Aeneid

of her dread foes divine; I seemed to see

all Ilium sink in fire, and sacred Troy,

of Neptune's building, utterly o'erthrown.

So some huge ash-tree on the mountain's brow

(when rival woodmen, heaving stroke on stroke

of two-edged axes, haste to cast her down)

sways ominously her trembling, leafy top,

and drops her smitten head; till by her wounds

vanquished at last, she makes her dying groan,

and falls in loud wreck from the cliffs uptorn.

I left the citadel; and, led by Heaven,

threaded the maze of deadly foes and fires,

through spears that glanced aside and flames that fell.

Soon came I to my father's ancient seat,

our home and heritage. But lo! my sire

(whom first of all I sought, and first would bear

to safe asylum in the distant hills)

vowed he could never, after fallen Troy,

live longer on, or bear an exile's woe.

“O you,” he cried, “whose blood not yet betrays

the cruel taint of time, whose powers be still

unpropped and undecayed, go, take your flight.

If heavenly wrath had willed my life to spare,

this dwelling had been safe. It is too much

that I have watched one wreck, and for too Iong

outlived my vanquished country. Thus, O, thus!

Compose these limbs for death, and say farewell.

My own hand will procure it; or my foe

will end me of mere pity, and for spoil

will strip me bare. It is an easy loss

to have no grave. For many a year gone by,

accursed of Heaven, I tarry in this world

a useless burden, since that fatal hour

when Jove, of gods the Sire and men the King,

his lightnings o'er me breathed and blasting fire.”

Such fixed resolve he uttered o'er and o'er,

and would not yield, though with my tears did join

my spouse Creusa, fair Ascanius,

and our whole house, imploring the gray sire

not with himself to ruin all, nor add

yet heavier burdens to our crushing doom.

He still cried, “No!” and clung to where he sat

and to the same dread purpose. I once more

back to the fight would speed. For death alone

I made my wretched prayer. What space was left

for wisdom now? What chance or hope was given?

“Didst thou, dear father, dream that I could fly

sundered from thee? Did such an infamy

fall from a father's lips? If Heaven's decree

will of this mighty nation not let live

a single soul, if thine own purpose be

to cast thyself and thy posterity

into thy country's grave, behold, the door

is open to thy death! Lo, Pyrrhus comes

red-handed from King Priam! He has slain

a son before a father's eyes, and spilt

a father's blood upon his own hearthstone.

Was it for this, O heavenly mother mine,

that thou hast brought me safe through sword and fire?

that I might see these altars desecrate

by their worst foes? that I might look upon

my sire, my wife, and sweet Ascanius

dead at my feet in one another's blood?

To arms, my men, to arms! The hour of death

now beckons to the vanquished. Let me go

whither the Greeks are gathered; let me stand

where oft revives the flagging stroke of war:

Not all of us die unavenged this day!”

I clasped my sword-belt round me once again,

fitted my left arm to my shield, and turned

to fly the house; but at the threshold clung

Creusa to my knees, and lifted up

Iulus to his father's arms. “If thou

wouldst rush on death,” she cried, “O, suffer us

to share thy perils with thee to the end.

But if this day's work bid thee trust a sword,

defend thy hearthstone first. Who else shall guard

thy babe Iulus, or thy reverend sire?

Or me, thy wife that was—what help have I?”

So rang the roof-top with her piteous cries:

but lo! a portent wonderful to see

on sudden rose; for while his parents' grief

held the boy close in arm and full in view,

there seemed upon Iulus' head to glow

a flickering peak of fire; the tongue of flame

innocuous o'er his clustering tresses played,

and hovered round his brows. We, horror-struck,

grasped at his burning hair, and sprinkled him,

to quench that holy and auspicious fire.

then sire Anchises with exultant eyes

looked heavenward, and lifted to the stars

his voice and outstretched hands. “Almighty Jove,

if aught of prayer may move thee, let thy grace

now visit us! O, hear this holy vow!

And if for service at thine altars done,

we aught can claim, O Father, lend us aid,

and ratify the omen thou hast given!”

Scarce ceased his aged voice, when suddenly

from leftward, with a deafening thunder-peal,

cleaving the blackness of the vaulted sky,