Book V
translated by John
Dryden.
Return to Table
of Contents
THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE
AENEIS
THE ARGUMENT.-- AEneas,
setting
sail from Afric, is driven by a storm on the coasts of Sicily, where he
is hospitably receiv'd by his friend Acestes, king of part of the
island,
and born of Trojan parentage. He applies himself to
celebrate the memory of his father with divine honors, and accordingly
institutes funeral games, and appoints prizes for those who should
conquer
in them. While the ceremonies were performing, Juno sends Iris to
persuade
the Trojan women to burn the ships, who, upon her instigation, set fire
to them; which burnt four, and would have consum'd the rest, had not
Jupiter,
by a miraculous shower, extinguish'd it. Upon this, AEneas, by the
advice
of one of his generals, and a vision of his father, builds a city for
the
women, old men, and others, who were either unfit for war, or weary of
the voyage, and sails for Italy. Venus procures of Neptune a safe
voyage
for him and all his men, excepting only his pilot Palinurus, who is
unfortunately
lost.
MEANTIME
the Trojan cuts his wat'ry way,
Fix'd on his voyage, thro'
the curling
sea;
Then, casting back his
eyes, with
dire amaze,
Sees on the Punic shore
the mounting
blaze.
The cause unknown; yet his
presaging
mind
The fate of Dido from the
fire divin'd;
He knew the stormy souls
of womankind,
What secret springs their
eager
passions move,
How capable of death for
injur'd
love.
Dire auguries from hence
the Trojans
draw;
Till neither fires nor
shining shores
they saw.
Now seas and skies their
prospect
only bound;
An empty space above, a
floating
field around.
But soon the heav'ns with
shadows
were o'erspread;
A swelling cloud hung
hov'ring o'er
their head:
Livid it look'd, the
threat'ning
of a storm:
Then night and horror
ocean's face
deform.
The pilot, Palinurus,
cried aloud:
"What gusts of weather
from that
gath'ring cloud
My thoughts presage! Ere
yet the
tempest roars,
Stand to your tackle,
mates, and
stretch your oars;
Contract your swelling
sails, and
luff to wind."
The frighted crew perform
the task
assign'd.
Then, to his fearless
chief: "Not
Heav'n," said he,
"Tho' Jove himself should
promise
Italy,
Can stem the torrent of
this raging
sea.
Mark how the shifting
winds from
west arise,
And what collected night
involves
the skies!
Nor can our shaken vessels
live
at sea,
Much less against the
tempest force
their way.
'T is fate diverts our
course, and
fate we must obey.
Not far from hence, if I
observ'd
aright
The southing of the stars,
and polar
light,
Sicilia lies, whose
hospitable shores
In safety we may reach
with struggling
oars."
AEneas then replied: "Too
sure I
find
We strive in vain against
the seas
and wind:
Now shift your sails; what
place
can please me more
Than what you promise, the
Sicilian
shore,
Whose hallow'd earth
Anchises' bones
contains,
And where a prince of
Trojan lineage
reigns?"
The course resolv'd,
before the
western wind
They scud amain, and make
the port
assign'd.
Meantime Acestes,
from a
lofty stand,
Beheld the fleet
descending on the
land;
And, not unmindful of his
ancient
race,
Down from the cliff he ran
with
eager pace,
And held the hero in a
strict embrace.
Of a rough Libyan bear the
spoils
he wore,
And either hand a pointed
jav'lin
bore.
His mother was a dame of
Dardan
blood;
His sire Crinisus, a
Sicilian flood.
He welcomes his returning
friends
ashore
With plenteous country
cates and
homely store.
Now, when the
following morn
had chas'd away
The flying stars, and
light restor'd
the day,
AEneas call'd the Trojan
troops
around,
And thus bespoke them from
a rising
ground:
"Offspring of heav'n,
divine Dardanian
race!
The sun, revolving thro'
th' ethereal
space,
The shining circle of the
year has
fill'd,
Since first this isle my
father's
ashes held:
And now the rising day
renews the
year;
A day for ever sad, for
ever dear.
This would I celebrate
with annual
games,
With gifts on altars
pil'd, and
holy flames,
Tho' banish'd to
Gaetulia's barren
sands,
Caught on the Grecian
seas, or hostile
lands:
But since this happy storm
our fleet
has driv'n
(Not, as I deem, without
the will
of Heav'n)
Upon these friendly shores
and flow'ry
plains,
Which hide Anchises and
his blest
remains,
Let us with joy perform
his honors
due,
And pray for prosp'rous
winds, our
voyage to renew;
Pray, that in towns and
temples
of our own,
The name of great Anchises
may be
known,
And yearly games may
spread the
gods' renown.
Our sports Acestes, of the
Trojan
race,
With royal gifts ordain'd,
is pleas'd
to grace:
Two steers on ev'ry ship
the king
bestows;
His gods and ours shall
share your
equal vows.
Besides, if, nine days
hence, the
rosy morn
Shall with unclouded light
the skies
adorn,
That day with solemn
sports I mean
to grace:
Light galleys on the seas
shall
run a wat'ry race;
Some shall in swiftness
for the
goal contend,
And others try the
twanging bow
to bend;
The strong, with iron
gauntlets
arm'd, shall stand
Oppos'd in combat on the
yellow
sand.
Let all be present at the
games
prepar'd,
And joyful victors wait
the just
reward.
But now assist the rites,
with garlands
crown'd."
He said, and first his
brows with
myrtle bound.
Then Helymus, by his
example led,
And old Acestes, each
adorn'd his
head;
Thus young Ascanius, with
a sprightly
grace,
His temples tied, and all
the Trojan
race.
AEneas then
advanc'd amidst
the train,
By thousands follow'd
thro' the
flow'ry plain,
To great Anchises' tomb;
which when
he found,
He pour'd to Bacchus, on
the hallow'd
ground,
Two bowls of sparkling
wine, of
milk two more,
And two (from offer'd
bulls) of
purple gore,
With roses then the
sepulcher he
strow'd
And thus his father's
ghost bespoke
aloud:
"Hail, O ye holy manes!
hail again,
Paternal ashes, now
review'd in
vain!
The gods permitted not,
that you,
with me,
Should reach the promis'd
shores
of Italy,
Or Tiber's flood, what
flood soe'er
it be."
Scarce had he finish'd,
when, with
speckled pride,
A serpent from the tomb
began to
glide;
His hugy bulk on sev'n
high volumes
roll'd;
Blue was his breadth of
back, but
streak'd with scaly gold:
Thus riding on his curls,
he seem'd
to pass
A rolling fire along, and
singe
the grass.
More various colors thro'
his body
run,
Than Iris when her bow
imbibes the
sun.
Betwixt the rising altars,
and around,
The sacred monster shot
along the
ground;
With harmless play amidst
the bowls
he pass'd,
And with his lolling
tongue assay'd
the taste:
Thus fed with holy food,
the wondrous
guest
Within the hollow tomb
retir'd to
rest.
