Aeneid

a meteor-star in trailing splendor ran,

exceeding bright. We watched it glide sublime

o'er tower and town, until its radiant beam

in forest-mantled Ida died away;

but left a furrow on its track in air,

a glittering, Iong line, while far and wide

the sulphurous fume and exhalation flowed.

My father strove not now; but lifted him

in prayer to all the gods, in holy awe

of that auspicious star, and thus exclaimed:

“Tarry no moment more! Behold, I come!

Whithersoe'er ye lead, my steps obey.

Gods of my fathers, O, preserve our name!

Preserve my son, and his! This augury

is yours; and Troy on your sole strength relies.

I yield, dear son; I journey at thy side.”

He spoke; and higher o'er the blazing walls

leaped the loud fire, while ever nearer drew

the rolling surges of tumultuous flame.

“Haste, father, on these bending shoulders climb!

This back is ready, and the burden light;

one peril smites us both, whate'er befall;

one rescue both shall find. Close at my side

let young Iulus run, while, not too nigh,

my wife Creusa heeds what way we go.

Ye servants of our house, give ear, I pray,

to my command. Outside the city's gates

lies a low mound and long since ruined fane

to Ceres vowed; a cypress, ancient shade

o'erhangs it, which our fathers' pious care

protected year by year; by various paths

be that our meeting-place. But in thy hands

bring, sire, our household gods, and sanctifies:

for me to touch, who come this very hour

from battle and the fresh blood of the slain,

were but abomination, till what time

in living waters I shall make me clean.”

So saying, I bowed my neck and shoulders broad,

o'erspread me with a lion's tawny skin,

and lifted up my load. Close at my side

little Iulus twined his hand in mine

and followed, with unequal step, his sire.

My wife at distance came. We hastened on,

creeping through shadows; I, who once had viewed

undaunted every instrument of war

and all the gathered Greeks in grim array,

now shook at every gust, and heard all sounds

with fevered trepidation, fearing both

for him I bore and him who clasped my hand.

Now near the gates I drew, and deemed our flight

safely at end, when suddenly I heard

the sounding tread of many warriors

that seemed hard-by, while through the murky night

my father peered, and shouted, “O my son,

away, away! for surely all our foes

are here upon us, and my eyes behold

the glance of glittering shields and flash of arms.”

O, then some evil-working, nameless god

clouded my senses quite: for while I sped

along our pathless way, and left behind

all paths and regions known—O wretched me!—

Creusa on some dark disaster fell;

she stopped, or wandered, or sank down undone,—

I never knew what way,—and nevermore

I looked on her alive. Yet knew I not

my loss, nor backward turned a look or thought,

till by that hallowed hill to Ceres vowed

we gathered all,— and she alone came not,

while husband, friends, and son made search in vain.

What god, what man, did not my grief accuse

in frenzied word? In all the ruined land

what worse woe had I seen? Entrusting then

my sire, my son, and all the Teucrian gods

to the deep shadows of a slanting vale

where my allies kept guard, I tried me back

to that doomed town, re-girt in glittering arms.

Resolved was I all hazards to renew,

all Troy to re-explore, and once again

offer my life to perils without end.

The walls and gloomy gates whence forth I came

I first revisit, and retrace my way,

searching the night once more. On all sides round

horror spread wide; the very silence breathed

a terror on my soul. I hastened then

back to my fallen home, if haply there

her feet had strayed; but the invading Greeks

were its possessors, though the hungry fire

was blown along the roof-tree, and the flames

rolled raging upward on the fitful gale.

To Priam's house I haste, and climb once more

the citadel; in Juno's temple there,

the chosen guardians of her wasted halls,

Phoenix and dread Ulysses watched the spoil.

Here, snatched away from many a burning fane,

Troy's treasures lay,—rich tables for the gods,

thick bowls of messy gold, and vestures rare,

confusedly heaped up, while round the pile

fair youths and trembling virgins stood forlorn.

Yet oft my voice rang dauntless through the gloom,

from street to street I cried with anguish vain;