Virgil's Æneid.
Book VI
translated by John
Dryden.
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of Contents
THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE
AENEIS
THE ARGUMENT.-- The Sibyl
foretells
AEneas the adventures he should meet with in Italy. She attends him to
hell; describing to him the various scenes of that place, and
conducting
him to his father Anchises, who instructs him
in those sublime mysteries of the soul of the world, and the
transmigration;
and shews him that glorious race of heroes which was to descend from
him,
and his posterity.
HE
said, and wept; then spread his sails before
The winds, and reach'd at
length
the Cumaean shore:
Their anchors dropp'd, his
crew
the vessels moor.
They turn their heads to
sea, their
sterns to land,
And greet with greedy joy
th' 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 thro' valleys the
discover'd
floods.
Thus, while their sev'ral
charges
they fulfil,
The pious prince ascends
the sacred
hill
Where Phoebus is ador'd;
and seeks
the shade
Which hides from sight his
venerable
maid.
Deep in a cave the Sibyl
makes abode;
Thence full of fate
returns, and
of the god.
Thro' Trivia's grove they
walk;
and now behold,
And enter now, the temple
roof'd
with gold.
When Daedalus, to fly the
Cretan
shore,
His heavy limbs on jointed
pinions
bore,
(The first who sail'd in
air,) 't
is sung by Fame,
To the Cumaean coast at
length he
came,
And here alighting, built
this costly
frame.
Inscrib'd to Phoebus, here
he hung
on high
The steerage of his wings,
that
cut the sky:
Then o'er the lofty gate
his art
emboss'd
Androgeos' death, and
off'rings
to his ghost;
Sev'n youths from Athens
yearly
sent, to meet
The fate appointed by
revengeful
Crete.
And next to those the
dreadful urn
was plac'd,
In which the destin'd
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
grav'd 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
clew;
Till the kind artist,
mov'd with
pious grief,
Lent to the loving maid
this last
relief,
And all those erring paths
describ'd
so well
That Theseus conquer'd and
the monster
fell.
Here hapless Icarus had
found his
part,
Had not the father's grief
restrain'd
his art.
He twice assay'd to cast
his son
in gold;
Twice from his hands he
dropp'd
the forming mold.
All this with
wond'ring eyes
AEneas view'd;
Each varying object his
delight
renew'd:
Eager to read the
rest--Achates
came,
And by his side the mad
divining
dame,
The priestess of the god,
Deiphobe
her name.
"Time suffers not," she
said, "to
feed your eyes
With empty pleasures;
haste the
sacrifice.
Sev'n bullocks, yet
unyok'd, for
Phoebus choose,
And for Diana sev'n
unspotted ewes."
This said, the servants
urge the
sacred rites,
While to the temple she
the prince
invites.
A spacious cave, within
its farmost
part,
Was hew'd and fashion'd by
laborious
art
Thro' the hill's hollow
sides: before
the place,
A hundred doors a hundred
entries
grace;
As many voices issue, and
the sound
Of Sybil's words as many
times rebound.
Now to the mouth they
come. Aloud
she cries:
"This is the time; enquire
your
destinies.
He comes; behold the god!"
Thus
while she said,
(And shiv'ring at the
sacred entry
stay'd,)
Her color chang'd; her
face was
not the same,
And hollow groans from her
deep
spirit came.
Her hair stood up;
convulsive rage
possess'd
Her trembling limbs, and
heav'd
her lab'ring breast.
Greater than humankind she
seem'd
to look,
And with an accent more
than mortal
spoke.
Her staring eyes with
sparkling
fury roll;
When all the god came
rushing on
her soul.
Swiftly she turn'd, and,
foaming
as she spoke:
"Why this delay?" she
cried--"the
pow'rs invoke!
Thy pray'rs alone can open
this
abode;
Else vain are my demands,
and dumb
the god."
She said no more.
The trembling
Trojans hear,
O'erspread with a damp
sweat and
holy fear.
The prince himself, with
awful dread
possess'd,
His vows to great Apollo
thus address'd:
"Indulgent god, propitious
pow'r
to Troy,
Swift to relieve,
unwilling to destroy,
Directed by whose hand the
Dardan
dart
Pierc'd the proud
Grecian's only
mortal part:
Thus far, by fate's
decrees and
thy commands,
Thro' ambient seas and
thro' devouring
sands,
Our exil'd crew has sought
th' Ausonian
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
wand'ring
race.
Here cease, ye pow'rs, and
let your
vengeance end:
Troy is no more, and can
no more
offend.
And thou, O sacred maid,
inspir'd
to see
Th' event of things in
dark futurity;
Give me what Heav'n has
promis'd
to my fate,
To conquer and command the
Latian
state;
To fix my wand'ring gods,
and find
a place
For the long exiles of the
Trojan
race.
Then shall my grateful
hands a temple
rear
To the twin gods, with
vows and
solemn pray'r;
And annual rites, and
festivals,
and games,
Shall be perform'd to
their auspicious
names.
Nor shalt thou want thy
honors in
my land;
For there thy faithful
oracles shall
stand,
Preserv'd in shrines; and
ev'ry
sacred lay,
Which, by thy mouth,
Apollo shall
convey:
All shall be treasur'd by
a chosen
train
Of holy priests, and ever
shall
remain.
But O! commit not thy
prophetic
mind
To flitting leaves, the
sport of
ev'ry wind,
Lest they disperse in air
our empty
fate;
Write not, but, what the
pow'rs
ordain, relate."
Struggling in vain,
impatient
of her load,
And lab'ring underneath
the pond'rous
god,
The more she strove to
shake him
from her breast,
With more and far superior
force
he press'd;
Commands his entrance,
and, without
control,
Usurps her organs and
inspires her
soul.
Now, with a furious blast,
the hundred
doors
Ope of themselves; a
rushing whirlwind
roars
Within the cave, and
Sibyl's voice
restores:
"Escap'd the dangers of
the wat'ry
reign,
Yet more and greater ills
by land
remain.
