“Tremefacta novus per pectora” “trembling hearts of us all”

“et scelus expendisse merentem

Laocoonta ferunt” “They say that Laocoon … paid the price for his crime.”

“Accingunt omnes operi” “Everyone girded themselves for the task”

“We pressed on unmindful and blind in our madness”

“We wretched men”

[1A] All fell silent and attentively were holding their faces upon him. Then father Aeneas began in this way from his lofty couch; 

 

“Unspeakable pain, O queen, you order me to renew, how the Greeks overthrew the riches of Troy and the sorrowful kingdom, and the most sorrowful scenes which I saw myself and in which I played a great part. Who of the Myrmidons or Dolopians or what soldier of ruthless Ulysses could refrain from tears in speaking of such things? And now damp night is rushing down from the sky and the falling stars invite sleep. But if you have such a desire to learn of our misfortunes and briefly to hear of the final agony of Troy, although my mind shudders to remember and has recoiled in grief, I will begin. 

 

Broken by war and driven back by the fates, the leaders of the Greeks, now with so many years slipping away, built a horse as large as a mountain, with the divine skill of Pallas Minerva, and they wove its ribs with planks of fir-wood; they pretend it is a votive offering for their return; this rumour spreads. Having chosen by lot a select body of men, they secretly shut them in here in its dark side and they fill its huge recesses and its womb deep within with armed soldiers. 

 

[1B] (line 21) There is in sight Tenedos, an island very well-known by fame, rich in wealth while the kingdom of Priam remained, now just a bay and a treacherous anchorage for ships. Advancing here they hid themselves on the deserted shore; we thought that they had gone away and sought Mycenae with the wind. So all of Troy was released from its long-lasting grief; the gates were opened, it was a joy to go and see the Greek camp and the deserted places and the abandoned shore; here the band of Dolopians, here cruel Achilles used to set their camp, here was the place for the fleets, here they were accustomed to contend in battle. 

 

(line 31) Some were amazed at the fatal gift of unmarried Minerva and marvelled at the mass of the horse; first Thymoetes urged that it be led inside the walls and be placed in the citadel, either through deceit or because by now the fates of Troy were tending in that way. But Capys, and those whose minds had better judgement (lit. to whose mind there was a better judgement) ordered us either to hurl the trap of the Greeks and the suspicious gift into the sea or else to burn it with flames set from underneath, or to pierce the hollow belly (lit. the hollows of the womb) or to test for hiding places. The uncertain crowd was split into opposing factions. 

 

[2A] (line 40) There, first, before all and with a great crowd accompanying him, raging Laocoon rushed down from the top of the citadel and from far off shouts: “O wretched citizens, what is this great madness? Do you believe the enemy has sailed away? Or do you think that any gifts of the Greeks lack treachery? Is Ulysses known like this? The Greeks are hiding, concealed by the wood or was this engine built for use against our walls, to spy on our homes or come down on our city from above, or some other deceit is hiding within; do not trust this horse, Trojans. Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks, even bearing gifts.” 

 

(line 50) Having spoken in this way, he hurled a huge spear with mighty strength into its side and into the belly of the beast, curved with its timber framework. It stuck there, quivering, and with the womb resounding, the hollow caverns rang out and gave out a groan. And, if the decrees of the gods, if their minds had not been foolish, he would have driven us to defile the Greek hiding place with the sword and Troy would now stand and you, lofty citadel of Priam, would remain. 

 

[2B] (line 57) Look! Meanwhile, Trojan shepherds were dragging to the king with a great uproar a young man with his hands bound behind his back, who had offered himself, a stranger, to them as they advanced of his own accord, in order to accomplish this very thing and to open up Troy to the Greeks, confident in his mind and ready for either outcome, whether to practise his trickery or to submit to certain death. In their eagerness to see him, the Trojan youth, having streamed out from all sides, rushed out and competed to mock the captive. Hear now the treachery of the Greeks and learn from this one crime the ways of all of them. 

 

(line 67) For as he stood still in plain sight, confused and unarmed, and as he looked around the Phrygian columns with his eyes, he said: “Alas, what land, what seas are able to receive me? Or what now finally remains for poor me, for whom there is no place anywhere among the Greeks and the hostile Trojans demand bloody punishment besides?” 

 

(line 73) With this groan our minds were changed and all violence was checked. We encouraged him to say from what race he was born and what he had to say; and to relate what trust he might have as a prisoner. [This man, at last setting aside his fear, said these things:] 

 

[3A] (line 77) “Indeed I will confess to you, king, the whole truth, whatever will come of it,” he said, “nor will I deny that I come from Greek ancestry. This thing first: if Fortune has made Sinon wretched, she will not maliciously make him also false and a liar. If, in conversation, any mention of the name of Palamedes, son of Belus and his renown, famous in story, have by chance reached your ears, whom, though innocent, the Greeks sent down to death under a false charge of treason with a villainous judgement because he was objecting to the war, and whom they now mourn, deprived of light. My father, being poor, sent me here to him in war as his companion, and being closely related from my early years. While he was standing safe in his kingship and was flourishing in the kings’ counsel, I too bore some reputation and honour. Afterwards, through the jealousy of cunning Ulysses (I speak of things not unknown) he departed from the shores above. Crushed, I was dragging out my life in shadows and in grief and I was brooding over in my mind the misfortune of my innocent friend. And foolishly I was not silent and, if any chance brought it about, if ever I returned victorious to my native Argos, I promised that I would be his avenger and I provoked bitter hatred by speaking out. From here the first sign of trouble came to me, from here Ulysses began to terrify me continually with new accusations, from here he began to spread doubtful rumours among the people, and knowingly to seek arms. For he did not rest until, with Calchas as his agent – but why indeed do I unfold these unwelcome tales in vain? Or why do I delay? If you consider all the greeks alike, and if it is enough to hear that name, exact your long overdue punishment, the Ithacan would want this and the sons of Atreus would pay a great price for it.” 

 

(line 105) Then indeed we burned to enquire and find out the reasons, unaware of such crimes and of this Palasgian trickery. Panic-stricken he continued and spoke with fictitious feelings: “Often the Greeks desired to make a retreat and leave Troy, and, tired from a long war, to depart; would that they had done this! Often the harsh weather of the sea prevented them and the South Wind terrified them as they were going. Especially when now this horse stood, woven with maple beams, storm clouds thundered over the whole sky. Anxious, we sent Eurypylus to consult Apollo’s oracle, and he brought back these sad words from the sanctuary: 

 

[4A] (line 116) “You appeased the winds with the blood of a slain virgin when first you came to the shores of Troy, Greeks: with blood you must seek your return and a Greek life must be sacrificed.” When this utterance reached the ears of the crowd, their minds were stunned and an icy shudder ran through their deepest bones as they wondered for whom they should prepare death, whom Apollo demanded. At this the Ithacan dragged out Calchas the prophet with great uproar into the middle of the crowd; and demanded what the decree of the gods meant. And now many were prophesying that schemer’s cruel crim to me and silently saw what was to come. Calchas was silent for ten days and, shut up in his tent, refused to betray anyone with his own voice or to expose them to death. At last, with difficulty, urged on by the loud cries of the Ithacan, he burst into speech by agreement and marked me out for the altar. Everyone agreed and what each man feared for himself, they endured when it was directed to the destruction of one poor man. And now the unspeakable day was upon us; the sacred rites were prepared for me and the salted corn cakes and fillets were around my temples. I confess, I snatched myself from death and I broke my chains and lurked through the night by a muddy lake, hidden in the marsh until they should set sail, if by chance they would. [4B] (line 137) Nor is there now any hope for me of seeing my ancient homeland or my sweet children or my longed-for father, from whom those men (the Greeks) will perhaps demand punishment for my flight and will atone for this offence with the death of these unfortunates. Therefore in the name of the gods above and the powers that know the truth, and whatever faith still remains unviolated anywhere for mortals, I beg you, pity such great suffering, pity a soul enduring undeserved things.” 

 

(line 145) Seeing his tears we granted him life and we felt pity for him in addition. Priam himself is the first to order that he handcuffs and tight bonds be lifted from the man and thus addressed him with friendly words: “Whoever you are, from now on, forget the Greeks lost to you; you will be one of us. Answer me truthfully as I ask these questions: to what end have they built this monster of a huge horse? Who was its creator? What do they intend? What sacred offering is it? Or what machine of war? He had spoken. That man, ready with trickery and Greek cunning raised his palms to the sky, freed from their bonds: 

 

[5A] (line 154) “You, eternal fires and your divinity that cannot be violated, I call to witness,”  he said, “you altars and impious swords which I have fled, and the fillets of the gods which I wore as a victim: it is right for me to break the hallowed laws of the Greeks, it is right to hate those men and to bring those things which may have been hidden out into the open; and I am not bound by any laws of my homeland. But you, Troy, should abide by your promises and, being preserved, should protect your faith, if I should speak the truth, if I pay back great things in return (make great amends). All the hope of the Greeks and their trust in beginning the war always rested on Pallas’ aid. But indeed from the time when the wicked son of Tydeus and the inventor of crimes, Ulysses, undertook to seize the fateful Palladium from the sacred temple slaying the guards on the top of the citadel, and snatched the sacred image and dared to touch the virginal fillets of the goddess with their bloody hands, from that point the hope of the Greeks ebbed away and, slipping backwards, receded – their strength broken and the mind of the goddess alienated. And Tritonia did not give sign of this with dubious portents. Scarcely was the image set up in the camp when flashing flames burned from her upturned eyes and a salty sweat went over her limbs and (amazing to relate) she herself sprang from the ground three times bearing her shield and quivering spear. [5B] (line 176) Suddenly Calchas prophesied that we must attempt the seas in flight and that Troy could not be demolished by Greek weapons unless they were to repeat the omens at Argos and to carry back the goddess which they conveyed with them by sea in their curved ships. And now as to the fact that they sought their native Mycenae on the wind, they prepare their weapons and the gods as their companions and having traversed the sea anew, they will arrive again unexpectedly; thus Calchas interpreted the omens. Having been warned, they placed this image in compensation for the Palladium and the harm done to divine will in order to atone for the unhappy sacrilege. However Calchas ordered us to raise this huge mass of woven oak and lift it to the sky, so that it could not be received through the gates nor led inside the walls nor protect the people in their ancient worship. For if your hands had violated this gift of Minerva, then great destruction (may the gods first turn that omen on himself!) would be destined for the reign of Priam and the Trojans; but if it had climbed into your city by your own hands, indeed Asia would come to the walls of Pelops in a great war and those fates would await our descendants.” 

 

[6A] (Line 195) With such traps and the cunning of the liar Sinon, the Story was believed and we were ensnared by tricks and forced tears, we whom neither the son of Tydeus nor Larisean Achilles, nor ten years nor one thousand ships had subdued. 

 

(Line 199) Here another sign, greater and much more terrifying was thrust on the wretched people and disturbed our unsuspecting hearts. Laeocoon, chosen by lot as priest to Neptune, was sacrificing a huge bull at the holy altars. But look! From Tenedos over the calm waters (I shudder to relate!) twin snakes with huge coils pressed over the sea and side by side made for the shore. Their breasts were uplifted between the waves and their blood-stained crests rose above the waves, the rest of their bodies ploughed the sea behind them and they curved their huge backs in a coil A sound was made through the salt sea foam; and now they were reaching the fields and with blazing eyes suffused with blood and fire, they licked their hissing lips with quivering tongues. Pale at the sight, we scattered. They made straight for Laocoon; and first each serpent, having embraced the small bodies of his two sons, wound around them and fed on their wretched limbs with their biting. [6B] (line 216) Next they seized the priest himself as he was coming to their aid and carrying weapons, and they bound him in enormous coils and now having encircled his waist twice and having surrounded his neck twice with their scaly backs, they towered above him with their head and lofty necks. At the same time he attempted to untie the knots with his hands, his fillets drenched with gore and black poison, and at the same time he raised hideous shouts to the heavens: it was just like the bellowing when a wounded bull has fled the altar and shaken off the ill-aimed axe from his neck. But the twin serpents fled by gliding to the top of the shrine and they sought the citadel of cruel Tritonia and hid under the feet of the goddess and under the circle of her shield. Then indeed a new terror crept through the trembling hearts of us all, and they say that Laocoon was deserving and paid the price for his crim, in that he had harmed the sacred wood with his spear and hurled the wicked lance into its back. They shout together that the image should be led to its proper place and that the favour of the goddess be should be prayed for. 