The pious prince,
surpris'd at what
he view'd,
The fun'ral honors with
more zeal
renew'd,
Doubtful if this place's
genius
were,
Or guardian of his
father's sepulcher.
Five sheep, according to
the rites,
he slew;
As many swine, and steers
of sable
hue;
New gen'rous wine he from
the goblets
pour'd.
And call'd his father's
ghost, from
hell restor'd.
The glad attendants in
long order
come,
Off'ring their gifts at
great Anchises'
tomb:
Some add more oxen; some
divide
the spoil;
Some place the chargers on
the grassy
soil;
Some blow the fires, and
offer'd
entrails broil.
Now came the day
desir'd.
The skies were bright
With rosy luster of the
rising light:
The bord'ring people,
rous'd by
sounding fame
Of Trojan feasts and great
Acestes'
name,
The crowded shore with
acclamations
fill,
Part to behold, and part
to prove
their skill.
And first the gifts in
public view
they place,
Green laurel wreaths, and
palm,
the victors' grace:
Within the circle, arms
and tripods
lie,
Ingots of gold and silver,
heap'd
on high,
And vests embroider'd, of
the Tyrian
dye.
The trumpet's clangor then
the feast
proclaims,
And all prepare for their
appointed
games.
Four galleys first, which
equal
rowers bear,
Advancing, in the wat'ry
lists appear.
The speedy Dolphin, that
outstrips
the wind,
Bore Mnestheus, author of
the Memmian
kind:
Gyas the vast Chimaera's
bulk commands,
Which rising, like a
tow'ring city
stands;
Three Trojans tug at ev'ry
lab'ring
oar;
Three banks in three
degrees the
sailors bore;
Beneath their sturdy
strokes the
billows roar.
Sergesthus, who began the
Sergian
race,
In the great Centaur took
the leading
place;
Cloanthus on the sea-green
Scylla
stood,
From whom Cluentius draws
his Trojan
blood.
Far in the sea,
against the
foaming shore,
There stands a rock: the
raging
billows roar
Above his head in storms;
but, when
't is clear,
Uncurl their ridgy backs,
and at
his foot appear.
In peace below the gentle
waters
run;
The cormorants above lie
basking
in the sun.
On this the hero fix'd an
oak in
sight,
The mark to guide the
mariners aright.
To bear with this, the
seamen stretch
their oars;
Then round the rock they
steer,
and seek the former shores.
The lots decide their
place. Above
the rest,
Each leader shining in his
Tyrian
vest;
The common crew with
wreaths of
poplar boughs
Their temples crown, and
shade their
sweaty brows:
Besmear'd with oil, their
naked
shoulders shine.
All take their seats, and
wait the
sounding sign:
They gripe their oars; and
ev'ry
panting breast
Is rais'd by turns with
hope, by
turns with fear depress'd.
The clangor of the trumpet
gives
the sign;
At once they start,
advancing in
a line:
With shouts the sailors
rend the
starry skies;
Lash'd with their oars,
the smoky
billows rise;
Sparkles the briny main,
and the
vex'd ocean fries.
Exact in time, with equal
strokes
they row:
At once the brushing oars
and brazen
prow
Dash up the sandy waves,
and ope
the depths below.
Not fiery coursers, in a
chariot
race,
Invade the field with half
so swift
a pace;
Not the fierce driver with
more
fury lends
The sounding lash, and,
ere the
stroke descends,
Low to the wheels his
pliant body
bends.
The partial crowd their
hopes and
fears divide,
And aid with eager shouts
the favor'd
side.
Cries, murmurs, clamors,
with a
mixing sound,
From woods to woods, from
hills
to hills rebound.
Amidst the loud
applauses
of the shore,
Gyas outstripp'd the rest,
and sprung
before:
Cloanthus, better mann'd,
pursued
him fast,
But his o'er-masted galley
check'd
his haste.
The Centaur and the
Dolphin brush
the brine
With equal oars, advancing
in a
line;
And now the mighty Centaur
seems
to lead,
And now the speedy Dolphin
gets
ahead;
Now board to board the
rival vessels
row,
The billows lave the
skies, and
ocean groans below.
They reach'd the mark.
Proud Gyas
and his train
In triumph rode, the
victors of
the main;
But, steering round, he
charg'd
his pilot stand
More close to shore, and
skim along
the sand--
"Let others bear to sea!"
Menoetes
heard;
But secret shelves too
cautiously
he fear'd,
And, fearing, sought the
deep; and
still aloof he steer'd.
With louder cries the
captain call'd
again:
"Bear to the rocky shore,
and shun
the main."
He spoke, and, speaking,
at his
stern he saw
The bold Cloanthus near
the shelvings
draw.
Betwixt the mark and him
the Scylla
stood,
And in a closer compass
plow'd the
flood.
He pass'd the mark; and,
wheeling,
got before:
Gyas blasphem'd the gods,
devoutly
swore,
Cried out for anger, and
his hair
he tore.
Mindless of others' lives
(so high
was grown
His rising rage) and
careless of
his own,
The trembling dotard to
the deck
he drew;
Then hoisted up, and
overboard he
threw:
This done, he seiz'd the
helm; his
fellows cheer'd,
Turn'd short upon the
shelfs, and
madly steer'd.
Hardly his head the
plunging
pilot rears,
Clogg'd with his clothes,
and cumber'd
with his years:
Now dropping wet, he
climbs the
cliff with pain.
The crowd, that saw him
fall and
float again,
Shout from the distant
shore; and
loudly laugh'd,
To see his heaving breast
disgorge
the briny draught.
The following Centaur, and
the Dolphin's
crew,
Their vanish'd hopes of
victory
renew;
While Gyas lags, they
kindle in
the race,
To reach the mark.
Sergesthus takes
the place;
Mnestheus pursues; and
while around
they wind,
Comes up, not half his
galley's
length behind;
Then, on the deck, amidst
his mates
appear'd,
And thus their drooping
courage
he cheer'd:
"My friends, and Hector's
followers
heretofore,
Exert your vigor; tug the
lab'ring
oar;
Stretch to your strokes,
my still
unconquer'd crew,
Whom from the flaming
walls of Troy
I drew.
In this, our common
int'rest, let
me find
That strength of hand,
that courage
of the mind,
As when you stemm'd the
strong Malean
flood,
And o'er the Syrtes'
broken billows
row'd.
I seek not now the
foremost palm
to gain;
Tho' yet--but ah! that
haughty wish
is vain!
Let those enjoy it whom
the gods
ordain.
But to be last, the lags
of all
the race!--
Redeem yourselves and me
from that
disgrace."
Now, one and all, they tug
amain;
they row
At the full stretch, and
shake the
brazen prow.
The sea beneath 'em sinks;
their
lab'ring sides
Are swell'd, and sweat
runs gutt'ring
down in tides.
Chance aids their daring
with unhop'd
success;
Sergesthus, eager with his
beak
to press
Betwixt the rival galley
and the
rock,
Shuts up th' unwieldly
Centaur in
the lock.
