Aeneid

No casting of the lot her doom decreed,

nor came she to her conqueror's couch a slave.

Myself from burning Ilium carried far

o'er seas and seas, endured the swollen pride

of that young scion of Achilles' race,

and bore him as his slave a son. When he

sued for Hermione, of Leda's line,

and nuptial-bond with Lacedaemon's Iords,

I, the slave-wife, to Helenus was given,

and slave was wed with slave. But afterward

Orestes, crazed by loss of her he loved,

and ever fury-driven from crime to crime,

crept upon Pyrrhus in a careless hour

and murdered him upon his own hearth-stone.

Part of the realm of Neoptolemus

fell thus to Helenus, who called his lands

Chaonian, and in Trojan Chaon's name

his kingdom is Chaonia. Yonder height

is Pergamus, our Ilian citadel.

What power divine did waft thee to our shore,

not knowing whither? Tell me of the boy

Ascanius! Still breathes he earthly air?

In Troy she bore him—is he mourning still

that mother ravished from his childhood's eyes?

what ancient valor stirs the manly soul

of thine own son, of Hector's sister's child?”

Thus poured she forth full many a doleful word

with unavailing tears. But as she ceased,

out of the city gates appeared the son

of Priam, Helenus, with princely train.

He welcomed us as kin, and glad at heart

gave guidance to his house, though oft his words

fell faltering and few, with many a tear.

Soon to a humbler Troy I lift my eyes,

and of a mightier Pergamus discern

the towering semblance; there a scanty stream

runs on in Xanthus' name, and my glad arms

the pillars of a Scaean gate embrace.

My Teucrian mariners with welcome free

enjoyed the friendly town; his ample halls

our royal host threw wide; full wine-cups flowed

within the palace; golden feast was spread,

and many a goblet quaffed. Day followed day,

while favoring breezes beckoned us to sea,

and swelled the waiting canvas as they blew.

Then to the prophet-priest I made this prayer:

“Offspring of Troy, interpreter of Heaven!

Who knowest Phoebus' power, and readest well

the tripod, stars, and vocal laurel leaves

to Phoebus dear, who know'st of every bird

the ominous swift wing or boding song,

o, speak! For all my course good omens showed,

and every god admonished me to sail

in quest of Italy's far-distant shores;

but lone Celaeno, heralding strange woe,

foretold prodigious horror, vengeance dark,

and vile, unnatural hunger. How elude

such perils? Or by what hard duty done

may such huge host of evils vanquished be?”

Then Helenus, with sacrifice of kine

in order due, implored the grace of Heaven,

unloosed the fillets from his sacred brow,

and led me, Phoebus, to thy temple's door,

awed by th' o'er-brooding godhead, whose true priest,

with lips inspired, made this prophetic song:

“O goddess-born, indubitably shines

the blessing of great gods upon thy path

across the sea; the heavenly King supreme

thy destiny ordains; 't is he unfolds

the grand vicissitude, which now pursues

a course immutable. I will declare

of thy large fate a certain bounded part;

that fearless thou may'st view the friendly sea,

and in Ausonia's haven at the last

find thee a fixed abode. Than this no more

the Sister Fates to Helenus unveil,

and Juno, Saturn's daughter, grants no more.

First, that Italia (which nigh at hand

thou deemest, and wouldst fondly enter in

by yonder neighboring bays) lies distant far

o'er trackless course and long, with interval

of far-extended lands. Thine oars must ply

the waves of Sicily; thy fleet must cleave

the large expanse of that Ausonian brine;

the waters of Avernus thou shalt see,

and that enchanted island where abides

Aeaean Circe, ere on tranquil shore

thou mayest plant thy nation. Lo! a sign

I tell thee; hide this wonder in thy heart:

Beside a certain stream's sequestered wave,

thy troubled eyes, in shadowy flex grove

that fringes on the river, shall descry

a milk-white, monstrous sow, with teeming brood

of thirty young, new littered, white like her,

all clustering at her teats, as prone she lies.

There is thy city's safe, predestined ground,

and there thy labors' end. Vex not thy heart

about those ‘tables bitten’, for kind fate

thy path will show, and Phoebus bless thy prayer.

But from these lands and yon Italian shore,