 

[7A] (Line 234) We breached the walls and laid open the buildings of the city. Everyone girded themselves for the task and placed under the horse’s feet gliding wheels and they stretched the flaxen ropes tight on its neck. The engine of destiny mounted the walls, teeming with armed men. Boys and unmarried girls sing hymns around it and delight to touch the rope with their hands; menacing, it advances and glides into the middle of the city. O fatherland, O Ilium, home of the gods and O walls of Troy, made famous by war! Four times it stopped on the very threshold of the gate and four times the arms resounded in the womb, yet we pressed on unmindful and blind in our madness and we placed the ill-fated monster on the sacred citadel. Even then Cassandra opened her mouth to foretell the future, a mouth by order of the gods never to be believed by the Trojans. We wretched men, for whom that day would be our last, garlanded the temples of the gods throughout the city with festal bough. 

 

[7B] (Line 250) Meanwhile the sky was turned and night rushed in from the ocean, enveloping the earth and the sky and the treachery of the Greeks in its great shadow; the Trojans scattered throughout their homes were silent; sleep embraced tired limbs. And now the Greek battalion with their ships drawn up, began to move from Tenedos through the friendly silence of the peaceful moon, seeking the known shores, when the royal flagship raised the signal flames, and Sinon, protected by the unjust fates of the gods secretly released the Greeks shut in the belly and the pine doors. The horse, opened, revealed them to the open air and happily they came forth from the hollow wood and Thessandrus and Sthenelus as leaders, and cruel Ulysses, sliding down a rope that had been let down, and Acamas and Thoas and Neoptolemus, grandson of Peleus, and Machaon the chief and Menelaus and Epeos himself, the builder of the deceit. They invaded the city buried in sleep and wine; the sentries were slaughtered, the gates were opened and they received their companions and united the confederate bands. 

 

[8A] (Line 268) It was the time when first sleep begins for feeble mortals and steals over them most pleasingly by the gift of the gods. In my dreams, look, before my eyes, most sorrowful Hector seemed to be by my side and to pour out copious tears, just like when he was dragged by the chariot and black with bloody dust and his swollen feet pierced for the leather thongs. Ah me, what a sight he was! How greatly changed from that Hector who retuned having donned the spoils of Achilles or having hurled Trojan fires onto the ships of the Greeks! Wearing a ragged beard, hair matted with blood and those wounds, so numerous, which he sustained around his native walls. Weeping, I myself seemed to address the man first and to utter sad words: ‘O light of Troy, o surest hope of the Trojans! What long delays have held you? From what shores do you come, my long-awaited Hector? How gladly we see you, exhausted as we are, after the many funerals of your people, after the carious toils of men and the city! What unworthy cause has defiled your calm features? Or why do I see these wounds?” 

 

[8B] (Line 287) He said nothing, nor did he heed me asking irrelevant things but heavily drawing out groans from the depth of this chest, he said: ‘O flee, son of a goddess, and snatch yourself away from these flames. The enemy holds the walls, Troy is falling from its high summit. Enough has been given to your homeland and to Priam; if Troy could have been defended by a right hand, it still would have been defended by this one. Troy entrusts its sacred objects and household gods to you. Take these as companions of your fates, seek great walls for these which finally you will build after wandering over the sea.” Thus he spoke and with his own hands he brought out from the innermost shrine powerful Vesta with the sacred headband and the eternal flame. 

 

[9A] (line 730) And now I was approaching the agates and I seemed to have traversed every path safely, when suddenly the constant sound of feet seemed to come to my ears, and my father, looking through the gloom, exclaimed: ‘Son, flee. Son, they are approaching. I see their blazing shields and their gleaming bronze armour.’ At this point, in my alarm, some unfriendly power, I know not what, perplexed me and robbed me of my wits. For while I was following the bi-ways on my course and leaving the area of familiar streets, alas my wife, Creusa, stopped – was she torn from me in my misery by fate? Or did she wander from the path, or worn out sit down? It is uncertain. And afterwards she was not restored to my eyes. Nor did I look back at her, lost, or turn my mind to her until we came to the mound and sacred abode of ancient Ceres. Here at last when all were fathered together, she alone was missing, and escaped the notice of her companions, son and husband. Out of my mind, whom did I not accuse of men and gods? Or what have I seen more cruel in the deserted city? I entrusted Ascanius and my father Anchises and the Trojan household gods to my companions and I hid them in a curved valley. 

 

[9B] (Line 749) I myself returned to the city and armed myself in my shining armour. I was determined to renew all my misfortunes and to revisit every part of Troy and to expose my life again to dangers. Firstly I returned to the walls and the dark entranceways of the gates, by which I had come out; I found my footprints and retraced them and I followed them through the darkness scanning with my eyes. Everywhere horror filled my heart and at the same time the very silence terrified me. From there I took myself home, in the hope that possibly, just possibly she had made her way there; the Greeks had rushed in and were occupying the whole house. Instantly a devouring fire rolled with the wind to the rooftops; flames leapt above them and the heat raged to the sky. I went on and revisited the palace of Priam on the citadel. And now in the empty porticoes of the shrine of Juno, Phoenix and cruel Ulysses, chosen as guards, were watching over their loot. To here from all parts Trojan treasure, stolen from flaming shrines – tables of the gods and bowls of solid gold and plundered robes – was amassed. Boys and frightened matrons stood around in a long line. 

 

[10A] (Line 768) Yes indeed, daring to hurl cries through the darkness, I filled the streets with my shouting, and grief-stricken I repeatedly called for Creusa again and again, in vain. While searching through the houses of the city and rushing around endlessly, the unhappy likeness and ghost of Creusa herself appeared to me in a form larger than I had known her. I was stunned, and my hair stood on end and my voice stuck in my throat. She addressed me thus and removed my worries with these words: 

 

(Lines 776) “Why does it please you to indulge so much in frantic grief, o precious husband? These events do not occur without the will of the gods; nor is it right for you to carry away from here Creusa as your companion, nor does the ruler of high Olympus allow it. A long exile awaits you and a vast expanse of sea must be ploughed and you will come to the land of Hesperia where the Lydian Tiber flows through the rich field of men with its gentle current. there prosperity and a kingdom and a royal wife will be gained by you; dismiss your tears for your beloved Creusa. I will not look up on the proud homes of the Myrmidons or the Dolopians, nor will I go to be a slave for Greek mothers, a Trojan woman and daughter-in-law of divine Venus; [10B] (line 298) but the great mother of the gods detains me on these shores. Now goodbye and preserve your love of the son we share.” 

 

After saying these words, she left me, weeping and wanting to say many things, and she vanished into thin air. Three times there I tried to put my arms around her neck, three times her image, grasped in vain, escaped my hands, equal to light winds and just like a fleeting dream. Thus finally with the night used up I sought my companions again. And here, to my surprise, I found that a huge number of new companions had flowed in, men and women, a throng gathered for exile, a wretched crowd. They came together on all sides, ready with their hearts and resources to lead away by sea into whatever lands I wished. And now the morning star was rising on the tops of the ridges of Mt Ida and was bringing in the day and the Greeks had besieged the entrances and were holding the gates and no hope of aid was given. I yielded and, lifting up my father, I headed for the mountains. 

 

[3] “Too deep for words, O queen, is the grief you bid me renew, how the Greeks overthrew Troy’s wealth and woeful realm – the sights most piteous that I saw myself and wherein I played no small role. What Myrmidon or Dolopian, or soldier of the stern Ulysses, could refrain from tears in telling such a tale? And now dewy night is speeding from the sky and the setting stars counsel sleep. Yet if such is your desire to learn of our disasters, and in few words to hear of Troy’s last agony, though my mind shudders to remember and has recoiled in pain, I will begin.

[13] “Broken in war and thwarted by the fates, the Danaan chiefs, now that so many years were gliding by, build by Pallas’ divine art a horse of mountainous bulk, and interweave its ribs with planks of fir. They pretend it is an offering for their safe return; this is the rumour that goes abroad. Here, within its dark sides, they stealthily enclose the choicest of their stalwart men and deep within they fill the huge cavern of the belly with armed soldiery.

[21] “There lies in sight an island well known to fame, Tenedos, rich in wealth while Priam’s kingdom stood, now but a bay and an unsafe anchorage for ships. Hither they sail and hide themselves on the barren shore. We thought they had gone and before the wind were bound for Mycenae. So all the Teucrian land frees itself from its long sorrow. The gates are opened; it is a joy to go and see the Doric camp, the deserted stations and forsaken shore. Here the Dolopian bands encamped, here cruel Achilles; here lay the fleet; here they used to meet us in battle. Some are amazed at maiden Minerva’s gift of death, and marvel at the massive horse: and first Thymoetes urges that it be drawn within our walls and lodged in the citadel; either it was treachery or the doom of Troy was already tending that way. But Capys, and they whose minds were wiser in counsel, bid us either hurl headlong into the sea this guile of the Greeks, this distrusted gift, or fire it with flames heaped beneath; or else pierce and probe the hollow hiding place of the belly. The wavering crowd is torn into opposing factions.

[40] “Then, foremost of all and with a great throng following, Laocoön in hot haste runs down from the citadel’s height, and cries from afar: ‘My poor countrymen, what monstrous madness is this? Do you believe the foe has sailed away? Do you think that any gifts of the Greeks are free from treachery? Is Ulysses known to be this sort of man? Either enclosed in this frame there lurk Achaeans, or this has been built as an engine of war against our walls, to spy into our homes and come down upon the city from above; or some trickery lurks inside. Men of Troy, trust not the horse. Whatever it be, I fear the Greeks, even when bringing gifts.’ So saying, with mighty force he hurled his great spear at the beast’s side an the arched frame of the belly. The spear stood quivering and with the cavity’s reverberation the vaults rang hollow, sending forth a moan. And had the gods’ decrees, had our mind not been perverse, he would have driven us to violate with steel the Argive den, and Troy would now be standing, and you, lofty citadel of Priam, would still abide!

[57] “But meanwhile some Dardan shepherds with loud shouts were haling to the king a youth whose hands were bound behind his back. To compass this very end and open Troy to the Achaeans, deliberately, stranger though he was, he had placed himself in their path, confident in spirit and ready for either event, either to ply his crafty wiles or to meet certain death. From all sides, in eagerness to see, the Trojan youth run streaming in and vie in mocking the captive. Hear now the treachery of the Greeks and from a single crime learn the wickedness of all . . . For as he stood amid the gazing crowd, dismayed, unarmed, and cast his eyes about the Phrygian bands, ‘Alas!’ he cried, ‘what land now, what seas can receive me? Or what fate at the last yet awaits my misery? No place at all have I among the Greeks, and the Trojans themselves, too, wildly clamour for vengeance and my life.’ At that wail our mood was changed and all violence checked. We urge him to say from what blood he is sprung and what tidings he brings. ‘Tell us, ‘we cry, ‘on what you rely, now that you are our prisoner.’ At last he lays aside his fear and speaks these words:

[77] “’Surely, king,’ he says, ‘whatever befalls, I will tell all to you, nor will I deny that I am of Argive birth. This first I own; nor, if Fortune has moulded Sinon for misery, will she also in her spite mould him as false and lying. If it chance that speech to your ears has brought some rumour of Palamedes, son of Belus, and the glory of his fame – whom under false evidence, by wicked witnessing, because he forbade the war, the Pelasgians sent down innocent to death, and mourn him, now that he is bereft of light – in his company, being of kindred blood, my father, poor as he was, sent me hither to arms in my earliest years. While he stood secure in princely power and strong in the councils of the kings, we, too, bore some name and renown. But when through the malice of subtle Ulysses – not unknown is the tale – he passed from this world above, I dragged on my ruined life in darkness and grief, wrathful in my heart over the fate of my innocent friend. Nor in my madness was I silent, but, if any chance should offer, if I ever returned in triumph to my native Argos, I vowed myself his avenger and with my words awoke fierce hate. Hence for me the first taint of ill; hence would Ulysses ever terrify me with new charges; hence would he sow dark rumours in the crowd and with guilty fear seek weapons. Nor indeed id he rest until with Calchas as his tool – but why do I vainly unroll this unwelcome tale? Or why delay you? If you hold the Achaeans in one rank, and if it is enough to hear that, take your vengeance at once; this the Ithacan would wish and the son of Atreus buy at a great price!’