The vessel struck; and,
with the
dreadful shock,
Her oars she shiver'd, and
her head
she broke.
The trembling rowers from
their
banks arise,
And, anxious for
themselves, renounce
the prize.
With iron poles they heave
her off
the shores,
And gather from the sea
their floating
oars.
The crew of Mnestheus,
with elated
minds,
Urge their success, and
call the
willing winds;
Then ply their oars, and
cut their
liquid way
In larger compass on the
roomy sea.
As, when the dove her
rocky hold
forsakes,
Rous'd in a fright, her
sounding
wings she shakes;
The cavern rings with
clatt'ring;
out she flies,
And leaves her callow
care, and
cleaves the skies:
At first she flutters; but
at length
she springs
To smoother flight, and
shoots upon
her wings:
So Mnestheus in the
Dolphin cuts
the sea;
And, flying with a force,
that force
assists his way.
Sergesthus in the Centaur
soon he
pass'd,
Wedg'd in the rocky
shoals, and
sticking fast.
In vain the victor he with
cries
implores,
And practices to row with
shatter'd
oars.
Then Mnestheus bears with
Gyas,
and outflies:
The ship, without a pilot,
yields
the prize.
Unvanquish'd Scylla now
alone remains;
Her he pursues, and all
his vigor
strains.
Shouts from the fav'ring
multitude
arise;
Applauding Echo to the
shouts replies;
Shouts, wishes, and
applause run
rattling thro' the skies.
These clamors with disdain
the Scylla
heard,
Much grudg'd the praise,
but more
the robb'd reward:
Resolv'd to hold their
own, they
mend their pace,
All obstinate to die, or
gain the
race.
Rais'd with success, the
Dolphin
swiftly ran;
For they can conquer, who
believe
they can.
Both urge their oars, and
fortune
both supplies,
And both perhaps had
shar'd an equal
prize;
When to the seas Cloanthus
holds
his hands,
And succor from the wat'ry
pow'rs
demands:
"Gods of the liquid
realms, on which
I row!
If, giv'n by you, the
laurel bind
my brow,
Assist to make me guilty
of my vow!
A snow-white bull shall on
your
shore be slain;
His offer'd entrails cast
into the
main,
And ruddy wine, from
golden goblets
thrown,
Your grateful gift and my
return
shall own."
The choir of nymphs, and
Phorcus,
from below,
With virgin Panopea, heard
his vow;
And old Portunus, with his
breadth
of hand,
Push'd on, and sped the
galley to
the land.
Swift as a shaft, or
winged wind,
she flies,
And, darting to the port,
obtains
the prize.
The herald summons
all, and
then proclaims
Cloanthus conqu'ror of the
naval
games.
The prince with laurel
crowns the
victor's head,
And three fat steers are
to his
vessel led,
The ship's reward; with
gen'rous
wine beside,
And sums of silver, which
the crew
divide.
The leaders are
distinguish'd from
the rest;
The victor honor'd with a
nobler
vest,
Where gold and purple
strive in
equal rows,
And needlework its happy
cost bestows.
There Ganymede is wrought
with living
art,
Chasing thro' Ida's groves
the trembling
hart:
Breathless he seems, yet
eager to
pursue;
When from aloft descends,
in open
view,
The bird of Jove, and,
sousing on
his prey,
With crooked talons bears
the boy
away.
In vain, with lifted hands
and gazing
eyes,
His guards behold him
soaring thro'
the skies,
And dogs pursue his flight
with
imitated cries.
Mnestheus the
second victor
was declar'd;
And, summon'd there, the
second
prize he shar'd.
A coat of mail, which
brave Demoleus
bore,
More brave AEneas from his
shoulders
tore,
In single combat on the
Trojan shore:
This was ordain'd for
Mnestheus
to possess;
In war for his defense,
for ornament
in peace.
Rich was the gift, and
glorious
to behold,
But yet so pond'rous with
its plates
of gold,
That scarce two servants
could the
weight sustain;
Yet, loaded thus, Demoleus
o'er
the plain
Pursued and lightly seiz'd
the Trojan
train.
The third, succeeding to
the last
reward,
Two goodly bowls of massy
silver
shar'd,
With figures prominent,
and richly
wrought,
And two brass caldrons
from Dodona
brought.
Thus all, rewarded
by the
hero's hands,
Their conqu'ring temples
bound with
purple bands;
And now Sergesthus,
clearing from
the rock,
Brought back his galley
shatter'd
with the shock.
Forlorn she look'd,
without an aiding
oar,
And, houted by the vulgar,
made
to shore.
As when a snake, surpris'd
upon
the road,
Is crush'd athwart her
body by the
load
Of heavy wheels; or with a
mortal
wound
Her belly bruis'd, and
trodden to
the ground:
In vain, with loosen'd
curls, she
crawls along;
Yet, fierce above, she
brandishes
her tongue;
Glares with her eyes, and
bristles
with her scales;
But, groveling in the
dust, her
parts unsound she trails:
So slowly to the port the
Centaur
tends,
But, what she wants in
oars, with
sails amends.
Yet, for his galley sav'd,
the grateful
prince
Is pleas'd th' unhappy
chief to
recompense.
Pholoe, the Cretan slave,
rewards
his care,
Beauteous herself, with
lovely twins
as fair.
From thence his way
the Trojan
hero bent
Into the neighb'ring
plain, with
mountains pent,
Whose sides were shaded
with surrounding
wood.
Full in the midst of this
fair valley
stood
A native theater, which,
rising
slow
By just degrees,
o'erlook'd the
ground below.
High on a sylvan throne
the leader
sate;
A num'rous train attend in
solemn
state.
Here those that in the
rapid course
delight,
Desire of honor and the
prize invite.
The rival runners without
order
stand;
The Trojans mix'd with the
Sicilian
band.
First Nisus, with
Euryalus, appears;
Euryalus a boy of blooming
years,
With sprightly grace and
equal beauty
crown'd;
Nisus, for friendship to
the youth
renown'd.
Diores next, of Priam's
royal race,
Then Salius joined with
Patron,
took their place;
(But Patron in Arcadia had
his birth,
And Salius his from
Arcananian earth;)
Then two Sicilian
youths--the names
of these,
Swift Helymus, and lovely
Panopes:
Both jolly huntsmen, both
in forest
bred,
And owning old Acestes for
their
head;
With sev'ral others of
ignobler
name,
Whom time has not
deliver'd o'er
to fame.
To these the hero
thus his
thoughts explain'd,
In words which gen'ral
approbation
gain'd:
"One common largess is for
all design'd,
(The vanquish'd and the
victor shall
be join'd,)
Two darts of polish'd
steel and
Gnosian wood,
A silver-studded ax, alike
bestow'd.
The foremost three have
olive wreaths
decreed:
The first of these obtains
a stately
steed,
Adorn'd with trappings;
and the
next in fame,
The quiver of an Amazonian
dame,
With feather'd Thracian
arrows well
supplied:
A golden belt shall gird
his manly
side,
Which with a sparkling
diamond shall
be tied.