The coast, so long desir'd
(nor
doubt th' event),
Thy troops shall reach,
but, having
reach'd, repent.
Wars, horrid wars, I
view--a field
of blood,
And Tiber rolling with a
purple
flood.
Simois nor Xanthus 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
shalt not
thou resort,
Driv'n to solicit aid at
ev'ry court!
The cause the same which
Ilium once
oppress'd;
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
shalt hope,
a Grecian town."
Thus, from the dark
recess,
the Sibyl spoke,
And the resisting air the
thunder
broke;
The cave rebellow'd, and
the temple
shook.
Th' ambiguous god, who
rul'd her
lab'ring breast,
In these mysterious words
his mind
express'd;
Some truths reveal'd, in
terms involv'd
the rest.
At length her fury fell,
her foaming
ceas'd,
And, ebbing in her soul,
the god
decreas'd.
Then thus the chief: "No
terror
to my view,
No frightful face of
danger can
be new.
Inur'd to suffer, and
resolv'd to
dare,
The Fates, without my
pow'r, shall
be without my care.
This let me crave, since
near your
grove the road
To hell lies open, and the
dark
abode
Which Acheron surrounds,
th' innavigable
flood;
Conduct me thro' the
regions 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
burthen
brought.
He, for my sake, the
raging ocean
tried,
And wrath of Heav'n, my
still auspicious
guide,
And bore beyond the
strength decrepid
age supplied.
Oft, since he breath'd his
last,
in dead of night
His reverend image stood
before
my sight;
Enjoin'd to seek, below,
his holy
shade;
Conducted there by your
unerring
aid.
But you, if pious minds by
pray'rs
are won,
Oblige the father, and
protect the
son.
Yours is the pow'r; nor
Proserpine
in vain
Has made you priestess of
her nightly
reign.
If Orpheus, arm'd with his
enchanting
lyre,
The ruthless king with
pity could
inspire,
And from the shades below
redeem
his wife;
If Pollux, off'ring his
alternate
life,
Could free his brother,
and can
daily go
By turns aloft, by turns
descend
below--
Why name I Theseus, or his
greater
friend,
Who trod the downward
path, and
upward could ascend?
Not less than theirs from
Jove my
lineage came;
My mother greater, my
descent the
same."
So pray'd the Trojan
prince, and,
while he pray'd,
His hand upon the holy
altar laid.
Then thus replied
the prophetess
divine:
"O goddess-born of great
Anchises'
line,
The gates of hell are open
night
and day;
Smooth the descent, and
easy is
the way:
But to return, and view
the cheerful
skies,
In this the task and
mighty labor
lies.
To few great Jupiter
imparts this
grace,
And those of shining worth
and heav'nly
race.
Betwixt those regions and
our upper
light,
Deep forests and
impenetrable night
Possess the middle space:
th' infernal
bounds
Cocytus, with his sable
waves, surrounds.
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 th'
innavigable
lake;
Receive my counsel. In the
neighb'ring
grove
There stands a tree; the
queen of
Stygian Jove
Claims it her own; thick
woods and
gloomy night
Conceal the happy plant
from human
sight.
One bough 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 Proserpine the
present
borne,
Ere leave be giv'n 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
favor'd
by thy fate,
Thou art foredoom'd 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,
Th' unworthy fate of your
unhappy
friend:
Breathless he lies; and
his unburied
ghost,
Depriv'd of fun'ral rites,
pollutes
your host.
Pay first his pious dues;
and, for
the dead,
Two sable sheep around his
hearse
be led;
Then, living turfs upon
his body
lay:
This done, securely take
the destin'd
way,
To find the regions
destitute of
day."
She said, and held
her peace.
AEneas went
Sad from the cave, and
full of discontent,
Unknowing whom the sacred
Sibyl
meant.
Achates, the companion of
his breast,
Goes grieving by his side,
with
equal cares oppress'd.
Walking, they talk'd, and
fruitlessly
divin'd
What friend the priestess
by those
words design'd.
But soon they found an
object to
deplore:
Misenus lay extended on
the shore;
Son of the God of Winds:
none so
renown'd
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 serv'd great Hector,
and was
ever near,
Not with his trumpet only,
but his
spear.
But by Pelides' arms when
Hector
fell,
He chose AEneas; and he
chose as
well.
Swoln with applause, and
aiming
still at more,
He now provokes the sea
gods from
the shore;
With envy Triton heard the
martial
sound,
And the bold champion, for
his challenge,
drown'd;
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 advanc'd
in air.
An ancient wood, fit for
the work
design'd,
(The shady covert of the
salvage
kind,)
The Trojans found: the
sounding
ax is plied;
Firs, pines, and pitch
trees, and
the tow'ring pride
Of forest ashes, feel the
fatal
stroke,
And piercing wedges cleave
the stubborn
oak.
Huge trunks of trees,
fell'd from
the steepy crown
Of the bare mountains,
roll with
ruin down.
Arm'd like the rest the
Trojan prince
appears,
And by his pious labor
urges theirs.
Thus while he
wrought, revolving
in his mind
The ways to compass what
his wish
design'd,
He cast his eyes upon the
gloomy
grove,
And then with vows
implor'd the
Queen of Love:
"O may thy pow'r,
propitious still
to me,
Conduct my steps to find
the fatal
tree,
In this deep forest; since
the Sibyl's
breath
Foretold, alas! too true,
Misenus'
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 pray'd:
"Be you my guides, with
your auspicious
aid,
And lead my footsteps,
till the
branch be found,
Whose glitt'ring shadow
gilds the
sacred ground.
And thou, great parent,
with celestial
care,
In this distress be
present to my
pray'r!'
Thus having said, he
stopp'd with
watchful sight,
Observing still the
motions of their
flight,
What course they took,
what happy
signs they shew.
They fed, and, flutt'ring,
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 wing'd their flight
aloft;
then, stooping low,
Perch'd on the double tree
that
bears the golden bough.
Thro' the green leafs the
glitt'ring
shadows glow;
As, on the sacred oak, the
wintry
mistletoe,
Where the proud mother
views her
precious brood,
And happier branches,
which she
never sow'd.
