Aeneid

th' obedient yoke and rein. Therefore a hope

of peace is also ours.” Then we implored

Minerva's mercy, at her sacred shrine,

the mail-clad goddess who gave welcome there;

and at an altar, mantling well our brows

the Phrygian way, as Helenus ordained,

we paid the honors his chief counsel urged,

with blameless rite, to Juno, Argive Queen.

No tarrying now, but after sacrifice

we twirled the sailyards and shook out all sail,

leaving the cities of the sons of Greece

and that distrusted land. Tarentum's bay

soon smiled before us, town of Hercules,

if fame be true; opposing it uptowers

Lacinia's headland unto Juno dear,

the heights of Caulon, and that sailors' bane,

ship-shattering Scylaceum. Thence half seen,

trinacrian Aetna cleaves th' horizon line;

we hear from far the crash of shouting seas,

where lifted billows leap the tide-swept sand.

Father Anchises cried: “'T is none but she—

Charybdis! Helenus this reef foretold,

and rocks of dreadful name. O, fly, my men!

Rise like one man with long, strong sweep of oars!”

Not unobedient they! First Palinure

veered to the leftward wave the willing keel,

and sails and oars together leftward strove.

We shot to skyward on the arching surge,

then, as she sank, dropped deeper than the grave;

thrice bellowed the vast cliffs from vaulted wall;

thrice saw we spouted foam and showers of stars.

After these things both wind and sun did fail;

and weary, worn, not witting of our way,

we drifted shoreward to the Cyclops' land.

A spreading bay is there, impregnable

to all invading storms; and Aetna's throat

with roar of frightful ruin thunders nigh.

Now to the realm of light it lifts a cloud

of pitch-black, whirling smoke, and fiery dust,

shooting out globes of flame, with monster tongues

that lick the stars; now huge crags of itself,

out of the bowels of the mountain torn,

its maw disgorges, while the molten rock

rolls screaming skyward; from the nether deep

the fathomless abyss makes ebb and flow.

Enceladus, his body lightning-scarred,

lies prisoned under all, so runs the tale:

o'er him gigantic Aetna breathes in fire

from crack and seam; and if he haply turn

to change his wearied side, Trinacria's isle

trembles and moans, and thick fumes mantle heaven.

That night in screen and covert of a grove

we bore the dire convulsion, unaware

whence the loud horror came. For not a star

its lamp allowed, nor burned in upper sky

the constellated fires, but all was gloom,

and frowning night confined the moon in cloud.

When from the eastern waves the light of morn

began to peer, and from the upper sky

Aurora flamed away the dark and dew,

out of the forest sprang a startling shape

of hunger-wasted misery; a man

in wretched guise, who shoreward came with hands

outstretched in supplication. We turned back

and scanned him well. All grime and foulness he,

with long and tangled beard, his savage garb

fastened with thorns; but in all else he seemed

a Greek, and in his country's league of arms

sent to the seige of Troy. Then he beheld

the Dardan habit, and our Trojan steel,

he somewhat paused, as if in dread dismay

such sight to see, and falteringly moved;

but soon with headlong steps he sought the shore,

ejaculating broken sobs and prayers:

“By stars above! By gods on high! O, hear!

By this bright heavenly air we mortals breathe,

save me, sweet Trojans! Carry me away

unto what land ye will! I ask no more.

I came, I know it, in the ships of Greece;

and I did war, 't is true, with Ilium's gods.

O, if the crime deserve it, fling my corse

on yonder waves, and in the boundless brine

sink me forever! Give me in my death

the comfort that by human hands I die.”

He clasped our knees, and writhing on his own

clung fast. We bid him tell his race and name,

and by what fate pursued. Anchises gave

his own right hand in swift and generous aid,

and by prompt token cheered the exile's heart,

who, banishing his fears, poured forth this tale :—

“My home was Ithaca, and I partook

the fortunes of Ulysses evil-starred.

My name is Achemenides, my sire

was Adamastus, and I sailed for Troy,

being so poor,—O, that I ne'er had change

the lot I bore! In yon vast Cyclops' cave

my comrades, flying from its gruesome door,

left me behind, forgotten. 'T is a house

of gory feasts of flesh, 't is deep and dark,

and vaulted high. He looms as high as heaven;