The third this Grecian
helmet shall
content."
He said. To their
appointed base
they went;
With beating hearts th'
expected
sign receive,
And, starting all at once,
the barrier
leave.
Spread out, as on the
winged winds,
they flew,
And seiz'd the distant
goal with
greedy view.
Shot from the crowd, swift
Nisus
all o'erpass'd;
Nor storms, nor thunder,
equal half
his haste.
The next, but tho' the
next, yet
far disjoin'd,
Came Salius, and Euryalus
behind;
Then Helymus, whom young
Diores
plied,
Step after step, and
almost side
by side,
His shoulders pressing;
and, in
longer space,
Had won, or left at least
a dubious
race.
Now, spent, the
goal they
almost reach at last,
When eager Nisus, hapless
in his
haste,
Slipp'd first, and,
slipping, fell
upon the plain,
Soak'd with the blood of
oxen newly
slain.
The careless victor had
not mark'd
his way;
But, treading where the
treach'rous
puddle lay,
His heels flew up; and on
the grassy
floor
He fell, besmear'd with
filth and
holy gore.
Not mindless then,
Euryalus, of
thee,
Nor of the sacred bonds of
amity,
He strove th' immediate
rival's
hope to cross,
And caught the foot of
Salius as
he rose.
So Salius lay extended on
the plain;
Euryalus springs out, the
prize
to gain,
And leaves the crowd:
applauding
peals attend
The victor to the goal,
who vanquish'd
by his friend.
Next Helymus; and then
Diores came,
By two misfortunes made
the third
in fame.
But Salius enters,
and, exclaiming
loud
For justice, deafens and
disturbs
the crowd;
Urges his cause may in the
court
be heard;
And pleads the prize is
wrongfully
conferr'd.
But favor for Euryalus
appears;
His blooming beauty, with
his tender
tears,
Had brib'd the judges for
the promis'd
prize.
Besides, Diores fills the
court
with cries,
Who vainly reaches at the
last reward,
If the first palm on
Salius be conferr'd.
Then thus the prince: "Let
no disputes
arise:
Where fortune plac'd it, I
award
the prize.
But fortune's errors give
me leave
to mend,
At least to pity my
deserving friend."
He said, and, from among
the spoils,
he draws
(Pond'rous with shaggy
mane and
golden paws)
A lion's hide: to Salius
this he
gives.
Nisus with envy sees the
gift, and
grieves.
"If such rewards to
vanquish'd men
are due."
He said, "and falling is
to rise
by you,
What prize may Nisus from
your bounty
claim,
Who merited the first
rewards and
fame?
In falling, both an equal
fortune
tried;
Would fortune for my fall
so well
provide!"
With this he pointed to
his face,
and show'd
His hand and all his habit
smear'd
with blood.
Th' indulgent father of
the people
smil'd,
And caus'd to be produc'd
an ample
shield,
Of wondrous art, by
Didymaon wrought,
Long since from Neptune's
bars in
triumph brought.
This giv'n to Nisus, he
divides
the rest,
And equal Justice in his
gifts express'd.
The race thus
ended, and
rewards bestow'd,
Once more the prince
bespeaks th'
attentive crowd:
"If there be here whose
dauntless
courage dare
In gauntlet-fight, with
limbs and
body bare,
His opposite sustain in
open view,
Stand forth the champion,
and the
games renew.
Two prizes I propose, and
thus divide:
A bull with gilded horns,
and fillets
tied,
Shall be the portion of
the conqu'ring
chief;
A sword and helm shall
cheer the
loser's grief."
Then haughty Dares
in the
lists appears;
Stalking he strides, his
head erected
bears:
His nervous arms the
weighty gauntlet
wield,
And loud applauses echo
thro' the
field.
Dares alone in combat us'd
to stand
The match of mighty Paris,
hand
to hand;
The same, at Hector's
fun'rals,
undertook
Gigantic Butes, of th'
Amycian stock,
And, by the stroke of his
resistless
hand,
Stretch'd the vast bulk
upon the
yellow sand.
Such Dares was; and such
he strode
along,
And drew the wonder of the
gazing
throng.
His brawny back and ample
breast
he shows,
His lifted arms around his
head
he throws,
And deals in whistling air
his empty
blows.
His match is sought; but,
thro'
the trembling band,
Not one dares answer to
the proud
demand.
Presuming of his force,
with sparkling
eyes
Already he devours the
promis'd
prize.
He claims the bull with
awless insolence,
And having seiz'd his
horns, accosts
the prince:
"If none my matchless
valor dares
oppose,
How long shall Dares wait
his dastard
foes?
Permit me, chief, permit
without
delay,
To lead this uncontended
gift away."
The crowd assents, and
with redoubled
cries
For the proud challenger
demands
the prize.
Acestes, fir'd with
just
disdain, to see
The palm usurp'd without a
victory,
Reproach'd Entellus thus,
who sate
beside,
And heard and saw,
unmov'd, the
Trojan's pride:
"Once, but in vain, a
champion of
renown,
So tamely can you bear the
ravish'd
crown,
A prize in triumph borne
before
your sight,
And shun, for fear, the
danger of
the fight?
Where is our Eryx now, the
boasted
name,
The god who taught your
thund'ring
arm the game?
Where now your baffled
honor? Where
the spoil
That fill'd your house,
and fame
that fill'd our isle?"
Entellus, thus: "My soul
is still
the same,
Unmov'd with fear, and
mov'd with
martial fame;
But my chill blood is
curdled in
my veins,
And scarce the shadow of a
man remains.
O could I turn to that
fair prime
again,
That prime of which this
boaster
is so vain,
The brave, who this
decrepid age
defies,
Should feel my force,
without the
promis'd prize."
He said; and,
rising at the
word, he threw
Two pond'rous gauntlets
down in
open view;
Gauntlets which Eryx wont
in fight
to wield,
And sheathe his hands with
in the
listed field.
With fear and wonder
seiz'd, the
crowd beholds
The gloves of death, with
sev'n
distinguish'd folds
Of tough bull hides; the
space within
is spread
With iron, or with loads
of heavy
lead:
Dares himself was daunted
at the
sight,
Renounc'd his challenge,
and refus'd
to fight.
Astonish'd at their
weight, the
hero stands,
And pois'd the pond'rous
engines
in his hands.
"What had your wonder,"
said Entellus,
"been,
Had you the gauntlets of
Alcides
seen,
Or view'd the stern debate
on this
unhappy green!
These which I bear your
brother
Eryx bore,
Still mark'd with batter'd
brains
and mingled gore.
With these he long
sustain'd th'
Herculean arm;
And these I wielded while
my blood
was warm,
This languish'd frame
while better
spirits fed,
Ere age unstrung my
nerves, or time
o'ersnow'd my head.
But if the challenger
these arms
refuse,
And cannot wield their
weight, or
dare not use;
If great AEneas and
Acestes join
In his request, these
gauntlets
I resign;
Let us with equal arms
perform the
fight,
And let him leave to fear,
since
I resign my right."