[105] “Then indeed we burn to inquire and ask the causes, strangers as we were to wickedness so great and to Pelasgian gilde. Trembling he takes up the tale and speaks with feigned emotion:

[108] “’Often the Greeks longed to quit Troy, compass a retreat, and depart, weary with the long war; and how I wish that they had done so! Often a fierce tempest on the deep cut them off and the gale scared them from going. Above all, when this horse was ready, a structure compacted of maple beams, storm clouds thundered throughout the sky. Perplexed, we send Eurypylus to ask the oracle of Phoebus, and he brings back from the shrine the gloomy words: “With blood of a slain virgin you appeased the winds, when first, Greeks, you came to the Ilian coasts; with blood must you win your return and gain favour by an Argive life.” When this utterance came to the ears of the crowd, they in their hearts were dazed, and a cold shudder ran through their inmost marrow. For whom is fate preparing this doom? Whom does Apollo claim? On this the Ithacan with loud clamour drags the seer Calchas into their midst and demands what this is that the gods will. And now many predicated that I was the target of the schemer’s cruel crime and silently saw what was to come. Twice five days is the seer silent in his tent, refusing to denounce any by his lips or to consign to death. Reluctantly, at last, forced by the Ithacan’s loud cries, even as agreed he breaks into utterance and dooms me to the altar. All approved; and what each feared for himself they bore with patience, when turned to one man’s ruin.

[132] “’And now the day of horror was at hand; for me the rites were preparing, the salted meat, and the fillets for my temples. I snatched myself, I confess, from death; I burst my bonds, and lurked all night in muddy mere, hidden in the sedge, until they should set sail, in case they would. And now no hope have I of seeing my ancient homeland, or my sweet children and the father I long for. Of them perchance they will demand due punishment for my flight, and by their death, unhappy ones, expiate this crime of mine. But I beseech you, by the gods above, by the powers that know the truth, by whatever faith may still be found unstained anywhere among mortals, pity such distress; pity a soul that bears sorrow undeserved!’

[145] “To these tears we grant life and pity him besides. Priam himself first bids his fetters and tight bonds be removed, and thus speaks with words of kindness: ‘Whoever you are, from now on forget the Greeks you have lost; you will be one of us. And explain to me truly this that I ask. To what end have they set up this huge mass of horse? Who is the contriver? What is their aim? What religious offering is it? What engine of war?’ He ceased; the other, schooled in Pelasgian guile and craft, lifted to the stars his unfettered hands: ‘You, everlasting fires,’ he cries, ‘and your inviolable majesty, be my witness; you, altars, and accursed swords which I escaped, and chaplets of the gods, which I wore as victim, grant that I may rightly break my solemn obligations to the Greeks, rightly hate them and bring all things to light if they hide aught; nor am I bound by any laws of country. But Troy, stand by your promises and, yourself, preserve your faith, if my tidings prove true and pay you a large return!

[162] “’All the hope of the Danaans and their confidence in beginning the war always rested on the help of Pallas. But from the time that the ungodly son of Tydeus and Ulysses, the author of crime, dared to tear the fateful Palladium from its hallowed shrine, slew the guards of the citadel-height, and, snatching up the sacred image, ventured with bloody hands to touch the fillets of the maiden goddess – from that time the hopes of the Danaans ebbed and, stealing backward, receded; their strength was broken and the heart of the goddess estranged. And with no doubtful portents did Tritonia give signs thereof. Scarcely was the image placed within the camp, when from the upraised eyes there blazed forth flickering flames, salt sweat coursed over the limbs, and thrice, wonderful to relate, the goddess herself flashed forth from the ground with shield and quivering spear. Straightway Calchas prophesies that the seas must be essayed in flight, and that Pergamus cannot be uptorn by Argive weapons, unless they seek new omens at Argos, and escort back the deity, whom they have taken away overseas in their curved ships. And now that before the wind they are bound for their native Mycenae, it is but to get them forces and attendant gods; then, recrossing the sea, they will be here unlooked for. So Calchas interprets the omens. This image, at his warning, they have set up in atonement for the Palladium, for the insult to deity, and to expiate the woeful sacrilege. Yet Calchas bade them raise this mass of interlaced timbers so huge, and to built it up to heaven, so that it might find no entrance at the gates, be drawn within the walls, or guard the people under shelter of their ancient faith. For if hand of yours should wrong Minerva’s offering, then utter destruction – may the gods turn rather on himself that augury! – would fall on Priam’s empire and the Phrygians; but if by your hands it climbed into your city, Asia would even advance in mighty war to the walls of Pelops, and such would be the doom awaiting our offspring!’

[195] “Through such snares and craft of forsworn Sinon the story won belief, and we were ensnared by wiles and forced tears – we whom neither the son of Tydeus nor Achilles of Larissa laid low, not ten years, not a thousand ships!

[199] “Hereupon another portent, more fell and more frightful by far, is thrust upon us, unhappy ones, and confounds our unforeseeing souls. Laocoön, priest of Neptue, as drawn by lot, was slaying a great bull at the wonted altars; and lo! from Tenedos, over the peaceful depths – I shudder as I speak – a pair of serpents with endless coils are breasting he sea and side by side making for the shore. Their bosoms rise amid he surge, and their crests, blood-red, overtop the waves; the rest of them skims the main behind and their huge backs curve in many a fold; we hear the noise as the water foams. And now they were gaining the fields and, with blazing eyes suffused with blood and fire, were licking with quivering tongues their hissing mouths. Pale at the sight, we scatter. They in unswerving course make for Laocoön; and first each serpent enfolds in its embrace the small bodies of his two sons and with its fangs feeds upon the hapless limbs. Then himself too, as he comes to their aid, weapons in hand, they seize and bind in mighty folds; and now, twice encircling his waist, twice winding their scaly backs around his throat, they tower above with head and lofty necks. He the while strains his hands to burst the knots, his fillets steeped in gore and black venom; the while he lifts to heaven hideous cries, like the bellowings of a wounded bull that has bled from the altar and shaken from its neck the ill-aimed axe. But, gliding away, the dragon pair escape to the lofty shrines, and seek fierce Tritonia’s citadel, there to nestle under the goddess’s feet and the circle of her shield. Then indeed a strange terror steals through the shuddering hearts of all, and they say that Laocoön has rightly paid the penalty of crime, who with his lance profaned the sacred oak and hurled into its body the accursed spear. ‘Draw the image to her house,’ all cry, ‘and supplicate her godhead.’ . . . We part the walls and lay bare the city’s battlements. All gird themselves for the work; under the feet they place gliding wheels, and about the neck stretch hemp bands. The fateful engine climbs our walls, big with arms. Around it boys and unwedded girls chant holy songs and delight to touch the cable with their hands. Up it moves, and glides threatening into the city’s midst. O my country! O Ilium, home of gods, and you Dardan battlements, famed in war! Four times at the gates’ very threshold it halted, and four times from its belly the armour clashed; yet we press on, heedless and blind with rage, and set the ill-omened monster on our hallowed citadel. Even then Cassandra opened her lips for the coming doom – lips at a god’s command never believed by the Trojans. We, hapless ones, for whom that day was our last, wreathe the shrines of the gods with festal boughs throughout the city.

[250] “Meanwhile the sky revolves and night rushes from the ocean, wrapping in its mighty shade earth and heaven and the wiles of the Myrmidons. Through the town the Teucrians lay stretched in silence; sleep clasps their weary limbs. And now the Argive host, with marshaled ships, was moving from Tenedos, amid the friendly silence of the mute moon, seeking the well-known shores, when the royal galley had raised the beacon light – and Sinon, shielded by the gods’ malign doom, stealthily sets free from the barriers of pine the Danaans shut within the womb. The opened horse restores them to the air, and joyfully from the hollow wood come forth Thessandrus and Sthenelus the captains, and dread Ulysses, sliding down the lowered rope; Acamas and Thoas and Neoptolemus of Peleus’ line, prince Machaon, Menelaus, and Epeus himself, who devised the fraud. They storm the city, buried in sleep and wine; they slay the watch, and at the open gates welcome all their comrades and unite confederate bands.

[268] “It was the hour when the first rest of weary mortals begins, and by grace of the gods steals over them most sweet. In slumbers, I dreamed that Hector, most sorrowful and shedding floods of tears, stood before my eyes, torn by the car, as once of old, and black with gory dust, his swollen feet pierced with thongs. Ah me, what aspect was his! How changed he was from that Hector who returns after donning the spoils of Achilles or hurling on Danaan ships the Phrygian fires – with ragged beard, with hair matted with blood, and bearing those many wounds he received around his native walls. I dreamed I wept myself, hailing him first, and uttering words of grief: ‘O light of the Dardan land, surest hope of the Trojans, what long delay has held you? From what shores, Hector, the long looked for, do you come? Oh, how gladly after the many deaths of your kin, after woes untold of citizens and city, our weary eyes behold you! What shameful cause has marred that unclouded face? Why do I see these wounds?’ He answers not, nor heeds my idle questioning, but drawing heavy sighs from his bosom’s depths, ‘Ah, flee, goddess-born,’ he cries, ‘and escape from these flames. The foe holds our walls; Troy falls from her lofty height. All claims are paid to king and country; if Troy’s towers could be saved by strength of hand, by mine, too, had they been saved. Troy entrusts to you her holy things and household gods; take them to share your fortunes: seek for them the mighty city, which, when you have wandered over the deep, you shall at last establish!’ So he speaks and in his hands brings forth from the inner shrine the fillets, great Vesta, and the undying fire.

[298] “On every side, meanwhile, the city is in a turmoil of anguish; and more and more, though my father Anchises’ house lay far withdrawn and screened by trees, clearer grow the sounds and war’s dread din sweeps on. I shake myself from sleep and, climbing to the roof’s topmost height, stand with straining ears: even as, when fire falls on a cornfield while south winds are raging, or the rushing torrent from a mountain streams lays low the fields, lays low the glad crops and labours of oxen and drags down forests headlong, spellbound the bewildering shepherd hears the roar from a rock’s lofty peak. Then indeed the truth is clear and the guile of the Danaans grows manifest. Even now the spacious house of Deiphobus has fallen, as the fire god towers above; even now his neighbour Ucalegon blazes; the broad Sigean straits reflect the flames. Then rise the cries of men and blare of clarions. Frantic I seize arms; yet little purpose is there in arms, but my heart burns to muster a force for battle and hasten with my comrades to the citadel. Frenzy and anger drive my soul headlong and I think how glorious it is to die in arms!

[318] “But, lo! Panthus, escaping from Achaean swords – Panthus, son of Othrys, priest of Phoebus on the citadel – in his own hand bearing the holy things and vanquished gods, and dragging his little grandchild, runs frantic to my doors. ‘Where is the crisis, Panthus? What stronghold are we to seize?’ Scarcely had I said these words, when with a groan he answers thus: ‘It is come – the last day and inevitable hour for Troy. We Trojans are no more, Ilium is no more, nor the great glory of the Teucrians; in wrath Jupiter ahs taken all away to Argos; our city is aflame, and in it the Greeks are lords. The horse, standing high in the city’s midst, pours forth armed men, and Sinon, victorious, insolently scatters flames! Some are at the wide-open gates, as many thousands as ever came from mighty Mycenae; others with confronting weapons have barred the narrow ways; a standing line of steel, with flashing point unsheathed, is ready for the slaughter. Scarce do the first guards of the gates essay battle, and resist in blind warfare.’ By such words of Othrys’ son and by divine will I am driven amid flames and weapons, where the fell Fury, where the roar and the shouts rising to heaven call. Then, falling in with me in the moonlight, comrades join me, and there gather to our side Rhipeus and Epytus, mighty in arms, Hypanis and Dymas, with young Coroebus, son of Mygdon. In those days, as it chanced, he had come to Troy, fired with mad love for Cassandra, and as a son was bringing aid to Priam and the Phrygians – luckless one, not to have heeded the warning of his inspired bride . . . When I saw them in close ranks and eager for battle, I thereupon begin thus: ‘My men, hearts vainly valiant, if your desire is fixed to follow me in my final venture, you see what is the fate of our cause. All the gods on whom this empire was stayed have gone forth, leaving shrine and altar; the city you aid is in flames. Let us die, and rush into the battle’s midst! Once chance the vanquished have, to hope for none.’

[355] “Thus their young spirits were spurred to fury. Then, like ravening wolves in a black mist, when the belly’s lawless rage has driven them blindly forth, and their whelps at home await them with thirsty jaws, through swords, through foes we pass to certain death, and hold our way to the city’s heart; black night hovers around with sheltering shade. Who could unfold in speech that night’s havoc? Who its carnage? Who could match our toils with tears? The ancient city falls, for many years a queen; in heaps lifeless corpses lie scattered amid the streets, amid the homes and hallowed portals of the gods. Nor do Teucrians alone pay penalty with their lifeblood; at times valour returns to the hearts of the vanquished also and the Danaan victors fall. Everywhere is cruel grief, everywhere panic, and full many a shape of death.