Such was the glitt'ring;
such the
ruddy rind,
And dancing leaves, that
wanton'd
in the wind.
He seiz'd the shining
bough with
griping hold,
And rent away, with ease,
the ling'ring
gold;
Then to the Sibyl's palace
bore
the prize.
Meantime the Trojan
troops, with
weeping eyes,
To dead Misenus pay his
obsequies.
First, from the ground a
lofty pile
they rear,
Of pitch trees, oaks, and
pines,
and unctuous fir:
The fabric's front with
cypress
twigs they strew,
And stick the sides with
boughs
of baleful yew.
The topmost part his
glitt'ring
arms adorn;
Warm waters, then, in
brazen caldrons
borne,
Are pour'd to wash his
body, joint
by joint,
And fragrant oils the
stiffen'd
limbs anoint.
With groans and cries
Misenus they
deplore:
Then on a bier, with
purple cover'd
o'er,
The breathless body, thus
bewail'd,
they lay,
And fire the pile, their
faces turn'd
away--
Such reverend rites their
fathers
us'd to pay.
Pure oil and incense on
the fire
they throw,
And fat of 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
inclose.
Old Corynaeus compass'd
thrice the
crew,
And dipp'd an olive branch
in holy
dew;
Which thrice he sprinkled
round,
and thrice aloud
Invok'd the dead, and then
dismiss'd
the crowd.
But good AEneas order'd on
the shore
A stately tomb, whose top
a trumpet
bore,
A soldier's fauchion, and
a seaman's
oar.
Thus was his friend
interr'd; and
deathless fame
Still to the lofty cape
consigns
his name.
These rites perform'd, the
prince,
without delay,
Hastes to the nether world
his destin'd
way.
Deep was the cave; and,
downward
as it went
From the wide mouth, a
rocky rough
descent;
And here th' access a
gloomy grove
defends,
And there th' unnavigable
lake extends,
O'er whose unhappy waters,
void
of light,
No bird presumes to steer
his airy
flight;
Such deadly stenches from
the depths
arise,
And steaming sulphur, that
infects
the skies.
From hence the Grecian
bards 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 oblation burns,
Invoking Hecate hither to
repair:
A pow'rful 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)
AEneas offers; and, by
fate's decree,
A barren heifer,
Proserpine, to
thee,
With holocausts he Pluto's
altar
fills;
Sev'n 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
glimm'ring light
advance,
Ere Hecate came. "Far
hence be souls
profane!"
The Sibyl cried, "and from
the grove
abstain!
Now, Trojan, take the way
thy fates
afford;
Assume thy courage, and
unsheathe
thy sword."
She said, and pass'd along
the gloomy
space;
The prince pursued her
steps with
equal pace.
Ye realms, yet
unreveal'd
to 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
thro' dreary
shades, that led
Along the waste dominions
of the
dead.
Thus wander travelers in
woods by
night,
By the moon's doubtful and
malignant
light,
When Jove in dusky clouds
involves
the skies,
And the faint 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 Famine's
unresisted
rage;
Here 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 Furies' 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 ev'ry
leaf are
spread.
Of various forms
unnumber'd specters
more,
Centaurs, and double
shapes, besiege
the door.
Before the passage, horrid
Hydra
stands,
And Briareus with all his
hundred
hands;
Gorgons, Geryon with his
triple
frame;
And vain Chimaera vomits
empty flame.
The chief unsheath'd his
shining
steel, prepar'd,
Tho' seiz'd with sudden
fear, to
force the guard,
Off'ring his brandish'd
weapon at
their face;
Had not the Sibyl stopp'd
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 whirl'd aloft, and in
Cocytus
lost.
There Charon stands, who
rules the
dreary coast--
A sordid god: down from
his hoary
chin
A length of beard
descends, uncomb'd,
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 look'd in years; yet in
his years
were seen
A youthful vigor and
autumnal green.
An airy crowd came rushing
where
he stood,
Which fill'd the margin of
the fatal
flood:
Husbands and wives, boys
and unmarried
maids,
And mighty heroes' more
majestic
shades,
And youths, intomb'd
before their
fathers' eyes,
With hollow groans, and
shrieks,
and feeble cries.
Thick as the leaves in
autumn strow
the woods,
Or fowls, by winter
forc'd, forsake
the floods,
And wing their hasty
flight to happier
lands;
Such, and so thick, the
shiv'ring
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
wond'ring
eyes
The tumult mix'd with
shrieks, laments,
and cries,
Ask'd of his guide, what
the rude
concourse meant;
Why to the shore the
thronging people
bent;
What forms of law among
the ghosts
were us'd;
Why some were ferried
o'er, and
some refus'd.
"Son of Anchises,
offspring
of the gods,"
The Sibyl said, "you see
the Stygian
floods,
The sacred stream which
heav'n's
imperial state
Attests in oaths, and
fears to violate.
The ghosts rejected are
th' unhappy
crew
Depriv'd of sepulchers and
fun'ral
due:
The boatman, Charon;
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 compos'd
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
repress'd,
Revolving anxious thoughts
within
his breast,
He saw his friends, who,
whelm'd
beneath the waves,
Their fun'ral honors
claim'd, and
ask'd their quiet graves.
The lost Leucaspis in the
crowd
he knew,
And the brave leader of
the Lycian
crew,
Whom, on the Tyrrhene
seas, the
tempests met;
The sailors master'd, and
the ship
o'erset.
Amidst the spirits,
Palinurus
press'd,
Yet fresh from life, a
new-admitted
guest,
Who, while he steering
view'd the
stars, and bore
His course from Afric to
the Latian
shore,
Fell headlong down. The
Trojan fix'd
his view,
And scarcely thro' the
gloom the
sullen shadow knew.
Then thus the prince:
"What envious
pow'r, O friend,
Brought your lov'd life to
this
disastrous end?
For Phoebus, ever true in
all he
said,
Has in your fate alone my
faith
betray'd.