This said, Entellus
for the
strife prepares;
Stripp'd of his quilted
coat, his
body bares;
Compos'd of mighty bones
and brawn
he stands,
A goodly tow'ring object
on the
sands.
Then just AEneas equal
arms supplied,
Which round their
shoulders to their
wrists they tied.
Both on the tiptoe stand,
at full
extent,
Their arms aloft, their
bodies inly
bent;
Their heads from aiming
blows they
bear afar;
With clashing gauntlets
then provoke
the war.
One on his youth and
pliant limbs
relies;
One on his sinews and his
giant
size.
The last is stiff with
age, his
motion slow;
He heaves for breath, he
staggers
to and fro,
And clouds of issuing
smoke his
nostrils loudly blow.
Yet equal in success, they
ward,
they strike;
Their ways are diff'rent,
but their
art alike.
Before, behind, the blows
are dealt;
around
Their hollow sides the
rattling
thumps resound.
A storm of strokes, well
meant,
with fury flies,
And errs about their
temples, ears,
and eyes.
Nor always errs; for oft
the gauntlet
draws
A sweeping stroke along
the crackling
jaws.
Heavy with age, Entellus
stands
his ground,
But with his warping body
wards
the wound.
His hand and watchful eye
keep even
pace;
While Dares traverses and
shifts
his place,
And, like a captain who
beleaguers
round
Some strong-built castle
on a rising
ground,
Views all th' approaches
with observing
eyes:
This and that other part
in vain
he tries,
And more on industry than
force
relies.
With hands on high,
Entellus threats
the foe;
But Dares watch'd the
motion from
below,
And slipp'd aside, and
shunn'd the
long descending blow.
Entellus wastes his forces
on the
wind,
And, thus deluded of the
stroke
design'd,
Headlong and heavy fell;
his ample
breast
And weighty limbs his
ancient mother
press'd.
So falls a hollow pine,
that long
had stood
On Ida's height, or
Erymanthus'
wood,
Torn from the roots. The
diff'ring
nations rise,
And shouts and mingled
murmurs rend
the skies,
Acestus runs with eager
haste, to
raise
The fall'n companion of
his youthful
days.
Dauntless he rose, and to
the fight
return'd;
With shame his glowing
cheeks, his
eyes with fury burn'd.
Disdain and conscious
virtue fir'd
his breast,
And with redoubled force
his foe
he press'd.
He lays on load with
either hand,
amain,
And headlong drives the
Trojan o'er
the plain;
Nor stops, nor stays; nor
rest nor
breath allows;
But storms of strokes
descend about
his brows,
A rattling tempest, and a
hail of
blows.
But now the prince, who
saw the
wild increase
Of wounds, commands the
combatants
to cease,
And bounds Entellus'
wrath, and
bids the peace.
First to the Trojan, spent
with
toil, he came,
And sooth'd his sorrow for
the suffer'd
shame.
"What fury seiz'd my
friend? The
gods," said he,
"To him propitious, and
averse to
thee,
Have giv'n his arm
superior force
to thine.
'T is madness to contend
with strength
divine."
The gauntlet fight thus
ended, from
the shore
His faithful friends
unhappy Dares
bore:
His mouth and nostrils
pour'd a
purple flood,
And pounded teeth came
rushing with
his blood.
Faintly he stagger'd thro'
the hissing
throng,
And hung his head, and
trail'd his
legs along.
The sword and casque are
carried
by his train;
But with his foe the palm
and ox
remain.
The champion, then,
before
AEneas came,
Proud of his prize, but
prouder
of his fame:
"O goddess-born, and you,
Dardanian
host,
Mark with attention, and
forgive
my boast;
Learn what I was, by what
remains;
and know
From what impending fate
you sav'd
my foe."
Sternly he spoke, and then
confronts
the bull;
And, on his ample forehead
aiming
full,
The deadly stroke,
descending, pierc'd
the skull.
Down drops the beast, nor
needs
a second wound,
But sprawls in pangs of
death, and
spurns the ground.
Then, thus: "In Dares'
stead I offer
this.
Eryx, accept a nobler
sacrifice;
Take the last gift my
wither'd arms
can yield:
Thy gauntlets I resign,
and here
renounce the field."
This done, AEneas
orders,
for the close,
The strife of archers with
contending
bows.
The mast Sergesthus'
shatter'd galley
bore
With his own hands he
raises on
the shore.
A flutt'ring dove upon the
top they
tie,
The living mark at which
their arrows
fly.
The rival archers in a
line advance,
Their turn of shooting to
receive
from chance.
A helmet holds their
names; the
lots are drawn:
On the first scroll was
read Hippocoon.
The people shout. Upon the
next
was found
Young Mnestheus, late with
naval
honors crown'd.
The third contain'd
Eurytion's noble
name,
Thy brother, Pandarus, and
next
in fame,
Whom Pallas urg'd the
treaty to
confound,
And send among the Greeks
a feather'd
wound.
Acestes in the bottom last
remain'd,
Whom not his age from
youthful sports
restrain'd.
Soon all with vigor bend
their trusty
bows,
And from the quiver each
his arrow
chose.
Hippocoon's was the first:
with
forceful sway
It flew, and, whizzing,
cut the
liquid way.
Fix'd in the mast the
feather'd
weapon stands:
The fearful pigeon
flutters in her
bands,
And the tree trembled, and
the shouting
cries
Of the pleas'd people rend
the vaulted
skies.
Then Mnestheus to the head
his arrow
drove,
With lifted eyes, and took
his aim
above,
But made a glancing shot,
and miss'd
the dove;
Yet miss'd so narrow, that
he cut
the cord
Which fasten'd by the foot
the flitting
bird.
The captive thus releas'd,
away
she flies,
And beats with clapping
wings the
yielding skies.
His bow already bent,
Eurytion stood;
And, having first invok'd
his brother
god,
His winged shaft with
eager haste
he sped.
The fatal message reach'd
her as
she fled:
She leaves her life aloft;
she strikes
the ground,
And renders back the
weapon in the
wound.
Acestes, grudging at his
lot, remains,
Without a prize to gratify
his pains.
Yet, shooting upward,
sends his
shaft, to show
An archer's art, and boast
his twanging
bow.
The feather'd arrow gave a
dire
portent,
And latter augurs judge
from this
event.
Chaf'd by the speed, it
fir'd; and,
as it flew,
A trail of following
flames ascending
drew:
Kindling they mount, and
mark the
shiny way;
Across the skies as
falling meteors
play,
And vanish into wind, or
in a blaze
decay.
The Trojans and Sicilians
wildly
stare,
And, trembling, turn their
wonder
into pray'r.
The Dardan prince put on a
smiling
face,
And strain'd Acestes with
a close
embrace;
Then, hon'ring him with
gifts above
the rest,
Turn'd the bad omen, nor
his fears
confess'd.