[370] “First, with a great throng of Greeks attending him, Androgeos meets us, in ignorance, deeming us an allied band, and hails us forthwith in friendly words: “Hurry, men; what sloth keeps you back so long? Others sack and ravage burning Pergamus; are you but now coming from the tall ships?’ He spoke, and at once – for no reply that he could well trust was offered – knew that he had fallen into the midst of foes. He was dazed, and drawing back checked foot and voice. As one who has crushed a serpent unseen amid the rough briars, when stepping firmly on the ground, and in sudden terror shrinks back as it rises in wrath and puffs out its purple neck; so Androgeos, affrighted at the sight, was drawing away. We charge and with serried arms stream around them; in their ignorance of the ground and the surprise of their panic we slay them on all sides. Fortune favours our first effort. And here, flushed with success and courage, Coroebus cries: ‘Comrades, where fortune first points out the road to safety and where she shows herself auspicious, let us follow. Let us change the shields and don Danaan emblems; whether this is deceit or valour, who would ask in warfare? Our foes themselves shall give us weapons.’ So saying, he then puts no the plumed helmet of Androgeos, and the shield with its comely device, and fits to his side the Argive sword. So does Rhipeus, so Dymas too, and all the youth in delight; each man arms himself in the new-won spoils. We move on, mingling with the Greeks, under gods not our own, and in the blind night we clash in many a close fight, and many a Greek we send down to Orcus. Some scatter to the ships and make with speed for safe shores; some in base terror again climb the huge horse and hide in the familiar womb.

[402] “Alas, it is wrong for man to rely on the gods for anything against their will! Lo! Priam’s daughter, the maiden Cassandra, was being dragged with streaming hair from the temple and shrine of Minerva, vainly uplifting to heaven her blazing eyes – her eyes, for bonds confined her tender hands. Maddened in soul, Coroebus brooked not this sight, but flung himself to death into the midst of the band. We all follow and charge with serried arms. Here first from the high temple roof we are overwhelmed with the weapons of our friends, the piteous slaughter arises from the appearance of our arms and the confusion of our Greek crests. Then the Danaans, with a shout of rage at the maiden’s rescue, mustering from all sides, fall upon us, Ajax most fiercely, the two sons of Atreus, and the whole Dolopian host: even as at times, when a hurricane bursts forth, diverse winds clash, West and South and East, proud of his orient steeds; the forests groan and Nereus, steeped in foam, storms with his trident, and stirs the seas from their lowest depths. There appear, too, those whom amid the shade of the dim night we had routed by stratagem and driven throughout the town; they first recognize our shields and lying weapons, and mark our speech as differing in tone. Straightway we are outnumbered; and first Coroebus falls at the hands of Peneleus by the altar of the warrior goddess; Rhipeus, too, falls, most just of all the Trojans, most zealous for the right, but Heaven’s will was otherwise; Hypanis and Dymas perish, pierced by friends; nor could all your goodness, Panthus, nor Apollo’s fillet shield you in your fall! O ashes of Ilium! O funeral flames of my kin! I call you to witness that in your doom I shunned no fight or hazard, and had the fates willed my death at the hands of the Greeks, that I had earned that death! We are torn from there, Iphitus and Pelias with me, Iphitus now burdened with years, Pelias slow-footed, too, under a wound from Ulysses. Straightway we are called by the clamour to Priam’s house.

[438] “Here indeed is a mighty battle, as if no fighting were taking place elsewhere, as if none were dying throughout the city; so do we see the god of war unbridled, Danaans rushing to the roof and the threshold beset with an assaulting mantlet of shields. Ladders hug the walls, under the very doorposts men force a way on the rungs; with left hands they hold up protecting shields against the darts and with right they clutch the battlements. The Trojans in turn tear down the towers and all the rooftop of the palace; with these as missiles – for they see the end near – even at the point of death they prepare to defend themselves; and roll down gilded rafters, the stately splendours of their fathers of old. Others with drawn swords have beset the doors below, and guard them, closely massed. Our spirits are quickened to succour the king’s dwelling, to relieve our men by our aid and bring fresh force to the vanquished.

[453] “There was an entrance with secret doors, a passage running from hall to hall of Priam’s palace, a postern gate apart, by which, while one kingdom yet stood, Andromache, poor soul, would often unattended pass to her husband’s parents, and lead the little Astyanax to his grandsire. I gain the roof’s topmost height, whence the hapless Teucrians were hurling their useless missiles. A tower stood on the sheer edge, rising skyward from the rooftop, whence all Troy was wont to be seen, and the Danaan ships and the Achaean camp. Assailing this with iron round about, where the topmost stories offered weak joints, we wrenched it from its lofty place and thrust it forth. With sudden fall it trails a thunderous ruin, and over the Danaan ranks crashes far and wide. Yet more come up, nor meanwhile do stones nor any kind of missiles cease . . .

[469] “Just before the entrance court and at the very portal is Pyrrhus, proudly gleaming in the sheen of brazen arms: even as when into the light comes a snake, fed on poisonous herbs, whom cold winter kept swollen underground now, his slough cast off, fresh and glistening in youth, with uplifted breast he rolls his slippery length, towering towards the sun and darting from his mouth a three-forked tongue. With him huge Periphas and Automedon his armour bearer, driver of Achilles’ horses; with him all the Scyrian youth close on the dwelling and hurl flames on to the roof. Pyrrhus himself among the foremost grasps a battle axe, bursts through the stubborn gateway, and from their hinge tears the brass-bound doors; and now, heaving out a panel, he has breached the solid oak and made a huge wide-mouthed gap. Open to view is the house within, and the long halls are bared; open to view are the inner chambers of Priam and the kings of old, and armed men are seen standing at the very threshold.

[486] “But within, amid shrieks and woeful uproar, the house is in confusion, and at its heart the vaulted halls ring with women’s wails; the din strikes the golden stars. Then through the vast dwelling trembling matrons roam, clinging fast to the doors and imprinting kisses on them. On presses Pyrrhus with his father’s might; no bars, no warders even, can stay his course. The gate totters under the ram’s many blows and the doors, wrenched from their sockets, fall forward. Force finds a way; the Greeks, pouring in, burst a passage, slaughter thee foremost, and fill the wide space with soldiery. Not with such fury, when a foaming river, bursting its barriers, has overflowed and with its torrent overwhelmed the resisting banks, does it rush furiously upon the fields in a mass and over all the plains sweep herds and folds. I myself saw on the threshold Neoptolemus, mad with slaughter, and both the sons of Atreus; I saw Hecuba and her hundred daughters, and amid the altars Priam, polluting with his blood the fires he himself had hallowed. The famous fifty chambers, the rich promise of offspring, the doors proud with the spoils of barbaric gold, fall low; where the fire fails, the Greeks hold sway.

[506] “Perhaps, too, you may inquire what was Priam’s fate. When he saw the fall of the captured city, saw the doors of his palace shattered, and the foe in the heart of his home, old as he is, he vainly throws his long-disused armour about his aged trembling shoulders, girds his useless sword, and rushes to his death among his thronging foes. In the middle of the palace and beneath the open arch of heaven was a huge altar, and hard by an ancient laurel, leaning against the altar and clasping the household gods in its shade. Here, round the shrines, vainly crouched Hecuba and her daughters, huddled together like doves swept before a black storm, and clasping the images of the gods. But when she saw even Priam harnessed in the armour of his youth, ‘My poor husband,’ she cries, ‘what dreadful thought has driven you to don these weapons? Where are you rushing to? The hour calls not for such aid or such defenders, not though my own Hector were here himself! Come hither, pray; this altar will guard us all, or you will die with us!’ Thus she spoke, then drew the aged man to her and placed him on the holy seat.

[526] “But lo! escaping from the sword of Pyrrhus, through darts, through foes, Polites, one of Priam’s sons, flees down the long colonnades and, wounded, traverses the empty courts. Pyrrhus presses hotly upon him eager to strike, and at any moment will catch him and overwhelm him with the spear. When at last he came before the eyes and faces of his parents, he fell, and poured out his life in a stream of blood. Hereupon Priam, though now in death’s closest grasp, yet held not back nor spared his voice and wrath: ‘For your crime, for deeds so heinous,’ he cries, ‘if in heaven there is any righteousness to mark such sins, may the gods pay you fitting thanks and render you due rewards, who has made me look on my own son’s murder, and defiled with death a father’s face! Not so did Achilles deal with his foe Priam, that Achilles whose sonship you falsely claim, but he had respect for a suppliant’s rights and trust; he gave back to the tomb Hector’s bloodless corpse and sent me back to my realm.’ So spoke the old man and hurled his weak and harmless spear, which straight recoiled from the clanging brass and hung idly from the top of the shield’s boss. To him Pyrrhus: ‘Then you shall bear this news and go as messenger to my sire, Peleus’ son; be sure to tell him of my sorry deeds and his degenerate Neoptolemus! Now die!’ So saying, to the very altar stones he drew him, trembling and slipping in his son’s streaming blood, and wound his left hand in his hair, while with the right he raised high the flashing sword and buried it to the hilt in his side. Such was the close of Priam’s fortunes; such the doom that by fate befell him – to see Troy in flames and Pergamus laid low, he who was once lord of so many tribes and lands, the monarch of Asia. He lies, a huge trunk upon the shore, a head severed from the neck, a corpse without a name!

[559] “Then first an awful horror encompassed me. I stood aghast, and there rose before me the form of my dear father, as I looked upon the king, of like age, gasping away his life under a cruel wound. There rose forlorn Creüsa, the pillaged house, and the fate of little Iulus. I look back and scan the force about me. All, outworn, have deserted me and flung their bodies to the ground or dropped helpless into the flames.

[567] And now I alone was left, when I saw, sheltered in Vesta’s shrine and silently hiding in the unfrequented fane, the daughter of Tyndareus [Helen]; the bright fires give me light as I wander and cast my eyes, here and there, over the scene. She, fearing the Trojans’ anger against her for the overthrow of Pergamum, the vengeance of the Greeks, and the wrath of the husband she abandoned – she, the undoing alike of her motherland and ours – had hidden herself and was crouching, hateful creature, by the altars. Fire blazed up in my heart; there comes an angry desire to avenge my ruined country and exact a penalty for her sin. ‘So is she to look unscathed on Sparta and her native Mycenae, and parade a queen in the triumph she has won? Is she to see husband and home, parents and children, attended by a train of Ilian ladies and Phrygian captives? For this is Priam to have perished by the sword? Troy burnt in flames? The Dardan shore so often soaked in blood? Not so! For though there is no glorious renown in punishing a woman and such victory gains no honour, yet I shall win praise for blotting out villainy and exacting just recompense; and it will be a joy to have filled my soul with the flame of revenge and satisfied the ashes of my people.’ Such words I blurted out and in frenzied mind was rushing on, when my gracious mother, never before so brilliant to behold, came before my eyes, in pure radiance gleaming through the night, manifesting her deity, in beauty and statue such as she is wont to appear to the lords of heaven. She caught me by the hand and stayed me, and spoke these words besides with roseate lips: ‘My son, what resentment thus stirs ungovernable wrath? Why this rage? Whither has your care for me fled? Will you not first see where you have left your father, age-worn Anchises, whether Creüsa your wife and the boy Ascanius still live? All these the Greek lines compass round on every side, and did not my love prevent it, by now the flames would have swept them away and the hostile sword would have drunk their blood. Know that it is not the hated face of the Laconian woman, daughter of Tyndareus, it is not Paris that is to blame; but the gods, the relentless gods, overturn this wealth and make Troy topple from her pinnacle. Behold – for all the cloud, which now, drawn over your sight, dulls your mortal vision and with dank pall enshrouds you, I will tear away; fear no commands of your mother nor refuse to obey her counsels – here, where you see shattered piles and rocks torn from rocks, and smoke eddying up mixed with dust, Neptune shakes the walls and foundations that his mighty trident has upheaved, and uproots all the city from her base. Here Juno, fiercest of all, is foremost to hold the Scaean gates and, girt with steel, furiously calls from the ships her allied band . . . Now on the highest towers – turn and see – Tritonian Pallas is planted, gleaming with storm cloud and grim Gorgon. My father himself gives the Greeks courage and auspicious strength; he himself stirs up the gods against the Dardan arms. Hasten your flight, my son, and put an end to your toil. Nowhere will I leave you but will set you safely on your father’s threshold.’ She spoke, and vanished in the thick shades of night. Dread shapes come to view and, hating Troy, great presences divine . . .