The god foretold you
should not
die, before
You reach'd, secure from
seas, th'
Italian shore.
Is this th' unerring
pow'r?" The
ghost replied;
"Nor Phoebus flatter'd,
nor his
answers lied;
Nor envious gods have sent
me to
the deep:
But, while the stars and
course
of heav'n I keep,
My wearied eyes were
seiz'd with
fatal sleep.
I fell; and, with my
weight, the
helm constrain'd
Was drawn along, which yet
my gripe
retain'd.
Now by the winds and
raging waves
I swear,
Your safety, more than
mine, was
then my care;
Lest, of the guide bereft,
the rudder
lost,
Your ship should run
against the
rocky coast.
Three blust'ring nights,
borne by
the southern blast,
I floated, and discover'd
land at
last:
High on a mounting wave my
head
I bore,
Forcing my strength, and
gath'ring
to the shore.
Panting, but past the
danger, now
I seiz'd
The craggy cliffs, and my
tir'd
members eas'd.
While, cumber'd with my
dropping
clothes, I lay,
The cruel nation, covetous
of prey,
Stain'd with my blood th'
unhospitable
coast;
And now, by winds and
waves, my
lifeless limbs are toss'd:
Which O avert, by yon
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 wand'ring
ghost;
Or with your navy seek the
Velin
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
o'er the
Stygian lake,
Lend to this wretch your
hand, and
waft him o'er
To the sweet banks of yon
forbidden
shore."
Scarce had he said, the
prophetess
began:
"What hopes delude thee,
miserable
man?
Think'st thou, thus
unintomb'd,
to cross the floods,
To view the Furies and
infernal
gods,
And visit, without leave,
the dark
abodes?
Attend the term of long
revolving
years;
Fate, and the dooming
gods, are
deaf to tears.
This comfort of thy dire
misfortune
take:
The wrath of Heav'n,
inflicted for
thy sake,
With vengeance shall
pursue th'
inhuman coast,
Till they propitiate thy
offended
ghost,
And raise a tomb, with
vows and
solemn pray'r;
And Palinurus' name the
place shall
bear."
This calm'd his cares;
sooth'd with
his future fame,
And pleas'd to hear his
propagated
name.
Now nearer to the
Stygian
lake they draw:
Whom, from the shore, the
surly
boatman saw;
Observ'd their passage
thro' the
shady wood,
And mark'd their near
approaches
to the flood.
Then thus he call'd aloud,
inflam'd
with wrath:
"Mortal, whate'er, who
this forbidden
path
In arms presum'st to
tread, I charge
thee, stand,
And tell thy name, and
bus'ness
in the land.
Know this, the realm of
night--the
Stygian shore:
My boat conveys no living
bodies
o'er;
Nor was I pleas'd great
Theseus
once to bear,
Who forc'd a passage with
his pointed
spear,
Nor strong Alcides--men of
mighty
fame,
And from th' immortal gods
their
lineage came.
In fetters one the barking
porter
tied,
And took him trembling
from his
sov'reign's side:
Two sought by force to
seize his
beauteous bride."
To whom the Sibyl thus:
"Compose
thy mind;
Nor frauds are here
contriv'd, nor
force design'd.
Still may the dog the
wand'ring
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 Jove,
Much fam'd for arms, and
more for
filial love,
Is sent to seek his sire
in your
Elysian grove.
If neither piety, nor
Heav'n's command,
Can gain his passage to
the Stygian
strand,
This fatal present shall
prevail
at least."
Then shew'd the shining
bough, conceal'd
within her vest.
No more was needful: for
the gloomy
god
Stood mute with awe, to
see the
golden rod;
Admir'd the destin'd
off'ring to
his queen--
A venerable gift, so
rarely seen.
His fury thus appeas'd, he
puts
to land;
The ghosts 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,
Expos'd, in muddy weeds,
upon the
miry 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
arm'd his
bristling hair.
The prudent Sibyl had
before prepar'd
A sop, in honey steep'd,
to charm
the guard;
Which, mix'd with pow'rful
drugs,
she cast before
His greedy grinning jaws,
just op'd
to roar.
With three enormous mouths
he gapes;
and straight,
With hunger press'd,
devours the
pleasing bait.
Long draughts of sleep his
monstrous
limbs enslave;
He reels, and, falling,
fills the
spacious cave.
The keeper charm'd, the
chief without
delay
Pass'd on, and took th'
irremeable
way.
Before the gates, the
cries of babes
new born,
Whom fate had from their
tender
mothers torn,
Assault his ears: then
those, whom
form of laws
Condemn'd to die, when
traitors
judg'd their cause.
Nor want they lots, nor
judges to
review
The wrongful sentence, and
award
a new.
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'd
their fate.
With late repentance now
they would
retrieve
The bodies they forsook,
and wish
to live;
Their pains and poverty
desire to
bear,
To view the light of
heav'n, and
breathe the vital air:
But fate forbids; the
Stygian floods
oppose,
And with nine circling
streams the
captive souls inclose.
Not far from
thence, the
Mournful Fields appear
So call'd 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
unextinguish'd
fire.
Here Procris, Eriphyle
here he found,
Baring her breast, yet
bleeding
with the wound
Made by her son. He saw
Pasiphae
there,
With Phaedra's ghost, a
foul incestuous
pair.
There Laodamia, with
Evadne, moves,
Unhappy both, but loyal in
their
loves:
Caeneus, a woman once, and
once
a man,
But ending in the sex she
first
began.
Not far from these
Phoenician Dido
stood,
Fresh from her wound, her
bosom
bath'd in blood;
Whom when the Trojan hero
hardly
knew,
obscure in shades, and
with a doubtful
view,
(Doubtful as he who sees,
thro'
dusky night,
Or thinks he sees, the
moon's uncertain
light,)
With tears he first
approach'd the
sullen shade;
And, as his love inspir'd
him, thus
he said:
"Unhappy queen! then is
the common
breath
Of rumor true, in your
reported
death,
And I, alas! the cause? By
Heav'n,
I vow,
And all the pow'rs that
rule the
realms below,
Unwilling I forsook your
friendly
state,
Commanded by the gods, and
forc'd
by fate--
Those gods, that fate,
whose unresisted
might
Have sent me to these
regions void
of light,
Thro' the vast empire of
eternal
night.