"The gods," said he, "this
miracle
have wrought,
And order'd you the prize
without
the lot.
Accept this goblet, rough
with figur'd
gold,
Which Thracian Cisseus
gave my sire
of old:
This pledge of ancient
amity receive,
Which to my second sire I
justly
give."
He said, and, with the
trumpets'
cheerful sound,
Proclaim'd him victor, and
with
laurel crown'd.
Nor good Eurytion envied
him the
prize,
Tho' he transfix'd the
pigeon in
the skies.
Who cut the line, with
second gifts
was grac'd;
The third was his whose
arrow pierc'd
the mast.
The chief, before
the games
were wholly done,
Call'd Periphantes, tutor
to his
son,
And whisper'd thus: "With
speed
Ascanius find;
And, if his childish troop
be ready
join'd,
On horseback let him grace
his grandsire's
day,
And lead his equals arm'd
in just
array."
He said; and, calling out,
the cirque
he clears.
The crowd withdrawn, an
open plain
appears.
And now the noble youths,
of form
divine,
Advance before their
fathers, in
a line;
The riders grace the
steeds; the
steeds with glory shine.
Thus marching on in
military
pride,
Shouts of applause resound
from
side to side.
Their casques adorn'd with
laurel
wreaths they wear,
Each brandishing aloft a
cornel
spear.
Some at their backs their
gilded
quivers bore;
Their chains of burnish'd
gold hung
down before.
Three graceful troops they
form'd
upon the green;
Three graceful leaders at
their
head were seen;
Twelve follow'd ev'ry
chief, and
left a space between.
The first young Priam led;
a lovely
boy,
Whose grandsire was th'
unhappy
king of Troy;
His race in after times
was known
to fame,
New honors adding to the
Latian
name;
And well the royal boy his
Thracian
steed became.
White were the fetlocks of
his feet
before,
And on his front a snowy
star he
bore.
Then beauteous Atys, with
Iulus
bred,
Of equal age, the second
squadron
led.
The last in order, but the
first
in place,
First in the lovely
features of
his face,
Rode fair Ascanius on a
fiery steed,
Queen Dido's gift, and of
the Tyrian
breed.
Sure coursers for the rest
the king
ordains,
With golden bits adorn'd,
and purple
reins.
The pleas'd
spectators peals
of shouts renew,
And all the parents in the
children
view;
Their make, their motions,
and their
sprightly grace,
And hopes and fears
alternate in
their face.
Th' unfledg'd
commanders
and their martial train
First make the circuit of
the sandy
plain
Around their sires, and,
at th'
appointed sign,
Drawn up in beauteous
order, form
a line.
The second signal sounds,
the troop
divides
In three distinguish'd
parts, with
three distinguish'd guides.
Again they close, and once
again
disjoin;
In troop to troop oppos'd,
and line
to line.
They meet; they wheel;
they throw
their darts afar
With harmless rage and
well-dissembled
war.
Then in a round the
mingled bodies
run:
Flying they follow, and
pursuing
shun;
Broken, they break; and,
rallying,
they renew
In other forms the
military shew.
At last, in order,
undiscern'd they
join,
And march together in a
friendly
line.
And, as the Cretan
labyrinth of
old,
With wand'ring ways and
many a winding
fold,
Involv'd the weary feet,
without
redress,
In a round error, which
denied recess;
So fought the Trojan boys
in warlike
play,
Turn'd and return'd, and
still a
diff'rent way.
Thus dolphins in the deep
each other
chase
In circles, when they swim
around
the wat'ry race.
This game, these
carousels, Ascanius
taught;
And, building Alba, to the
Latins
brought;
Shew'd what he learn'd:
the Latin
sires impart
To their succeeding sons
the graceful
art;
From these imperial Rome
receiv'd
the game,
Which Troy, the youths the
Trojan
troop, they name.
Thus far the sacred
sports
they celebrate:
But Fortune soon resum'd
her ancient
hate;
For, while they pay the
dead his
annual dues,
Those envied rites
Saturnian Juno
views;
And sends the goddess of
the various
bow,
To try new methods of
revenge below;
Supplies the winds to wing
her airy
way,
Where in the port secure
the navy
lay.
Swiftly fair Iris down her
arch
descends,
And, undiscern'd, her
fatal voyage
ends.
She saw the gath'ring
crowd; and,
gliding thence,
The desart shore, and
fleet without
defense.
The Trojan matrons, on the
sands
alone,
With sighs and tears
Anchises' death
bemoan;
Then, turning to the sea
their weeping
eyes,
Their pity to themselves
renews
their cries.
"Alas!" said one, "what
oceans yet
remain
For us to sail! what
labors to sustain!"
All take the word, and,
with a gen'ral
groan,
Implore the gods for
peace, and
places of their own.
The goddess, great
in mischief,
views their pains,
And in a woman's form her
heav'nly
limbs restrains.
In face and shape old
Beroe she
became,
Doryclus' wife, a
venerable dame,
Once blest with riches,
and a mother's
name.
Thus chang'd, amidst the
crying
crowd she ran,
Mix'd with the matrons,
and these
words began:
"O wretched we, whom not
the Grecian
pow'r,
Nor flames, destroy'd, in
Troy's
unhappy hour!
O wretched we, reserv'd by
cruel
fate,
Beyond the ruins of the
sinking
state!
Now sev'n revolving years
are wholly
run,
Since this improsp'rous
voyage we
begun;
Since, toss'd from shores
to shores,
from lands to lands,
Inhospitable rocks and
barren sands,
Wand'ring in exile thro'
the stormy
sea,
We search in vain for
flying Italy.
Now cast by fortune on
this kindred
land,
What should our rest and
rising
walls withstand,
Or hinder here to fix our
banish'd
band?
O country lost, and gods
redeem'd
in vain,
If still in endless exile
we remain!
Shall we no more the
Trojan walls
renew,
Or streams of some
dissembled Simois
view!
Haste, join with me, th'
unhappy
fleet consume!
Cassandra bids; and I
declare her
doom.
In sleep I saw her; she
supplied
my hands
(For this I more than
dreamt) with
flaming brands:
'With these,' said she,
'these wand'ring
ships destroy:
These are your fatal
seats, and
this your Troy.'
Time calls you now; the
precious
hour employ:
Slack not the good
presage, while
Heav'n inspires
Our minds to dare, and
gives the
ready fires.
See! Neptune's altars
minister their
brands:
The god is pleas'd; the
god supplies
our hands."
Then from the pile a
flaming fire
she drew,
And, toss'd in air, amidst
the galleys
threw.
Wrapp'd in amaze,
the matrons
wildly stare:
Then Pyrgo, reverenc'd for
her hoary
hair,
Pyrgo, the nurse of
Priam's num'rous
race:
"No Beroe this, tho' she
belies
her face!
What terrors from her
frowning front
arise!
Behold a goddess in her
ardent eyes!
What rays around her
heav'nly face
are seen!
Mark her majestic voice,
and more
than mortal mien!