[624] “Then, indeed, it seemed to me that all Ilium was sinking into the flames and that Neptune’s Troy was being overturned from her base – even as when on mountain-tops woodmen emulously strain to overturn an ancient ash tree, which has been hacked with many a blow of axe and iron; it ever threatens to fall, and nods with trembling leafage and rocking crest, till, little by little, overcome with wounds, it gives on loud last groan and, uptorn from the ridges, comes crashing down. I descend and, guided by a god, make my way amid fire and foes. Weapons give me passage and the flames retire.

[634] “And now, when I had reached the door of my father’s house, my ancient home, my sire, whom it was my first longing to bear high into the hills, and whom first I sought, refused, since Troy was laid low, to prolong his days or suffer exile. ‘You,’ he cried, ‘whose blood has the freshness of youth and whose strength stands sound in native vigour, you must turn to flight . . . For me, had the lords of heaven willed that I should lengthen life’s thread, they would have spared this my home. Enough and more it is that I have seen one destruction, and have survived one capture of the city. To my body, thus lying, yea thus, bid farewell and depart! I shall find a warrior’s death; the foe will take pity and seek my spoils. Light is the loss of burial. Hated of heaven and useless, I have long stayed the years, ever since the father of gods and king of men breathed upon me with the winds of his bolt and touched me with his fire.’

[650] “So he persisted in his speech and remained unshaken. But we were dissolved in tears – my wife Creüsa, Ascanius and all our household – pleading that our father not bring all to ruin along with him, nor add weight to our crushing doom. He refuses, and abides in his purpose and his place. Again I rush to arms, and in utter misery long for death, for what device or what chance was offered now? ‘Did you think, my father, that I could go forth leaving you? Did such a monstrous word fall from a father’s lips? If the gods will that naught remain of our great city, if this purpose is firmly set in your mind and it is your pleasure to cast yourself and your kin into the wreck of Troy, for this death the gate is open wide, and soon will come Pyrrhus, steeped in the blood of Priam – Pyrrhus who butchers the son before the father’s eyes, the father at the altars. Was it for this, gracious mother, that you saved me amid fire and sword, to see the foe in the heart of my home, and Ascanius, and my father, and Creüsa at their side, slaughtered in each others blood? Arms, men, bring arms; the last light of life calls the vanquished. Give me back to the Greeks; let me seek again and renew the fight Never this day shall we all die unavenged!’

[671] “Once more I strap on my sword, pass my left arm into the shield, as I fit it on, and was hurrying forth from the house, when lo! on the threshold my wife clung to men, clasping my feet and holding up little Iulus to his father. ‘If you go to die, take us, too, with you for any fate. But if from past experience, you place some hope in the armour you have donned, guard first this house. To whom do you abandon little Iulus, your father, and men, once called your wife?’

[679] “So crying, she filled all the house with moaning; when a sudden portent appears, wondrous to tell. For between the hands and faces of his ad parents, from above the head of Iulus a light tongue of flame was seen to shed a gleam and, harmless in its touch, lick his soft locks and pasture round his temples. Trembling with alarm, we quickly shake out the blazing hair and quench with water the holy fires. But my father Anchises joyously raises his eyes to the skies and uplifts to heaven hands and voice: ‘Almighty Jupiter, if you are moved by any prayers, look upon us – this only do I ask – and if our goodness earn it, give us your aid, Father, and ratify this omen!’

[692] “Scarcely had the aged man thus spoken, when with sudden crash there was thunder on the left and a star shot from heaven, gliding through the darkness, and drawing a fiery trail amid a flood of light. We watch it glide over the palace roof and bury in Ida’s forest the splendour that marked its path; then the long-drawn furrow shines, and far and wide all about reeks of sulphur. At this, indeed, my father was overcome and, rising to his feet, salutes the gods, and worships the holy star. ‘Now, now there is no delay; I follow, and where you lead, there am I. Gods of my fathers! save my house, save my grandson. Yours is this omen, and under your protection stands Troy. Yes, I yield, and refuse not, my son, to go in your company.’ He ceased, and now through the city more loudly is heard the blaze, and nearer the flames roll their fiery flood. ‘Come then, dear father, mount upon my neck; on my own shoulders I will support you, and this task will not weigh me down. However things may fall, we two will have on common peril, one salvation. Let little Iulus come with me, and let my wife follow our steps at a distance. You servants, heed what I say. As one leaves the city, there is a mound and ancient temple of forlorn Ceres, with an old cypress hard by, saved for many years by the reverence of our fathers. To this one spot we will come from different directions. Father, take in your arms the sacred emblems of our country’s household gods; for me, fresh from fierce battle and recent slaughter, it would be sinful to handle them until I have washed myself clean in running water . . . ‘ So I spoke, and over my broad shoulders and bowed neck I spread the cover of a tawny lion’s pelt and stoop to the burden. Little Iulus clasps his hand in mine, and follows his father with steps that match not his. Behind comes my wife. We pass on amid the shadows; and I, whom of late no shower of missiles could move nor any Greeks thronging in opposing mass, now am affrighted by every breeze and startled by every sound, tremulous as I am and fearing alike for my companion and my burden.

[730] And now I was nearing the gates, and thought I had accomplished all my journey, when suddenly, crowding on my ears, seemed to come a tramp of feet, and peering through the gloom, my father cries: ‘My son, my son, flee; they draw near! I see their glowing shields and glittering brass.’ At this, in my alarm, some malign power stole my distracted wits. For while I plunge down byways and leave the course of the streets I know, alas! my wife Creüsa was snatched from me by an unhappy fate. Did she halt? Did she stray from the path or sit down in exhaustion? I do not know. Never again was she restored to my eyes, nor did I look back for my lost one, or cast a thought behind, until we came to the mound and ancient Ceres’ hallowed home. Here at last, when all were gathered, she alone was missing and had vanished from the company, her child, and her husband. What man or god did I see in the overthrown city? Ascanius, my father Anchises, and the household gods of Troy I put in charge of my fellows and hid them in a winding vale. I myself seek again the city, and gird on my glittering arms. I am resolved to renew every risk, to retrace my way through all Troy and once more expose my life to every peril.

[752] “First I seek again the walls and dark gateway by which I had left the city; I mark and follow back my steps in the night, scanning them with close eye. Everywhere dread fills my heart; the very silence, too, dismays. Then I turn homeward in case – in case she had made her way there! The Danai had rushed in and filled all the house. Forthwith the devouring fire rolls before the wind to the very roof; the flames tower above, the hot blast roars skyward. I pass on and see once more the citadel and Priam’s home. And now in the empty courts of Juno’s sanctuary Phoenix and dread Ulysses, chosen guards, watched the spoil. Here the treasures from all parts of Troy, torn from blazing shrines, tables of the gods, bowls of solid gold, and plundered raiment, are heaped up; boys and trembling matrons in long array stand round . . . Nay, I dared even to cast my cries upon the night; I filled the streets with shouts and in my misery, with vain iteration, called Creüsa again and again. As I rushed in my quest madly and endlessly among the buildings of the city, there rose before my eyes the sad phantom and ghost of Creüsa herself, a form larger than her wont. I was appalled, my hair stood up, and the voice choked in my throat. Then thus she spoke to me and with these words dispelled my cares: ‘Of what avail is it to yield thus to frantic grief, my sweet husband? Not without the will of heaven does this befall; that you should take Creüsa from here in your company cannot be, nor does the mighty lord of high Olympus allow it. Long exile is your lot, a vast stretch of sea you must plough; and you will come to the land Hesperia, where amid the rich fields of husbandmen the Lydian Tiber flows with gentle sweep. There in store for you are happy days, kingship, and a royal wife. Banish tears for your beloved Creüsa. I shall never look upon the proud homes of the Myrmidons or Dolopians, or go to be the slave of Greek matrons, I a Dardan woman and wife of the son of divine Venus; . . . but the mighty mother of the gods keeps me on these shores. And now farewell, and guard your love for our common child.’ When thus she had spoken, she left me weeping and eager to tell her much, and drew back into thin air. Thrice there I strove to throw my arms about her neck; thrice the form, vainly clasped, fled from my hands, even as light winds, and most like a winged ream. Thus at last, when night is spent, I revisit my companions.

[796] “And here, astonished, I find that a vast number of new comrades has streamed in, mothers and men, a band gathered for exile, a piteous throne. From all sides they have come, with heart and fortune ready for me to lead them over the sea to whatever lands I will. And now above Ida’s topmost ridges the day star was rising, ushering in the morn; and the Danaans held the blockaded gates, nor was any hope of help offered. I gave way and, taking up my father, sought the hills.

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Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc'd by fate,
And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate,
Expell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan shore.
Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore,
And in the doubtful war, before he won
The Latian realm, and built the destin'd town;
His banish'd gods restor'd to rites divine,
And settled sure succession in his line,
From whence the race of Alban fathers come,
And the long glories of majestic Rome.

O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
What goddess was provok'd, and whence her hate;
For what offense the Queen of Heav'n began
To persecute so brave, so just a man;
Involv'd his anxious life in endless cares,
Expos'd to wants, and hurried into wars!
Can heav'nly minds such high resentment show,
Or exercise their spite in human woe?

Against the Tiber's mouth, but far away,
An ancient town was seated on the sea;
A Tyrian colony; the people made
Stout for the war, and studious of their trade:
Carthage the name; belov'd by Juno more
Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore.
Here stood her chariot; here, if Heav'n were kind,
The seat of awful empire she design'd.
Yet she had heard an ancient rumor fly,
(Long cited by the people of the sky,)
That times to come should see the Trojan race
Her Carthage ruin, and her tow'rs deface;
Nor thus confin'd, the yoke of sov'reign sway
Should on the necks of all the nations lay.
She ponder'd this, and fear'd it was in fate;
Nor could forget the war she wag'd of late
For conqu'ring Greece against the Trojan state.
Besides, long causes working in her mind,
And secret seeds of envy, lay behind;
Deep graven in her heart the doom remain'd
Of partial Paris, and her form disdain'd;
The grace bestow'd on ravish'd Ganymed,
Electra's glories, and her injur'd bed.
Each was a cause alone; and all combin'd
To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.
For this, far distant from the Latian coast
She drove the remnants of the Trojan host;
And sev'n long years th' unhappy wand'ring train
Were toss'd by storms, and scatter'd thro' the main.
Such time, such toil, requir'd the Roman name,
Such length of labor for so vast a frame.

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

"Then am I vanquish'd? must I yield?" said she,
"And must the Trojans reign in Italy?
So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force;
Nor can my pow'r divert their happy course.
Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen,
The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?
She, for the fault of one offending foe,
The bolts of Jove himself presum'd to throw:
With whirlwinds from beneath she toss'd the ship,
And bare expos'd the bosom of the deep;
Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game,
The wretch, yet hissing with her father's flame,
She strongly seiz'd, and with a burning wound
Transfix'd, and naked, on a rock she bound.
But I, who walk in awful state above,
The majesty of heav'n, the sister wife of Jove,
For length of years my fruitless force employ
Against the thin remains of ruin'd Troy!
What nations now to Juno's pow'r will pray,
Or off'rings on my slighted altars lay?"

Thus rag'd the goddess; and, with fury fraught.
The restless regions of the storms she sought,
Where, in a spacious cave of living stone,
The tyrant Aeolus, from his airy throne,
With pow'r imperial curbs the struggling winds,
And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds.
This way and that th' impatient captives tend,
And, pressing for release, the mountains rend.
High in his hall th' undaunted monarch stands,
And shakes his scepter, and their rage commands;
Which did he not, their unresisted sway
Would sweep the world before them in their way;
Earth, air, and seas thro' empty space would roll,
And heav'n would fly before the driving soul.
In fear of this, the Father of the Gods
Confin'd their fury to those dark abodes,
And lock'd 'em safe within, oppress'd with mountain loads;
Impos'd a king, with arbitrary sway,
To loose their fetters, or their force allay.
To whom the suppliant queen her pray'rs address'd,
And thus the tenor of her suit express'd:

"O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heav'n
The pow'r of tempests and of winds has giv'n;
Thy force alone their fury can restrain,
And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main-
A race of wand'ring slaves, abhorr'd by me,
With prosp'rous passage cut the Tuscan sea;
To fruitful Italy their course they steer,
And for their vanquish'd gods design new temples there.
Raise all thy winds; with night involve the skies;
Sink or disperse my fatal enemies.
Twice sev'n, the charming daughters of the main,
Around my person wait, and bear my train:
Succeed my wish, and second my design;
The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine,
And make thee father of a happy line."