Nor dar'd I to presume,
that, press'd
with grief,
My flight should urge you
to this
dire relief.
Stay, stay your steps, and
listen
to my vows:
'T is the last interview
that fate
allows!"
In vain he thus attempts
her mind
to move
With tears, and pray'rs,
and late-repenting
love.
Disdainfully she look'd;
then turning
round,
But fix'd her eyes unmov'd
upon
the ground,
And what he says and
swears, regards
no more
Than the deaf rocks, when
the loud
billows roar;
But whirl'd away, to shun
his hateful
sight,
Hid in the forest and the
shades
of night;
Then sought Sichaeus thro'
the shady
grove,
Who answer'd all her
cares, and
equal'd all her love.
Some pious tears
the pitying
hero paid,
And follow'd with his eyes
the flitting
shade,
Then took the forward way,
by fate
ordain'd,
And, with his guide, the
farther
fields attain'd,
Where, sever'd from the
rest, the
warrior souls remain'd.
Tydeus he met, with
Meleager's race,
The pride of armies, and
the soldiers'
grace;
And pale Adrastus with his
ghastly
face.
Of Trojan chiefs he view'd
a num'rous
train,
All much lamented, all in
battle
slain;
Glaucus and Medon, high
above the
rest,
Antenor's sons, and Ceres'
sacred
priest.
And proud Idaeus, Priam's
charioteer,
Who shakes his empty
reins, and
aims his airy spear.
The gladsome ghosts, in
circling
troops, attend
And with unwearied eyes
behold their
friend;
Delight to hover near, and
long
to know
What bus'ness brought him
to the
realms below.
But Argive chiefs, and
Agamemnon's
train,
When his refulgent arms
flash'd
thro' the shady plain,
Fled from his well-known
face, with
wonted fear,
As when his thund'ring
sword and
pointed spear
Drove headlong to their
ships, and
glean'd the routed rear.
They rais'd a feeble cry,
with trembling
notes;
But the weak voice
deceiv'd their
gasping throats.
Here Priam's son,
Deiphobus,
he found,
Whose face and limbs were
one continued
wound:
Dishonest, with lopp'd
arms, the
youth appears,
Spoil'd of his nose, and
shorten'd
of his ears.
He scarcely knew him,
striving to
disown
His blotted form, and
blushing to
be known;
And therefore first began:
"O Teucer's
race,
Who durst thy faultless
figure thus
deface?
What heart could wish,
what hand
inflict, this dire disgrace?
'Twas fam'd, that in our
last and
fatal night
Your single prowess long
sustain'd
the fight,
Till tir'd, not forc'd, a
glorious
fate you chose,
And fell upon a heap of
slaughter'd
foes.
But, in remembrance of so
brave
a deed,
A tomb and fun'ral honors
I decreed;
Thrice call'd your manes
on the
Trojan plains:
The place your armor and
your name
retains.
Your body too I sought,
and, had
I found,
Design'd for burial in
your native
ground."
The ghost replied:
"Your
piety has paid
All needful rites, to rest
my wand'ring
shade;
But cruel fate, and my
more cruel
wife,
To Grecian swords betray'd
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
pass'd
The night that was by
Heav'n decreed
our last:
For, when the fatal horse,
descending
down,
Pregnant with arms,
o'erwhelm'd
th' unhappy town
She feign'd nocturnal
orgies; left
my bed,
And, mix'd with Trojan
dames, the
dances led;
Then, waving high her
torch, the
signal made,
Which rous'd the Grecians
from their
ambuscade.
With watching overworn,
with cares
oppress'd,
Unhappy I had laid me down
to rest,
And heavy sleep my weary
limbs possess'd.
Meantime my worthy wife
our arms
mislaid,
And from beneath my head
my sword
convey'd;
The door unlatch'd, and,
with repeated
calls,
Invites her former lord
within my
walls.
Thus in her crime her
confidence
she plac'd,
And with new treasons
would redeem
the past.
What need I more? Into the
room
they ran,
And meanly murther'd a
defenseless
man.
Ulysses, basely born,
first led
the way.
Avenging pow'rs! 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:
Driv'n by the winds and
errors of
the sea,
Or did you Heav'n's
superior doom
obey?
Or tell what other chance
conducts
your way,
To view with mortal eyes
our dark
retreats,
Tumults and torments of
th' infernal
seats."
While thus in talk
the flying
hours they pass,
The sun had finish'd more
than half
his race:
And they, perhaps, in
words and
tears had spent
The little time of stay
which Heav'n
had lent;
But thus the Sibyl chides
their
long delay:
"Night rushes down, and
headlong
drives the day:
'T is here, in different
paths,
the way divides;
The right to Pluto's
golden palace
guides;
The left to that unhappy
region
tends,
Which to the depth of
Tartarus descends;
The seat of night
profound, and
punish'd fiends."
Then thus Deiphobus: "O
sacred maid,
Forbear to chide, and be
your will
obey'd!
Lo! to the secret shadows
I retire,
To pay my penance till my
years
expire.
Proceed, auspicious
prince, with
glory crown'd,
And born to better fates
than I
have found."
He said; and, while he
said, his
steps he turn'd
To secret shadows, and in
silence
mourn'd.
The hero, looking
on the
left, espied
A lofty tow'r, and strong
on ev'ry
side
With treble walls, which
Phlegethon
surrounds,
Whose fiery flood the
burning empire
bounds;
And, press'd betwixt the
rocks,
the bellowing noise resounds.
Wide is the fronting gate,
and,
rais'd on high
With adamantine columns,
threats
the sky.
Vain is the force of man,
and Heav'n's
as vain,
To crush the pillars which
the pile
sustain.
Sublime on these a tow'r
of steel
is rear'd;
And dire Tisiphone there
keeps the
ward,
Girt in her sanguine gown,
by night
and day,
Observant of the souls
that pass
the downward way.