Beroe but now I left,
whom, pin'd
with pain,
Her age and anguish from
these rites
detain,"
She said. The matrons,
seiz'd with
new amaze,
Roll their malignant eyes,
and on
the navy gaze.
They fear, and hope, and
neither
part obey:
They hope the fated land,
but fear
the fatal way.
The goddess, having done
her task
below,
Mounts up on equal wings,
and bends
her painted bow.
Struck with the sight, and
seiz'd
with rage divine,
The matrons prosecute
their mad
design:
They shriek aloud; they
snatch,
with impious hands,
The food of altars; fires
and flaming
brands.
Green boughs and saplings,
mingled
in their haste,
And smoking torches, on
the ships
they cast.
The flame, unstopp'd at
first, more
fury gains,
And Vulcan rides at large
with loosen'd
reins:
Triumphant to the painted
sterns
he soars,
And seizes, in his way,
the banks
and crackling oars.
Eumelus was the first the
news to
bear,
While yet they crowd the
rural theater.
Then, what they hear, is
witness'd
by their eyes:
A storm of sparkles and of
flames
arise.
Ascanius took th' alarm,
while yet
he led
His early warriors on his
prancing
steed,
And, spurring on, his
equals soon
o'erpass'd;
Nor could his frighted
friends reclaim
his haste.
Soon as the royal youth
appear'd
in view,
He sent his voice before
him as
he flew:
"What madness moves you,
matrons,
to destroy
The last remainders of
unhappy Troy!
Not hostile fleets, but
your own
hopes, you burn,
And on your friends your
fatal fury
turn.
Behold your own Ascanius!"
While
he said,
He drew his glitt'ring
helmet from
his head,
In which the youths to
sportful
arms he led.
By this, AEneas and his
train appear;
And now the women, seiz'd
with shame
and fear,
Dispers'd, to woods and
caverns
take their flight,
Abhor their actions, and
avoid the
light;
Their friends acknowledge,
and their
error find,
And shake the goddess from
their
alter'd mind.
Not so the raging
fires their
fury cease,
But, lurking in the seams,
with
seeming peace,
Work on their way amid the
smold'ring
tow,
Sure in destruction, but
in motion
slow.
The silent plague thro'
the green
timber eats,
And vomits out a tardy
flame by
fits.
Down to the keels, and
upward to
the sails,
The fire descends, or
mounts, but
still prevails;
Nor buckets pour'd, nor
strength
of human hand,
Can the victorious element
withstand.
The pious hero
rends his
robe, and throws
To heav'n his hands, and
with his
hands his vows.
"O Jove," he cried, 'if
pray'rs
can yet have place;
If thou abhorr'st not all
the Dardan
race;
If any spark of pity still
remain;
If gods are gods, and not
invok'd
in vain;
Yet spare the relics of
the Trojan
train!
Yet from the flames our
burning
vessels free,
Or let thy fury fall alone
on me!
At this devoted head thy
thunder
throw,
And send the willing
sacrifice below!"
Scarce had he said,
when
southern storms arise:
From pole to pole the
forky lightning
flies;
Loud rattling shakes the
mountains
and the plain;
Heav'n bellies downward,
and descends
in rain.
Whole sheets of water from
the clouds
are sent,
Which, hissing thro' the
planks,
the flames prevent,
And stop the fiery pest.
Four ships
alone
Burn to the waist, and for
the fleet
atone.
But doubtful
thoughts the
hero's heart divide;
If he should still in
Sicily reside,
Forgetful of his fates, or
tempt
the main,
In hope the promis'd Italy
to gain.
Then Nautes, old and wise,
to whom
alone
The will of Heav'n by
Pallas was
foreshown;
Vers'd in portents,
experienc'd,
and inspir'd
To tell events, and what
the fates
requir'd;
Thus while he stood, to
neither
part inclin'd,
With cheerful words
reliev'd his
lab'ring mind:
"O goddess-born, resign'd
in ev'ry
state,
With patience bear, with
prudence
push your fate.
By suff'ring well, our
Fortune we
subdue;
Fly when she frowns, and,
when she
calls, pursue.
Your friend Acestes is of
Trojan
kind;
To him disclose the
secrets of your
mind:
Trust in his hands your
old and
useless train;
Too num'rous for the ships
which
yet remain:
The feeble, old, indulgent
of their
ease,
The dames who dread the
dangers
of the seas,
With all the dastard crew,
who dare
not stand
The shock of battle with
your foes
by land.
Here you may build a
common town
for all,
And, from Acestes' name,
Acesta
call."
The reasons, with his
friend's experience
join'd,
Encourag'd much, but more
disturb'd
his mind.
'T was dead of
night; when
to his slumb'ring eyes
His father's shade
descended from
the skies,
And thus he spoke: "O more
than
vital breath,
Lov'd while I liv'd, and
dear ev'n
after death;
O son, in various toils
and troubles
toss'd,
The King of Heav'n employs
my careful
ghost
On his commands: the god,
who sav'd
from fire
Your flaming fleet, and
heard your
just desire.
The wholesome counsel of
your friend
receive,
And here the coward train
and women
leave:
The chosen youth, and
those who
nobly dare,
Transport, to tempt the
dangers
of the war.
The stern Italians will
their courage
try;
Rough are their manners,
and their
minds are high.
But first to Pluto's
palace you
shall go,
And seek my shade among
the blest
below:
For not with impious
ghosts my soul
remains,
Nor suffers with the
damn'd perpetual
pains,
But breathes the living
air of soft
Elysian plains.
The chaste Sibylla shall
your steps
convey,
And blood of offer'd
victims free
the way.
There shall you know what
realms
the gods assign,
And learn the fates and
fortunes
of your line.
But now, farewell! I
vanish with
the night,
And feel the blast of
heav'n's approaching
light."
He said, and mix'd with
shades,
and took his airy flight.
"Whither so fast?" the
filial duty
cried;
"And why, ah why, the
wish'd embrace
denied?"
He said, and rose;
as holy
zeal inspires,
He rakes hot embers, and
renews
the fires;
His country gods and Vesta
then
adores
With cakes and incense,
and their
aid implores.
Next, for his friends and
royal
host he sent,
Reveal'd his vision, and
the gods'
intent,
With his own purpose. All,
without
delay,
The will of Jove, and his
desires
obey.
They list with women each
degenerate
name,
Who dares not hazard life
for future
fame.
These they cashier: the
brave remaining
few,
Oars, banks, and cables,
half consum'd,
renew.
The prince designs a city
with the
plow;
The lots their sev'ral
tenements
allow.
This part is nam'd from
Ilium, that
from Troy,
And the new king ascends
the throne
with joy;
A chosen senate from the
people
draws;
Appoints the judges, and
ordains
the laws.
Then, on the top of Eryx,
they begin
A rising temple to the
Paphian queen.
Anchises, last, is honor'd
as a
god;
A priest is added, annual
gifts
bestow'd,
And groves are planted
round his
blest abode.