To this the god: "'T is yours, O queen, to will
The work which duty binds me to fulfil.
These airy kingdoms, and this wide command,
Are all the presents of your bounteous hand:
Yours is my sov'reign's grace; and, as your guest,
I sit with gods at their celestial feast;
Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue;
Dispose of empire, which I hold from you."

He said, and hurl'd against the mountain side
His quiv'ring spear, and all the god applied.
The raging winds rush thro' the hollow wound,
And dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground;
Then, settling on the sea, the surges sweep,
Raise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep.
South, East, and West with mix'd confusion roar,
And roll the foaming billows to the shore.
The cables crack; the sailors' fearful cries
Ascend; and sable night involves the skies;
And heav'n itself is ravish'd from their eyes.
Loud peals of thunder from the poles ensue;
Then flashing fires the transient light renew;
The face of things a frightful image bears,
And present death in various forms appears.
Struck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief,
With lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief;
And, "Thrice and four times happy those," he cried,
"That under Ilian walls before their parents died!
Tydides, bravest of the Grecian train!
Why could not I by that strong arm be slain,
And lie by noble Hector on the plain,
Or great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields
Where Simois rolls the bodies and the shields
Of heroes, whose dismember'd hands yet bear
The dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!"

Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails,
Fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails,
And rent the sheets; the raging billows rise,
And mount the tossing vessels to the skies:
Nor can the shiv'ring oars sustain the blow;
The galley gives her side, and turns her prow;
While those astern, descending down the steep,
Thro' gaping waves behold the boiling deep.
Three ships were hurried by the southern blast,
And on the secret shelves with fury cast.
Those hidden rocks th' Ausonian sailors knew:
They call'd them Altars, when they rose in view,
And show'd their spacious backs above the flood.
Three more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood,
Dash'd on the shallows of the moving sand,
And in mid ocean left them moor'd aland.
Orontes' bark, that bore the Lycian crew,
(A horrid sight!) ev'n in the hero's view,
From stem to stern by waves was overborne:
The trembling pilot, from his rudder torn,
Was headlong hurl'd; thrice round the ship was toss'd,
Then bulg'd at once, and in the deep was lost;
And here and there above the waves were seen
Arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men.
The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way,
And suck'd thro' loosen'd planks the rushing sea.
Ilioneus was her chief: Alethes old,
Achates faithful, Abas young and bold,
Endur'd not less; their ships, with gaping seams,
Admit the deluge of the briny streams.

Meantime imperial Neptune heard the sound
Of raging billows breaking on the ground.
Displeas'd, and fearing for his wat'ry reign,
He rear'd his awful head above the main,
Serene in majesty; then roll'd his eyes
Around the space of earth, and seas, and skies.
He saw the Trojan fleet dispers'd, distress'd,
By stormy winds and wintry heav'n oppress'd.
Full well the god his sister's envy knew,
And what her aims and what her arts pursue.
He summon'd Eurus and the western blast,
And first an angry glance on both he cast;
Then thus rebuk'd: "Audacious winds! from whence
This bold attempt, this rebel insolence?
Is it for you to ravage seas and land,
Unauthoriz'd by my supreme command?
To raise such mountains on the troubled main?
Whom I- but first 't is fit the billows to restrain;
And then you shall be taught obedience to my reign.
Hence! to your lord my royal mandate bear-
The realms of ocean and the fields of air
Are mine, not his. By fatal lot to me
The liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea.
His pow'r to hollow caverns is confin'd:
There let him reign, the jailer of the wind,
With hoarse commands his breathing subjects call,
And boast and bluster in his empty hall."
He spoke; and, while he spoke, he smooth'd the sea,
Dispell'd the darkness, and restor'd the day.
Cymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train
Of beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main,
Clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands:
The god himself with ready trident stands,
And opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands;
Then heaves them off the shoals. Where'er he guides
His finny coursers and in triumph rides,
The waves unruffle and the sea subsides.
As, when in tumults rise th' ignoble crowd,
Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud;
And stones and brands in rattling volleys fly,
And all the rustic arms that fury can supply:
If then some grave and pious man appear,
They hush their noise, and lend a list'ning ear;
He soothes with sober words their angry mood,
And quenches their innate desire of blood:
So, when the Father of the Flood appears,
And o'er the seas his sov'reign trident rears,
Their fury falls: he skims the liquid plains,
High on his chariot, and, with loosen'd reins,
Majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains.
The weary Trojans ply their shatter'd oars
To nearest land, and make the Libyan shores.

Within a long recess there lies a bay:
An island shades it from the rolling sea,
And forms a port secure for ships to ride;
Broke by the jutting land, on either side,
In double streams the briny waters glide.
Betwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene
Appears above, and groves for ever green:
A grot is form'd beneath, with mossy seats,
To rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats.
Down thro' the crannies of the living walls
The crystal streams descend in murm'ring falls:
No haulsers need to bind the vessels here,
Nor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear.
Sev'n ships within this happy harbor meet,
The thin remainders of the scatter'd fleet.
The Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes,
Leap on the welcome land, and seek their wish'd repose.

First, good Achates, with repeated strokes
Of clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes:
Short flame succeeds; a bed of wither'd leaves
The dying sparkles in their fall receives:
Caught into life, in fiery fumes they rise,
And, fed with stronger food, invade the skies.
The Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around
The cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground:
Some dry their corn, infected with the brine,
Then grind with marbles, and prepare to dine.
Aeneas climbs the mountain's airy brow,
And takes a prospect of the seas below,
If Capys thence, or Antheus he could spy,
Or see the streamers of Caicus fly.
No vessels were in view; but, on the plain,
Three beamy stags command a lordly train
Of branching heads: the more ignoble throng
Attend their stately steps, and slowly graze along.
He stood; and, while secure they fed below,
He took the quiver and the trusty bow
Achates us'd to bear: the leaders first
He laid along, and then the vulgar pierc'd;
Nor ceas'd his arrows, till the shady plain
Sev'n mighty bodies with their blood distain.
For the sev'n ships he made an equal share,
And to the port return'd, triumphant from the war.
The jars of gen'rous wine (Acestes' gift,
When his Trinacrian shores the navy left)
He set abroach, and for the feast prepar'd,
In equal portions with the ven'son shar'd.
Thus while he dealt it round, the pious chief
With cheerful words allay'd the common grief:
"Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose
To future good our past and present woes.
With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;
Th' inhuman Cyclops and his den defied.
What greater ills hereafter can you bear?
Resume your courage and dismiss your care,
An hour will come, with pleasure to relate
Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.
Thro' various hazards and events, we move
To Latium and the realms foredoom'd by Jove.
Call'd to the seat (the promise of the skies)
Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise,
Endure the hardships of your present state;
Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate."

These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart;
His outward smiles conceal'd his inward smart.
The jolly crew, unmindful of the past,
The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste.
Some strip the skin; some portion out the spoil;
The limbs, yet trembling, in the caldrons boil;
Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil.
Stretch'd on the grassy turf, at ease they dine,
Restore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with
wine.
Their hunger thus appeas'd, their care attends
The doubtful fortune of their absent friends:
Alternate hopes and fears their minds possess,
Whether to deem 'em dead, or in distress.
Above the rest, Aeneas mourns the fate
Of brave Orontes, and th' uncertain state
Of Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus.
The day, but not their sorrows, ended thus.

When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys
Earth, air, and shores, and navigable seas,
At length on Libyan realms he fix'd his eyes-
Whom, pond'ring thus on human miseries,
When Venus saw, she with a lowly look,
Not free from tears, her heav'nly sire bespoke:

"O King of Gods and Men! whose awful hand
Disperses thunder on the seas and land,
Disposing all with absolute command;
How could my pious son thy pow'r incense?
Or what, alas! is vanish'd Troy's offense?
Our hope of Italy not only lost,
On various seas by various tempests toss'd,
But shut from ev'ry shore, and barr'd from ev'ry coast.
You promis'd once, a progeny divine
Of Romans, rising from the Trojan line,
In after times should hold the world in awe,
And to the land and ocean give the law.
How is your doom revers'd, which eas'd my care
When Troy was ruin'd in that cruel war?
Then fates to fates I could oppose; but now,
When Fortune still pursues her former blow,
What can I hope? What worse can still succeed?
What end of labors has your will decreed?
Antenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts,
Could pass secure, and pierce th' Illyrian coasts,
Where, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves
And thro' nine channels disembogues his waves.
At length he founded Padua's happy seat,
And gave his Trojans a secure retreat;
There fix'd their arms, and there renew'd their name,
And there in quiet rules, and crown'd with fame.
But we, descended from your sacred line,
Entitled to your heav'n and rites divine,
Are banish'd earth; and, for the wrath of one,
Remov'd from Latium and the promis'd throne.
Are these our scepters? these our due rewards?
And is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards?"

To whom the Father of th' immortal race,
Smiling with that serene indulgent face,
With which he drives the clouds and clears the skies,
First gave a holy kiss; then thus replies:

"Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire
The fates of thine are fix'd, and stand entire.
Thou shalt behold thy wish'd Lavinian walls;
And, ripe for heav'n, when fate Aeneas calls,
Then shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me:
No councils have revers'd my firm decree.
And, lest new fears disturb thy happy state,
Know, I have search'd the mystic rolls of Fate:
Thy son (nor is th' appointed season far)
In Italy shall wage successful war,
Shall tame fierce nations in the bloody field,
And sov'reign laws impose, and cities build,
Till, after ev'ry foe subdued, the sun
Thrice thro' the signs his annual race shall run:
This is his time prefix'd. Ascanius then,
Now call'd Iulus, shall begin his reign.
He thirty rolling years the crown shall wear,
Then from Lavinium shall the seat transfer,
And, with hard labor, Alba Longa build.
The throne with his succession shall be fill'd
Three hundred circuits more: then shall be seen
Ilia the fair, a priestess and a queen,
Who, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes,
Shall at a birth two goodly boys disclose.
The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain:
Then Romulus his grandsire's throne shall gain,
Of martial tow'rs the founder shall become,
The people Romans call, the city Rome.
To them no bounds of empire I assign,
Nor term of years to their immortal line.
Ev'n haughty Juno, who, with endless broils,
Earth, seas, and heav'n, and Jove himself turmoils;
At length aton'd, her friendly pow'r shall join,
To cherish and advance the Trojan line.
The subject world shall Rome's dominion own,
And, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown.
An age is ripening in revolving fate
When Troy shall overturn the Grecian state,
And sweet revenge her conqu'ring sons shall call,
To crush the people that conspir'd her fall.
Then Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise,
Whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies
Alone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils,
Our heav'n, the just reward of human toils,
Securely shall repay with rites divine;
And incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine.
Then dire debate and impious war shall cease,
And the stern age be soften'd into peace:
Then banish'd Faith shall once again return,
And Vestal fires in hallow'd temples burn;
And Remus with Quirinus shall sustain
The righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain.
Janus himself before his fane shall wait,
And keep the dreadful issues of his gate,
With bolts and iron bars: within remains
Imprison'd Fury, bound in brazen chains;
High on a trophy rais'd, of useless arms,
He sits, and threats the world with vain alarms."

He said, and sent Cyllenius with command
To free the ports, and ope the Punic land
To Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate,
The queen might force them from her town and state.
Down from the steep of heav'n Cyllenius flies,
And cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies.
Soon on the Libyan shore descends the god,
Performs his message, and displays his rod:
The surly murmurs of the people cease;
And, as the fates requir'd, they give the peace:
The queen herself suspends the rigid laws,
The Trojans pities, and protects their cause.

Meantime, in shades of night Aeneas lies:
Care seiz'd his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes.
But, when the sun restor'd the cheerful day,
He rose, the coast and country to survey,
Anxious and eager to discover more.
It look'd a wild uncultivated shore;
But, whether humankind, or beasts alone
Possess'd the new-found region, was unknown.
Beneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides:
Tall trees surround the mountain's shady sides;
The bending brow above a safe retreat provides.
Arm'd with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends,
And true Achates on his steps attends.
Lo! in the deep recesses of the wood,
Before his eyes his goddess mother stood:
A huntress in her habit and her mien;
Her dress a maid, her air confess'd a queen.
Bare were her knees, and knots her garments bind;
Loose was her hair, and wanton'd in the wind;
Her hand sustain'd a bow; her quiver hung behind.
She seem'd a virgin of the Spartan blood:
With such array Harpalyce bestrode
Her Thracian courser and outstripp'd the rapid flood.
"Ho, strangers! have you lately seen," she said,
"One of my sisters, like myself array'd,
Who cross'd the lawn, or in the forest stray'd?
A painted quiver at her back she bore;
Varied with spots, a lynx's hide she wore;
And at full cry pursued the tusky boar."