From hence are heard the
groans
of ghosts, the pains
Of sounding lashes and of
dragging
chains.
The Trojan stood
astonish'd at their
cries,
And ask'd his guide from
whence
those yells arise;
And 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 Hecate, when she gave
to rule
the woods,
Then led me trembling
thro' these
dire abodes,
And taught the tortures of
th' avenging
gods.
These are the realms of
unrelenting
fate;
And awful Rhadamanthus
rules the
state.
He hears and judges each
committed
crime;
Enquires into the manner,
place,
and time.
The conscious wretch must
all his
acts reveal,
(Loth 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
th' 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,
Here, sing'd with
lightning, roll
within th' unfathom'd space.
Here lie th' Alaean twins,
(I saw
them both,)
Enormous bodies, of
gigantic growth,
Who dar'd in fight the
Thund'rer
to defy,
Affect his heav'n, and
force him
from the sky.
Salmoneus, suff'ring cruel
pains,
I found,
For emulating Jove; the
rattling
sound
Of mimic thunder, and the
glitt'ring
blaze
Of pointed lightnings, and
their
forky rays.
Thro' Elis and the Grecian
towns
he flew;
Th' audacious wretch four
fiery
coursers drew:
He wav'd a torch aloft,
and, madly
vain,
Sought godlike worship
from a servile
train.
Ambitious fool! with horny
hoofs
to pass
O'er hollow arches of
resounding
brass,
To rival thunder in its
rapid course,
And imitate inimitable
force!
But he, the King of
Heav'n, obscure
on high,
Bar'd his red arm, and,
launching
from the sky
His writhen bolt, not
shaking empty
smoke,
Down to the deep abyss the
flaming
felon strook.
There Tityus was to see,
who took
his birth
From heav'n, his nursing
from the
foodful earth.
Here his gigantic limbs,
with large
embrace,
Infold nine acres of
infernal space.
A rav'nous vulture, in his
open'd
side,
Her crooked beak and cruel
talons
tried;
Still for the growing
liver digg'd
his breast;
The growing liver still
supplied
the feast;
Still are his entrails
fruitful
to their pains:
Th' immortal hunger lasts,
th' immortal
food remains.
Ixion and Perithous I
could name,
And more Thessalian chiefs
of mighty
fame.
High o'er their heads a
mold'ring
rock is plac'd,
That promises a fall, and
shakes
at ev'ry blast.
They lie below, on golden
beds display'd;
And genial feasts with
regal pomp
are made.
The Queen of Furies by
their sides
is set,
And snatches from their
mouths th'
untasted meat,
Which if they touch, her
hissing
snakes she rears,
Tossing her torch, and
thund'ring
in their ears.
Then they, who brothers'
better
claim disown,
Expel their parents, and
usurp the
throne;
Defraud their clients,
and, to lucre
sold,
Sit brooding on
unprofitable gold;
Who dare not give, and
ev'n refuse
to lend
To their poor kindred, or
a wanting
friend.
Vast is the throng of
these; nor
less the train
Of lustful youths, for
foul adult'ry
slain:
Hosts of deserters, who
their honor
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
farther
seek to know
Their process, or the
forms of law
below.
Some roll a weighty stone;
some,
laid along,
And bound with burning
wires, on
spokes of wheels are hung.
Unhappy Theseus, doom'd
for ever
there,
Is fix'd by fate on his
eternal
chair;
And wretched Phlegyas
warns the
world with cries
(Could warning make the
world more
just or wise):
'Learn righteousness, and
dread
th' avenging deities.'
To tyrants others have
their country
sold,
Imposing foreign lords,
for foreign
gold;
Some have old laws
repeal'd, new
statutes made,
Not as the people pleas'd,
but as
they paid;
With incest some their
daughters'
bed profan'd:
All dar'd the worst of
ills, and,
what they dar'd, attain'd.
Had I a hundred mouths, a
hundred
tongues,
And throats of brass,
inspir'd 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 labor'd by the
Cyclops'
hands.
Before our farther way the
Fates
allow,
Here must we fix on high
the golden
bough."
She said: and thro'
the gloomy
shades they pass'd,
And chose the middle path.
Arriv'd
at last,
The prince with living
water sprinkled
o'er
His limbs and body; then
approach'd
the door,
Possess'd the porch, and
on the
front above
He fix'd the fatal bough
requir'd
by Pluto's love.
These holy rites
perform'd, they
took their way
Where long extended plains
of pleasure
lay:
The verdant fields with
those of
heav'n may vie,
With ether vested, and a
purple
sky;
The blissful seats of
happy souls
below.
Stars of their own, and
their own
suns, they know;
Their airy limbs in sports
they
exercise,
And on the green contend
the wrestler's
prize.
Some in heroic verse
divinely sing;
Others in artful measures
lead the
ring.
The Thracian bard,
surrounded by
the rest,
There stands conspicuous
in his
flowing vest;
His flying fingers, and
harmonious
quill,
Strikes sev'n
distinguish'd notes,
and sev'n at once they fill.
Here found they Teucer's
old heroic
race,
Born better times and
happier years
to grace.
Assaracus and Ilus here
enjoy
Perpetual fame, with him
who founded
Troy.
The chief beheld their
chariots
from afar,
Their shining arms, and
coursers
train'd to war:
Their lances fix'd in
earth, their
steeds around,
Free from their harness,
graze the
flow'ry ground.
The love of horses which
they had,
alive,
And care of chariots,
after death
survive.
Some cheerful souls were
feasting
on the plain;
Some did the song, and
some the
choir maintain,
Beneath a laurel shade,
where mighty
Po
Mounts up to woods above,
and hides
his head below.
Here patriots live, who,
for their
country's good,
In fighting fields, were
prodigal
of blood:
Priests of unblemish'd
lives here
make abode,
And poets worthy their
inspiring
god;
And searching wits, of
more mechanic
parts,
Who grac'd 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 crown'd.
