Aeneid

to neighboring country-side or native town;

the rest—promiscuous mass of dead unknown—

to nameless and unhonored ashes burn;

with multitude of fires the far-spread fields

blaze forth unweariedly. But when from heaven

the third morn had dispelled the dark and cold,

the mournful bands raked forth the mingled bones

and plenteous ashes from the smouldering pyres,

then heaped with earth the one sepulchral mound.

Now from the hearth-stones of the opulent town

of old Latinus a vast wail burst forth,

for there was found the chief and bitterest share

of all the woe. For mothers in their tears,

lone brides, and stricken souls of sisters fond,

and boys left fatherless, fling curses Ioud

on Turnus' troth-plight and the direful war:

“Let him, let Turnus, with his single sword

decide the strife,”—they cry,—“and who shall claim

Lordship of Italy and power supreme.”

Fierce Drances whets their fury, urging all

that Turnus singly must the challenge hear,

and singly wage the war; but others plead

in Turnus' favor; the Queen's noble name

protects him, and his high renown in arms

defends his cause with well-won trophies fair.

Amid these tumults of the wrathful throng,

lo, the ambassadors to Diomed

arrive with cloudy forehead from their quest

in his illustrious town; for naught availed

their toilsome errand, nor the gifts and gold,

nor strong entreaty. Other help in war

the Latins now must find, or humbly sue

peace from the Trojan. At such tidings dire

even Latinus trembles: Heaven's decrees

and influence of gods too visible

sustain Aeneas; so the wrath divine

and new-filled sepulchres conspicuous

give warning clear. Therefore the King convenes

a general council of his captains brave

beneath the royal towers. They, gathering,

throng the approaches thither, where their Iord,

gray-haired Latinus, takes the central throne,

wearing authority with mournful brow.

He bids the envoys from Aetolia's King

sent back, to speak and tell the royal words

in order due. Forthwith on every tongue

fell silence, while the princely Venulus,

heeding his Iord's behest, began the parle:

“My countrymen,” he said, “our eyes have seen

strongholds of Greeks and Diomed the King.

We braved all perils to our journey's end

and clasped that hand whereof the dreadful stroke

wrought Ilium's fall. The hero built a town,

Argyripa, hereditary name,

near mount Garganus in Apulian land:

passing that city's portal and the King's,

we found free audience, held forth thy gifts,

and told our names and fatherland. We showed

what condict was enkindled, and what cause

brought us to Arpi's King. He, hearing all,

with brow benign made answer to our plea:

‘O happy tribes in Saturn's kingdom born,

Ausonia's ancient stem! What fortune blind

tempts ye from peace away, and now ensnares

in wars unknown? Look how we men that dared

lay Ilium waste (I speak not of what woes

in battling neath her lofty walls we bore,

nor of dead warriors sunk in Simois' wave)

have paid the penalty in many a land

with chastisement accurst and changeful woe,

till Priam's self might pity. Let the star

of Pallas tell its tale of fatal storm,

off grim Caphereus and Eubcea's crags.

Driven asunder from one field of war,

Atrides unto farthest Egypt strayed,

and wise Ulysses saw from Aetna's caves

the Cyclops gathering. Why name the throne

of Pyrrhus, or the violated hearth

whence fled Idomeneus? Or Locri cast

on Libya's distant shore? For even he,

Lord of Mycenae by the Greeks obeyed,

fell murdered on his threshold by the hand

of that polluted wife, whose paramour

trapped Asia's conqueror. The envious gods

withheld me also from returning home

to see once more the hearth-stone of my sires,

the wife I yearn for, and my Calydon,

the beauteous land. For wonders horrible

pursue me still. My vanished followers

through upper air take wing, or haunt and rove

in forms of birds the island waters o'er:

ah me, what misery my people feel!

The tall rocks ring with their lament and cry.

Naught else had I to hope for from that day

when my infatuate sword on gods I drew,

and outraged with abominable wound

the hand of Venus. Urge me not, I pray,

to conflicts in this wise. No more for me

of war with Trojans after Ilium's fall!

I take no joy in evils past, nor wish