Thus Venus: thus her son replied again:
"None of your sisters have we heard or seen,
O virgin! or what other name you bear
Above that style- O more than mortal fair!
Your voice and mien celestial birth betray!
If, as you seem, the sister of the day,
Or one at least of chaste Diana's train,
Let not an humble suppliant sue in vain;
But tell a stranger, long in tempests toss'd,
What earth we tread, and who commands the coast?
Then on your name shall wretched mortals call,
And offer'd victims at your altars fall."
"I dare not," she replied, "assume the name
Of goddess, or celestial honors claim:
For Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear,
And purple buskins o'er their ankles wear.
Know, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are-
A people rude in peace, and rough in war.
The rising city, which from far you see,
Is Carthage, and a Tyrian colony.
Phoenician Dido rules the growing state,
Who fled from Tyre, to shun her brother's hate.
Great were her wrongs, her story full of fate;
Which I will sum in short. Sichaeus, known
For wealth, and brother to the Punic throne,
Possess'd fair Dido's bed; and either heart
At once was wounded with an equal dart.
Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid;
Pygmalion then the Tyrian scepter sway'd:
One who condemn'd divine and human laws.
Then strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause.
The monarch, blinded with desire of wealth,
With steel invades his brother's life by stealth;
Before the sacred altar made him bleed,
And long from her conceal'd the cruel deed.
Some tale, some new pretense, he daily coin'd,
To soothe his sister, and delude her mind.
At length, in dead of night, the ghost appears
Of her unhappy lord: the specter stares,
And, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares.
The cruel altars and his fate he tells,
And the dire secret of his house reveals,
Then warns the widow, with her household gods,
To seek a refuge in remote abodes.
Last, to support her in so long a way,
He shows her where his hidden treasure lay.
Admonish'd thus, and seiz'd with mortal fright,
The queen provides companions of her flight:
They meet, and all combine to leave the state,
Who hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate.
They seize a fleet, which ready rigg'd they find;
Nor is Pygmalion's treasure left behind.
The vessels, heavy laden, put to sea
With prosp'rous winds; a woman leads the way.
I know not, if by stress of weather driv'n,
Or was their fatal course dispos'd by Heav'n;
At last they landed, where from far your eyes
May view the turrets of new Carthage rise;
There bought a space of ground, which (Byrsa call'd,
From the bull's hide) they first inclos'd, and wall'd.
But whence are you? what country claims your birth?
What seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?"

To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes,
And deeply sighing, thus her son replies:
"Could you with patience hear, or I relate,
O nymph, the tedious annals of our fate!
Thro' such a train of woes if I should run,
The day would sooner than the tale be done!
From ancient Troy, by force expell'd, we came-
If you by chance have heard the Trojan name.
On various seas by various tempests toss'd,
At length we landed on your Libyan coast.
The good Aeneas am I call'd- a name,
While Fortune favor'd, not unknown to fame.
My household gods, companions of my woes,
With pious care I rescued from our foes.
To fruitful Italy my course was bent;
And from the King of Heav'n is my descent.
With twice ten sail I cross'd the Phrygian sea;
Fate and my mother goddess led my way.
Scarce sev'n, the thin remainders of my fleet,
From storms preserv'd, within your harbor meet.
Myself distress'd, an exile, and unknown,
Debarr'd from Europe, and from Asia thrown,
In Libyan desarts wander thus alone."

His tender parent could no longer bear;
But, interposing, sought to soothe his care.
"Whoe'er you are- not unbelov'd by Heav'n,
Since on our friendly shore your ships are driv'n-
Have courage: to the gods permit the rest,
And to the queen expose your just request.
Now take this earnest of success, for more:
Your scatter'd fleet is join'd upon the shore;
The winds are chang'd, your friends from danger free;
Or I renounce my skill in augury.
Twelve swans behold in beauteous order move,
And stoop with closing pinions from above;
Whom late the bird of Jove had driv'n along,
And thro' the clouds pursued the scatt'ring throng:
Now, all united in a goodly team,
They skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream.
As they, with joy returning, clap their wings,
And ride the circuit of the skies in rings;
Not otherwise your ships, and ev'ry friend,
Already hold the port, or with swift sails descend.
No more advice is needful; but pursue
The path before you, and the town in view."

Thus having said, she turn'd, and made appear
Her neck refulgent, and dishevel'd hair,
Which, flowing from her shoulders, reach'd the ground.
And widely spread ambrosial scents around:
In length of train descends her sweeping gown;
And, by her graceful walk, the Queen of Love is known.
The prince pursued the parting deity
With words like these: "Ah! whither do you fly?
Unkind and cruel! to deceive your son
In borrow'd shapes, and his embrace to shun;
Never to bless my sight, but thus unknown;
And still to speak in accents not your own."
Against the goddess these complaints he made,
But took the path, and her commands obey'd.
They march, obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds
With mists their persons, and involves in clouds,
That, thus unseen, their passage none might stay,
Or force to tell the causes of their way.
This part perform'd, the goddess flies sublime
To visit Paphos and her native clime;
Where garlands, ever green and ever fair,
With vows are offer'd, and with solemn pray'r:
A hundred altars in her temple smoke;
A thousand bleeding hearts her pow'r invoke.

They climb the next ascent, and, looking down,
Now at a nearer distance view the town.
The prince with wonder sees the stately tow'rs,
Which late were huts and shepherds' homely bow'rs,
The gates and streets; and hears, from ev'ry part,
The noise and busy concourse of the mart.
The toiling Tyrians on each other call
To ply their labor: some extend the wall;
Some build the citadel; the brawny throng
Or dig, or push unwieldly stones along.
Some for their dwellings choose a spot of ground,
Which, first design'd, with ditches they surround.
Some laws ordain; and some attend the choice
Of holy senates, and elect by voice.
Here some design a mole, while others there
Lay deep foundations for a theater;
From marble quarries mighty columns hew,
For ornaments of scenes, and future view.
Such is their toil, and such their busy pains,
As exercise the bees in flow'ry plains,
When winter past, and summer scarce begun,
Invites them forth to labor in the sun;
Some lead their youth abroad, while some condense
Their liquid store, and some in cells dispense;
Some at the gate stand ready to receive
The golden burthen, and their friends relieve;
All with united force, combine to drive
The lazy drones from the laborious hive:
With envy stung, they view each other's deeds;
The fragrant work with diligence proceeds.
"Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!"
Aeneas said, and view'd, with lifted eyes,
Their lofty tow'rs; then, entiring at the gate,
Conceal'd in clouds (prodigious to relate)
He mix'd, unmark'd, among the busy throng,
Borne by the tide, and pass'd unseen along.

Full in the center of the town there stood,
Thick set with trees, a venerable wood.
The Tyrians, landing near this holy ground,
And digging here, a prosp'rous omen found:
From under earth a courser's head they drew,
Their growth and future fortune to foreshew.
This fated sign their foundress Juno gave,
Of a soil fruitful, and a people brave.
Sidonian Dido here with solemn state
Did Juno's temple build, and consecrate,
Enrich'd with gifts, and with a golden shrine;
But more the goddess made the place divine.
On brazen steps the marble threshold rose,
And brazen plates the cedar beams inclose:
The rafters are with brazen cov'rings crown'd;
The lofty doors on brazen hinges sound.
What first Aeneas this place beheld,
Reviv'd his courage, and his fear expell'd.
For while, expecting there the queen, he rais'd
His wond'ring eyes, and round the temple gaz'd,
Admir'd the fortune of the rising town,
The striving artists, and their arts' renown;
He saw, in order painted on the wall,
Whatever did unhappy Troy befall:
The wars that fame around the world had blown,
All to the life, and ev'ry leader known.
There Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies,
And fierce Achilles, who both kings defies.
He stopp'd, and weeping said: "O friend! ev'n here
The monuments of Trojan woes appear!
Our known disasters fill ev'n foreign lands:
See there, where old unhappy Priam stands!
Ev'n the mute walls relate the warrior's fame,
And Trojan griefs the Tyrians' pity claim."
He said (his tears a ready passage find),
Devouring what he saw so well design'd,
And with an empty picture fed his mind:
For there he saw the fainting Grecians yield,
And here the trembling Trojans quit the field,
Pursued by fierce Achilles thro' the plain,
On his high chariot driving o'er the slain.
The tents of Rhesus next his grief renew,
By their white sails betray'd to nightly view;
And wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword
The sentries slew, nor spar'd their slumb'ring lord,
Then took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food
Of Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood.
Elsewhere he saw where Troilus defied
Achilles, and unequal combat tried;
Then, where the boy disarm'd, with loosen'd reins,
Was by his horses hurried o'er the plains,
Hung by the neck and hair, and dragg'd around:
The hostile spear, yet sticking in his wound,
With tracks of blood inscrib'd the dusty ground.
Meantime the Trojan dames, oppress'd with woe,
To Pallas' fane in long procession go,
In hopes to reconcile their heav'nly foe.
They weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair,
And rich embroider'd vests for presents bear;
But the stern goddess stands unmov'd with pray'r.
Thrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew
The corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew.
Here Priam sues; and there, for sums of gold,
The lifeless body of his son is sold.
So sad an object, and so well express'd,
Drew sighs and groans from the griev'd hero's breast,
To see the figure of his lifeless friend,
And his old sire his helpless hand extend.
Himself he saw amidst the Grecian train,
Mix'd in the bloody battle on the plain;
And swarthy Memnon in his arms he knew,
His pompous ensigns, and his Indian crew.
Penthisilea there, with haughty grace,
Leads to the wars an Amazonian race:
In their right hands a pointed dart they wield;
The left, for ward, sustains the lunar shield.
Athwart her breast a golden belt she throws,
Amidst the press alone provokes a thousand foes,
And dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose.

Thus while the Trojan prince employs his eyes,
Fix'd on the walls with wonder and surprise,
The beauteous Dido, with a num'rous train
And pomp of guards, ascends the sacred fane.
Such on Eurotas' banks, or Cynthus' height,
Diana seems; and so she charms the sight,
When in the dance the graceful goddess leads
The choir of nymphs, and overtops their heads:
Known by her quiver, and her lofty mien,
She walks majestic, and she looks their queen;
Latona sees her shine above the rest,
And feeds with secret joy her silent breast.
Such Dido was; with such becoming state,
Amidst the crowd, she walks serenely great.
Their labor to her future sway she speeds,
And passing with a gracious glance proceeds;
Then mounts the throne, high plac'd before the shrine:
In crowds around, the swarming people join.
She takes petitions, and dispenses laws,
Hears and determines ev'ry private cause;
Their tasks in equal portions she divides,
And, where unequal, there by lots decides.
Another way by chance Aeneas bends
His eyes, and unexpected sees his friends,
Antheus, Sergestus grave, Cloanthus strong,
And at their backs a mighty Trojan throng,
Whom late the tempest on the billows toss'd,
And widely scatter'd on another coast.
The prince, unseen, surpris'd with wonder stands,
And longs, with joyful haste, to join their hands;
But, doubtful of the wish'd event, he stays,
And from the hollow cloud his friends surveys,
Impatient till they told their present state,
And where they left their ships, and what their fate,
And why they came, and what was their request;
For these were sent, commission'd by the rest,
To sue for leave to land their sickly men,
And gain admission to the gracious queen.
Ent'ring, with cries they fill'd the holy fane;
Then thus, with lowly voice, Ilioneus began:

"O queen! indulg'd by favor of the gods
To found an empire in these new abodes,
To build a town, with statutes to restrain
The wild inhabitants beneath thy reign,
We wretched Trojans, toss'd on ev'ry shore,
From sea to sea, thy clemency implore.
Forbid the fires our shipping to deface!
Receive th' unhappy fugitives to grace,
And spare the remnant of a pious race!
We come not with design of wasteful prey,
To drive the country, force the swains away:
Nor such our strength, nor such is our desire;
The vanquish'd dare not to such thoughts aspire.
A land there is, Hesperia nam'd of old;
The soil is fruitful, and the men are bold-
Th' Oenotrians held it once- by common fame
Now call'd Italia, from the leader's name.
To that sweet region was our voyage bent,
When winds and ev'ry warring element
Disturb'd our course, and, far from sight of land,
Cast our torn vessels on the moving sand:
The sea came on; the South, with mighty roar,
Dispers'd and dash'd the rest upon the rocky shore.
Those few you see escap'd the Storm, and fear,
Unless you interpose, a shipwreck here.
What men, what monsters, what inhuman race,
What laws, what barb'rous customs of the place,
Shut up a desart shore to drowning men,
And drive us to the cruel seas again?
If our hard fortune no compassion draws,
Nor hospitable rights, nor human laws,
The gods are just, and will revenge our cause.
Aeneas was our prince: a juster lord,
Or nobler warrior, never drew a sword;
Observant of the right, religious of his word.
If yet he lives, and draws this vital air,
Nor we, his friends, of safety shall despair;
Nor you, great queen, these offices repent,
Which he will equal, and perhaps augment.
We want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts,
Where King Acestes Trojan lineage boasts.
Permit our ships a shelter on your shores,
Refitted from your woods with planks and oars,
That, if our prince be safe, we may renew
Our destin'd course, and Italy pursue.
But if, O best of men, the Fates ordain
That thou art swallow'd in the Libyan main,
And if our young Iulus be no more,
Dismiss our navy from your friendly shore,
That we to good Acestes may return,
And with our friends our common losses mourn."
Thus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew
With cries and clamors his request renew.