To these the Sibyl
thus her
speech address'd,
And first to him
surrounded by the
rest
(Tow'ring his height, and
ample
was his breast):
"Say, happy souls, divine
Musaeus,
say,
Where lives Anchises, and
where
lies our way
To find the hero, for
whose only
sake
We sought the dark abodes,
and cross'd
the bitter lake?"
To this the sacred poet
thus replied:
"In no fix'd place the
happy souls
reside.
In groves we live, and lie
on mossy
beds,
By crystal streams, that
murmur
thro' 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 mountain's
brow,
And shews them all the
shining fields
below.
They wind the hill, and
thro' the
blissful meadows go.
But old Anchises,
in a flow'ry
vale,
Review'd his muster'd
race, and
took the tale:
Those happy spirits,
which, ordain'd
by fate,
For future beings and new
bodies
wait--
With studious thought
observ'd th'
illustrious throng,
In nature's order as they
pass'd
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
gods' undoubted
race!
O long expected to my dear
embrace!
Once more 't is giv'n me
to behold
your face!
The love and pious duty
which you
pay
Have pass'd the perils of
so hard
a way.
'T is true, computing
times, I now
believ'd
The happy day approach'd;
nor are
my hopes deceiv'd.
What length of lands, what
oceans
have you pass'd;
What storms sustain'd, and
on what
shores been cast?
How have I fear'd your
fate! but
fear'd it most,
When love assail'd you, on
the Libyan
coast."
To this, the filial duty
thus replies:
"Your sacred ghost before
my sleeping
eyes
Appear'd, and often urg'd
this painful
enterprise.
After long tossing on the
Tyrrhene
sea,
My navy rides at anchor in
the bay.
But reach your hand, O
parent shade,
nor shun
The dear embraces of your
longing
son!"
He said; and falling tears
his face
bedew:
Then thrice around his
neck his
arms he threw;
And thrice the flitting
shadow slipp'd
away,
Like winds, or empty
dreams that
fly the day.
Now, in a secret
vale, the
Trojan sees
A sep'rate grove, thro'
which a
gentle breeze
Plays with a passing
breath, and
whispers thro' 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
remurmur
to the sound.
AEneas wond'ring stood,
then ask'd
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, are
other bodies ow'd:
In Lethe's lake they long
oblivion
taste,
Of future life secure,
forgetful
of the past.
Long has my soul desir'd
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 design'd."--
"O father, can it be, that
souls
sublime
Return to visit our
terrestrial
clime,
And that the gen'rous
mind, releas'd
by death,
Can covet lazy limbs and
mortal
breath?"
Anchises then, in
order,
thus begun
To clear those wonders to
his godlike
son:
"Know, first, that heav'n,
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, infus'd
thro'
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.
Th' ethereal vigor is in
all the
same,
And every soul is fill'd
with equal
flame;
As much as earthy limbs,
and gross
allay
Of mortal members, subject
to decay,
Blunt not the beams of
heav'n 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
confin'd,
Assert the native skies,
or own
its heav'nly kind:
Nor death itself can
wholly wash
their stains;
But long-contracted filth
ev'n in
the soul remains.
The relics of inveterate
vice they
wear,
And spots of sin obscene
in ev'ry
face appear.
For this are various
penances enjoin'd;
And some are hung to
bleach upon
the wind,
Some plung'd in waters,
others purg'd
in fires,
Till all the dregs are
drain'd,
and all the rust expires.
All have their manes, and
those
manes bear:
The few, so cleans'd, to
these abodes
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 past,
(So long their punishments
and penance
last,)
Whole droves of minds are,
by the
driving god,
Compell'd to drink the
deep Lethaean
flood,
In large forgetful
draughts to steep
the cares
Of their past labors, and
their
irksome years,
That, unrememb'ring of its
former
pain,
The soul may suffer mortal
flesh
again."
Thus having said,
the father
spirit leads
The priestess and his son
thro'
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, offer'd to thy view,
they pass
along.
These are th' Italian
names, which
fate will join
With ours, and graff 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:
Silvius is he, thy
last-begotten
race,
But first in order sent,
to fill
thy place;
An Alban name, but mix'd
with Dardan
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 he shall fix his
royal seat,
And, born a king, a race
of kings
beget.
Then Procas, honor of the
Trojan
name,
Capys, and Numitor, of
endless fame.
A second Silvius after
these appears;
Silvius AEneas, for thy
name he
bears;
For arms and justice
equally renown'd,
Who, late restor'd, in
Alba shall
be crown'd.
How great they look! how
vig'rously
they wield
Their weighty lances, and
sustain
the shield!
But they, who crown'd with
oaken
wreaths appear,
Shall Gabian walls and
strong Fidena
rear;
Nomentum, Bola, with
Pometia, found;
And raise Collatian tow'rs
on rocky
ground.
All these shall then be
towns of
mighty fame,
Tho' now they lie obscure,
and lands
without a name.
See Romulus the great,
born to restore
The crown that once his
injur'd
grandsire wore.
This prince a priestess of
your
blood shall bear,
And like his sire in arms
he shall
appear.
Two rising crests his
royal head
adorn;
Born from a god, himself
to godhead
born:
His sire already signs him
for the
skies,
And marks the seat amidst
the deities.
Auspicious chief! thy
race, in times
to come,
Shall spread the conquests
of imperial
Rome--
Rome, whose ascending
tow'rs shall
heav'n 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
temples
crown'd;
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 promis'd pow'r.
But next behold the youth
of form
divine,
Ceasar himself, exalted in
his line;
Augustus, promis'd oft,
and long
foretold,
Sent to the realm that
Saturn rul'd
of old;
Born to restore a better
age of
gold.
Afric and India shall his
pow'r
obey;
He shall extend his
propagated sway
Beyond the solar year,
without the
starry way,
Where Atlas turns the
rolling heav'ns
around,
And his broad shoulders
with their
lights are crown'd.
At his foreseen approach,
already
quake
The Caspian kingdoms and
Maeotian
lake:
Their seers behold the
tempest from
afar,
And threat'ning oracles
denounce
the war.