Nine days they pass in
feasts, their
temples crown'd;
And fumes of incense in
the fanes
abound.
Then from the south arose
a gentle
breeze
That curl'd the smoothness
of the
glassy seas;
The rising winds a
ruffling gale
afford,
And call the merry
mariners aboard.
Now loud laments
along the
shores resound,
Of parting friends in
close embraces
bound.
The trembling women, the
degenerate
train,
Who shunn'd the frightful
dangers
of the main,
Ev'n those desire to sail,
and take
their share
Of the rough passage and
the promis'd
war:
Whom good AEneas cheers,
and recommends
To their new master's care
his fearful
friends.
On Eryx's altars three fat
calves
he lays;
A lamb new-fallen to the
stormy
seas;
Then slips his haulsers,
and his
anchors weighs.
High on the deck the
godlike hero
stands,
With olive crown'd, a
charger in
his hands;
Then cast the reeking
entrails in
the brine,
And pour'd the sacrifice
of purple
wine.
Fresh gales arise; with
equal strokes
they vie,
And brush the buxom seas,
and o'er
the billows fly.
Meantime the mother
goddess,
full of fears,
To Neptune thus address'd,
with
tender tears:
"The pride of Jove's
imperious queen,
the rage,
The malice which no
suff'rings can
assuage,
Compel me to these
pray'rs; since
neither fate,
Nor time, nor pity, can
remove her
hate:
Ev'n Jove is thwarted by
his haughty
wife;
Still vanquish'd, yet she
still
renews the strife.
As if 't were little to
consume
the town
Which aw'd the world, and
wore th'
imperial crown,
She prosecutes the ghost
of Troy
with pains,
And gnaws, ev'n to the
bones, the
last remains.
Let her the causes of her
hatred
tell;
But you can witness its
effects
too well.
You saw the storm she
rais'd on
Libyan floods,
That mix'd the mounting
billows
with the clouds;
When, bribing AEolus, she
shook
the main,
And mov'd rebellion in
your wat'ry
reign.
With fury she possess'd
the Dardan
dames,
To burn their fleet with
execrable
flames,
And forc'd AEneas, when
his ships
were lost,
To leave his foll'wers on
a foreign
coast.
For what remains, your
godhead I
implore,
And trust my son to your
protecting
pow'r.
If neither Jove's nor
Fate's decree
withstand,
Secure his passage to the
Latian
land."
Then thus the
mighty Ruler
of the Main:
"What may not Venus hope
from Neptune's
reign?
My kingdom claims your
birth; my
late defense
Of your indanger'd fleet
may claim
your confidence.
Nor less by land than sea
my deeds
declare
How much your lov'd AEneas
is my
care.
Thee, Xanthus, and thee,
Simois,
I attest.
Your Trojan troops when
proud Achilles
press'd,
And drove before him
headlong on
the plain,
And dash'd against the
walls the
trembling train;
When floods were fill'd
with bodies
of the slain;
When crimson Xanthus,
doubtful of
his way,
Stood up on ridges to
behold the
sea;
(New heaps came tumbling
in, and
chok'd his way;)
When your AEneas fought,
but fought
with odds
Of force unequal, and
unequal gods;
I spread a cloud before
the victor's
sight,
Sustain'd the vanquish'd,
and secur'd
his flight;
Ev'n then secur'd him,
when I sought
with joy
The vow'd destruction of
ungrateful
Troy.
My will's the same: fair
goddess,
fear no more,
Your fleet shall safely
gain the
Latian shore;
Their lives are giv'n; one
destin'd
head alone
Shall perish, and for
multitudes
atone."
Thus having arm'd with
hopes her
anxious mind,
His finny team Saturnian
Neptune
join'd,
Then adds the foamy bridle
to their
jaws,
And to the loosen'd reins
permits
the laws.
High on the waves his
azure car
he guides;
Its axles thunder, and the
sea subsides,
And the smooth ocean rolls
her silent
tides.
The tempests fly before
their father's
face,
Trains of inferior gods
his triumph
grace,
And monster whales before
their
master play,
And choirs of Tritons
crowd the
wat'ry way.
The marshal'd pow'rs in
equal troops
divide
To right and left; the
gods his
better side
Inclose, and on the worse
the Nymphs
and Nereids ride.
Now smiling hope,
with sweet
vicissitude,
Within the hero's mind his
joys
renew'd.
He calls to raise the
masts, the
sheets display;
The cheerful crew with
diligence
obey;
They scud before the wind,
and sail
in open sea.
Ahead of all the master
pilot steers;
And, as he leads, the
following
navy veers.
The steeds of Night had
travel'd
half the sky,
The drowsy rowers on their
benches
lie,
When the soft God of
Sleep, with
easy flight,
Descends, and draws behind
a trail
of light.
Thou, Palinurus, art his
destin'd
prey;
To thee alone he takes his
fatal
way.
Dire dreams to thee, and
iron sleep,
he bears;
And, lighting on thy prow,
the form
of Phorbas wears.
Then thus the traitor god
began
his tale:
"The winds, my friend,
inspire a
pleasing gale;
The ships, without thy
care, securely
sail.
Now steal an hour of sweet
repose;
and I
Will take the rudder and
thy room
supply."
To whom the yawning pilot,
half
asleep:
"Me dost thou bid to trust
the treach'rous
deep,
The harlot smiles of her
dissembling
face,
And to her faith commit
the Trojan
race?
Shall I believe the Siren
South
again,
And, oft betray'd, not
know the
monster main?"
He said: his fasten'd
hands the
rudder keep,
And, fix'd on heav'n, his
eyes repel
invading sleep.
The god was wroth, and at
his temples
threw
A branch in Lethe dipp'd,
and drunk
with Stygian dew:
The pilot, vanquish'd by
the pow'r
divine,
Soon clos'd his swimming
eyes, and
lay supine.
Scarce were his limbs
extended at
their length,
The god, insulting with
superior
strength,
Fell heavy on him, plung'd
him in
the sea,
And, with the stern, the
rudder
tore away.
Headlong he fell, and,
struggling
in the main,
Cried out for helping
hands, but
cried in vain.
The victor daemon mounts
obscure
in air,
While the ship sails
without the
pilot's care.
On Neptune's faith the
floating
fleet relies;
But what the man forsook,
the god
supplies,
And o'er the dang'rous
deep secure
the navy flies;
Glides by the Sirens'
cliffs, a
shelfy coast,
Long infamous for ships
and sailors
lost,
And white with bones. Th'
impetuous
ocean roars,
And rocks rebellow from
the sounding
shores.
The watchful hero felt the
knocks,
and found
The tossing vessel sail'd
on shoaly
ground.
Sure of his pilot's loss,
he takes
himself
The helm, and steers
aloof, and
shuns the shelf.
Inly he griev'd, and,
groaning from
the breast,
Deplor'd his death; and
thus his
pain express'd:
"For faith repos'd on
seas, and
on the flatt'ring sky,
Thy naked corpse is doom'd
on shores
unknown to lie."
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