The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes,
Ponder'd the speech; then briefly thus replies:
"Trojans, dismiss your fears; my cruel fate,
And doubts attending an unsettled state,
Force me to guard my coast from foreign foes.
Who has not heard the story of your woes,
The name and fortune of your native place,
The fame and valor of the Phrygian race?
We Tyrians are not so devoid of sense,
Nor so remote from Phoebus' influence.
Whether to Latian shores your course is bent,
Or, driv'n by tempests from your first intent,
You seek the good Acestes' government,
Your men shall be receiv'd, your fleet repair'd,
And sail, with ships of convoy for your guard:
Or, would you stay, and join your friendly pow'rs
To raise and to defend the Tyrian tow'rs,
My wealth, my city, and myself are yours.
And would to Heav'n, the Storm, you felt, would bring
On Carthaginian coasts your wand'ring king.
My people shall, by my command, explore
The ports and creeks of ev'ry winding shore,
And towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest
Of so renown'd and so desir'd a guest."

Rais'd in his mind the Trojan hero stood,
And long'd to break from out his ambient cloud:
Achates found it, and thus urg'd his way:
"From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay?
What more can you desire, your welcome sure,
Your fleet in safety, and your friends secure?
One only wants; and him we saw in vain
Oppose the Storm, and swallow'd in the main.
Orontes in his fate our forfeit paid;
The rest agrees with what your mother said."
Scarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way,
The mists flew upward and dissolv'd in day.

The Trojan chief appear'd in open sight,
August in visage, and serenely bright.
His mother goddess, with her hands divine,
Had form'd his curling locks, and made his temples shine,
And giv'n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace,
And breath'd a youthful vigor on his face;
Like polish'd ivory, beauteous to behold,
Or Parian marble, when enchas'd in gold:
Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke,
And thus with manly modesty he spoke:

"He whom you seek am I; by tempests toss'd,
And sav'd from shipwreck on your Libyan coast;
Presenting, gracious queen, before your throne,
A prince that owes his life to you alone.
Fair majesty, the refuge and redress
Of those whom fate pursues, and wants oppress,
You, who your pious offices employ
To save the relics of abandon'd Troy;
Receive the shipwreck'd on your friendly shore,
With hospitable rites relieve the poor;
Associate in your town a wand'ring train,
And strangers in your palace entertain:
What thanks can wretched fugitives return,
Who, scatter'd thro' the world, in exile mourn?
The gods, if gods to goodness are inclin'd;
If acts of mercy touch their heav'nly mind,
And, more than all the gods, your gen'rous heart.
Conscious of worth, requite its own desert!
In you this age is happy, and this earth,
And parents more than mortal gave you birth.
While rolling rivers into seas shall run,
And round the space of heav'n the radiant sun;
While trees the mountain tops with shades supply,
Your honor, name, and praise shall never die.
Whate'er abode my fortune has assign'd,
Your image shall be present in my mind."
Thus having said, he turn'd with pious haste,
And joyful his expecting friends embrac'd:
With his right hand Ilioneus was grac'd,
Serestus with his left; then to his breast
Cloanthus and the noble Gyas press'd;
And so by turns descended to the rest.

The Tyrian queen stood fix'd upon his face,
Pleas'd with his motions, ravish'd with his grace;
Admir'd his fortunes, more admir'd the man;
Then recollected stood, and thus began:
"What fate, O goddess-born; what angry pow'rs
Have cast you shipwrack'd on our barren shores?
Are you the great Aeneas, known to fame,
Who from celestial seed your lineage claim?

The same Aeneas whom fair Venus bore
To fam'd Anchises on th' Idaean shore?
It calls into my mind, tho' then a child,
When Teucer came, from Salamis exil'd,
And sought my father's aid, to be restor'd:
My father Belus then with fire and sword
Invaded Cyprus, made the region bare,
And, conqu'ring, finish'd the successful war.
From him the Trojan siege I understood,
The Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood.
Your foe himself the Dardan valor prais'd,
And his own ancestry from Trojans rais'd.
Enter, my noble guest, and you shall find,
If not a costly welcome, yet a kind:
For I myself, like you, have been distress'd,
Till Heav'n afforded me this place of rest;
Like you, an alien in a land unknown,
I learn to pity woes so like my own."
She said, and to the palace led her guest;
Then offer'd incense, and proclaim'd a feast.
Nor yet less careful for her absent friends,
Twice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends;
Besides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs,
With bleating cries, attend their milky dams;
And jars of gen'rous wine and spacious bowls
She gives, to cheer the sailors' drooping souls.
Now purple hangings clothe the palace walls,
And sumptuous feasts are made in splendid halls:
On Tyrian carpets, richly wrought, they dine;
With loads of massy plate the sideboards shine,
And antique vases, all of gold emboss'd
(The gold itself inferior to the cost),
Of curious work, where on the sides were seen
The fights and figures of illustrious men,
From their first founder to the present queen.

The good Aeneas, paternal care
Iulus' absence could no longer bear,
Dispatch'd Achates to the ships in haste,
To give a glad relation of the past,
And, fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy,
Snatch'd from the ruins of unhappy Troy:
A robe of tissue, stiff with golden wire;
An upper vest, once Helen's rich attire,
From Argos by the fam'd adultress brought,
With golden flow'rs and winding foliage wrought,
Her mother Leda's present, when she came
To ruin Troy and set the world on flame;
The scepter Priam's eldest daughter bore,
Her orient necklace, and the crown she wore
Of double texture, glorious to behold,
One order set with gems, and one with gold.
Instructed thus, the wise Achates goes,
And in his diligence his duty shows.

But Venus, anxious for her son's affairs,
New counsels tries, and new designs prepares:
That Cupid should assume the shape and face
Of sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace;
Should bring the presents, in her nephew's stead,
And in Eliza's veins the gentle poison shed:
For much she fear'd the Tyrians, double-tongued,
And knew the town to Juno's care belong'd.
These thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke,
And thus alarm'd, to winged Love she spoke:
"My son, my strength, whose mighty pow'r alone
Controls the Thund'rer on his awful throne,
To thee thy much-afflicted mother flies,
And on thy succor and thy faith relies.
Thou know'st, my son, how Jove's revengeful wife,
By force and fraud, attempts thy brother's life;
And often hast thou mourn'd with me his pains.
Him Dido now with blandishment detains;
But I suspect the town where Juno reigns.
For this 't is needful to prevent her art,
And fire with love the proud Phoenician's heart:
A love so violent, so strong, so sure,
As neither age can change, nor art can cure.
How this may be perform'd, now take my mind:
Ascanius by his father is design'd
To come, with presents laden, from the port,
To gratify the queen, and gain the court.
I mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep,
And, ravish'd, in Idalian bow'rs to keep,
Or high Cythera, that the sweet deceit
May pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat.
Take thou his form and shape. I beg the grace
But only for a night's revolving space:
Thyself a boy, assume a boy's dissembled face;
That when, amidst the fervor of the feast,
The Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast,
And with sweet kisses in her arms constrains,
Thou may'st infuse thy venom in her veins."
The God of Love obeys, and sets aside
His bow and quiver, and his plumy pride;
He walks Iulus in his mother's sight,
And in the sweet resemblance takes delight.

The goddess then to young Ascanius flies,
And in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes:
Lull'd in her lap, amidst a train of Loves,
She gently bears him to her blissful groves,
Then with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head,
And softly lays him on a flow'ry bed.
Cupid meantime assum'd his form and face,
Foll'wing Achates with a shorter pace,
And brought the gifts. The queen already sate
Amidst the Trojan lords, in shining state,
High on a golden bed: her princely guest
Was next her side; in order sate the rest.
Then canisters with bread are heap'd on high;
Th' attendants water for their hands supply,
And, having wash'd, with silken towels dry.
Next fifty handmaids in long order bore
The censers, and with fumes the gods adore:
Then youths, and virgins twice as many, join
To place the dishes, and to serve the wine.
The Tyrian train, admitted to the feast,
Approach, and on the painted couches rest.
All on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze,
But view the beauteous boy with more amaze,
His rosy-color'd cheeks, his radiant eyes,
His motions, voice, and shape, and all the god's disguise;
Nor pass unprais'd the vest and veil divine,
Which wand'ring foliage and rich flow'rs entwine.
But, far above the rest, the royal dame,
(Already doom'd to love's disastrous flame,)
With eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy,
Beholds the presents, and admires the boy.
The guileful god about the hero long,
With children's play, and false embraces, hung;
Then sought the queen: she took him to her arms
With greedy pleasure, and devour'd his charms.
Unhappy Dido little thought what guest,
How dire a god, she drew so near her breast;
But he, not mindless of his mother's pray'r,
Works in the pliant bosom of the fair,
And molds her heart anew, and blots her former care.
The dead is to the living love resign'd;
And all Aeneas enters in her mind.

Now, when the rage of hunger was appeas'd,
The meat remov'd, and ev'ry guest was pleas'd,
The golden bowls with sparkling wine are crown'd,
And thro' the palace cheerful cries resound.
From gilded roofs depending lamps display
Nocturnal beams, that emulate the day.
A golden bowl, that shone with gems divine,
The queen commanded to be crown'd with wine:
The bowl that Belus us'd, and all the Tyrian line.
Then, silence thro' the hall proclaim'd, she spoke:
"O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke,
With solemn rites, thy sacred name and pow'r;
Bless to both nations this auspicious hour!
So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line
In lasting concord from this day combine.
Thou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer,
And gracious Juno, both be present here!
And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address
To Heav'n with mine, to ratify the peace."
The goblet then she took, with nectar crown'd
(Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,)
And rais'd it to her mouth with sober grace;
Then, sipping, offer'd to the next in place.
'T was Bitias whom she call'd, a thirsty soul;
He took challenge, and embrac'd the bowl,
With pleasure swill'd the gold, nor ceas'd to draw,
Till he the bottom of the brimmer saw.
The goblet goes around: Iopas brought
His golden lyre, and sung what ancient Atlas taught:
The various labors of the wand'ring moon,
And whence proceed th' eclipses of the sun;
Th' original of men and beasts; and whence
The rains arise, and fires their warmth dispense,
And fix'd and erring stars dispose their influence;
What shakes the solid earth; what cause delays
The summer nights and shortens winter days.
With peals of shouts the Tyrians praise the song:
Those peals are echo'd by the Trojan throng.
Th' unhappy queen with talk prolong'd the night,
And drank large draughts of love with vast delight;
Of Priam much enquir'd, of Hector more;
Then ask'd what arms the swarthy Memnon wore,
What troops he landed on the Trojan shore;
The steeds of Diomede varied the discourse,
And fierce Achilles, with his matchless force;
At length, as fate and her ill stars requir'd,
To hear the series of the war desir'd.
"Relate at large, my godlike guest," she said,
"The Grecian stratagems, the town betray'd:
The fatal issue of so long a war,
Your flight, your wand'rings, and your woes, declare;
For, since on ev'ry sea, on ev'ry coast,
Your men have been distress'd, your navy toss'd,
Sev'n times the sun has either tropic view'd,
The winter banish'd, and the spring renew'd."