Nile hears him knocking at
his sev'nfold
gates,
And seeks his hidden
spring, and
fears his nephew's fates.
Nor Hercules more lands or
labors
knew,
Not tho' the brazen-footed
hind
he slew,
Freed Erymanthus from the
foaming
boar,
And dipp'd his arrows in
Lernaean
gore;
Nor Bacchus, turning from
his Indian
war,
By tigers drawn triumphant
in his
car,
From Nisus' top descending
on the
plains,
With curling vines around
his purple
reins.
And doubt we yet thro'
dangers to
pursue
The paths of honor, and a
crown
in view?
But what's the man, who
from afar
appears?
His head with olive
crown'd, his
hand a censer 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,
Call'd from his mean abode
a scepter
to sustain.
Him Tullus next in dignity
succeeds,
An active prince, and
prone to martial
deeds.
He shall his troops for
fighting
fields prepare,
Disus'd to toils, and
triumphs of
the war.
By dint of sword his crown
he shall
increase,
And scour his armor from
the rust
of peace.
Whom Ancus follows, with a
fawning
air,
But vain within, and
proudly popular.
Next view the Tarquin
kings, th'
avenging sword
Of Brutus, justly drawn,
and Rome
restor'd.
He first renews the rods
and ax
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 scourg'd, in
open
sight,
He dooms to death
deserv'd, asserting
public right.
Unhappy man, to break the
pious
laws
Of nature, pleading in his
children's
cause!
Howe'er the doubtful fact
is understood,
'Tis love of honor, and
his country's
good:
The consul, not the
father, sheds
the blood.
Behold Torquatus the same
track
pursue;
And, next, the two devoted
Decii
view:
The Drusian line, Camillus
loaded
home
With standards well
redeem'd, and
foreign foes o'ercome.
The pair you see in equal
armor
shine,
Now, friends below, in
close embraces
join;
But, when they leave the
shady realms
of night,
And, cloth'd 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
bear'st the
Julian name!
Another comes, who shall
in triumph
ride,
And to the Capitol his
chariot guide,
From conquer'd Corinth,
rich with
Grecian spoils.
And yet another, fam'd for
warlike
toils,
On Argos shall impose the
Roman
laws,
And on the Greeks revenge
the Trojan
cause;
Shall drag in chains their
Achillean
race;
Shall vindicate his
ancestors' disgrace,
And Pallas, for her
violated place.
Great Cato there, for
gravity renown'd,
And conqu'ring Cossus goes
with
laurels crown'd.
Who can omit the Gracchi?
who declare
The Scipios' worth, those
thunderbolts
of war,
The double bane of
Carthage? Who
can see
Without esteem for
virtuous poverty,
Severe Fabricius, or can
cease t'
admire
The plowman consul in his
coarse
attire?
Tir'd as I am, my praise
the Fabii
claim;
And thou, great hero,
greatest of
thy name,
Ordain'd in war to save
the sinking
state,
And, by delays, to put a
stop to
fate!
Let others better mold 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, Rome, 't is thine
alone, with
awful sway,
To rule mankind, and make
the world
obey,
Disposing peace and war by
thy own
majestic way;
To tame the proud, the
fetter'd
slave to free:
These are imperial arts,
and worthy
thee."
He paus'd; and,
while with
wond'ring eyes they view'd
The passing spirits, thus
his speech
renew'd:
"See great Marcellus! how,
untir'd
in toils,
He moves with manly grace,
how rich
with regal spoils!
He, when his country,
threaten'd
with alarms,
Requires his courage and
his conqu'ring
arms,
Shall more than once the
Punic bands
affright;
Shall kill the Gaulish
king in single
fight;
Then to the Capitol in
triumph move,
And the third spoils shall
grace
Feretrian Jove."
AEneas here beheld, of
form divine,
A godlike youth in
glitt'ring armor
shine,
With great Marcellus
keeping equal
pace;
But gloomy were his eyes,
dejected
was his face.
He saw, and, wond'ring,
ask'd his
airy guide,
What and of whence was he,
who press'd
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 hov'ring 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
snatch'd away.
The gods too high had
rais'd the
Roman state,
Were but their gifts as
permanent
as great.
What groans of men shall
fill the
Martian field!
How fierce a blaze his
flaming pile
shall yield!
What fun'ral pomp shall
floating
Tiber see,
When, rising from his bed,
he views
the sad solemnity!
No youth shall equal hopes
of glory
give,
No youth afford so great a
cause
to grieve;
The Trojan honor, and the
Roman
boast,
Admir'd when living, and
ador'd
when lost!
Mirror of ancient faith in
early
youth!
Undaunted worth,
inviolable truth!
No foe, unpunish'd, 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
thro' fate's
severe decree,
A new Marcellus shall
arise in thee!
Full canisters of fragrant
lilies
bring,
Mix'd with the purple
roses of the
spring;
Let me with fun'ral
flow'rs his
body strow;
This gift which parents to
their
children owe,
This unavailing gift, at
least,
I may bestow!"
Thus having said, he led
the hero
round
The confines of the blest
Elysian
ground;
Which when Anchises to his
son had
shown,
And fir'd his mind to
mount the
promis'd throne,
He tells the future wars,
ordain'd
by fate;
The strength and customs
of the
Latian state;
The prince, and people;
and forearms
his care
With rules, to push his
fortune,
or to bear.
Two gates the
silent house
of Sleep adorn;
Of polish'd iv'ry this,
that of
transparent horn:
True visions thro'
transparent horn
arise;
Thro' polish'd iv'ry pass
deluding
lies.
Of various things
discoursing as
he pass'd,
Anchises hither bends his
steps
at last.
Then, thro' the gate of
iv'ry, he
dismiss'd
His valiant offspring and
divining
guest.
Straight to the ships
AEneas took
his way,
Embark'd his men, and
skimm'd along
the sea,
Still coasting, till he
gain'd Cajeta's
bay.
At length on oozy ground
his galleys
moor;
Their heads are turn'd to
sea, their
sterns to shore.
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