Aeneid

opened afresh; three times with straining arm

she rose; three times dropped helpless, her dimmed eyes

turned skyward, seeking the sweet light of day, —

which when she saw, she groaned. Great Juno then

looked down in mercy on that lingering pain

and labor to depart: from realms divine

she sent the goddess of the rainbow wing,

Iris, to set the struggling spirit free

and loose its fleshly coil. For since the end

came not by destiny, nor was the doom

of guilty deed, but of a hapless wight

to sudden madness stung, ere ripe to die,

therefore the Queen of Hades had not shorn

the fair tress from her forehead, nor assigned

that soul to Stygian dark. So Iris came

on dewy, saffron pinions down from heaven,

a thousand colors on her radiant way,

from the opposing sun. She stayed her flight

above that pallid brow: “I come with power

to make this gift to Death. I set thee free

from thy frail body's bound.” With her right hand

she cut the tress: then through its every limb

the sinking form grew cold; the vital breath

fled forth, departing on the viewless air.

Meanwhile Aeneas, now well launched away,

steered forth with all the fleet to open sea,

on his unswerving course, and ploughed the waves,

sped by a driving gale; but when his eyes

looked back on Carthage, they beheld the glare

of hapless Dido's fire. Not yet was known

what kindled the wild flames; but that the pang

of outraged love is cruel, and what the heart

of desperate woman dares, they knew too well,

and sad foreboding shook each Trojan soul.

Soon in mid-sea, beyond all chart of shore,

when only seas and skies were round their way,

full in the zenith loomed a purple cloud,

storm-laden, dark as night, and every wave

grew black and angry; from his Iofty seat

the helmsman Palinurus cried, “Alas!

What means this host of storms encircling heaven?

What, Neptune, wilt thou now?” He, having said,

bade reef and tighten, bend to stronger stroke,

and slant sail to the wind; then spake again:

“High-souled Aeneas, not if Jove the King

gave happy omen, would I have good hope

of making Italy through yonder sky.

Athwart our course from clouded evening-star

rebellious winds run shifting, and the air

into a cloud-wrack rolls. Against such foes

too weak our strife and strain! Since now the hand

of Fortune triumphs, let us where she calls

obedient go. For near us, I believe,

lies Eryx' faithful and fraternal shore:

here are Sicilian havens, if my mind

of yon familiar stars have knowledge true.”

then good Aeneas: “For a friendly wind

long have I sued, and watched thee vainly strive.

Shift sail! What happier land for me and mine,

or for our storm-beat ships what safer shore,

than where Dardanian Acestes reigns;

the land whose faithful bosom cherishes

Anchises' ashes?” Heedful of his word,

they landward steer, while favoring zephyrs fill

the spreading sail. On currents swift and strong

the fleet is wafted, and with thankful soul

they moor on Sicily's familiar strand.

From a far hill-top having seen with joy

the entering ships, and knowing them for friends,

good King Acestes ran to bid them hail.

Garbed in rough pelt of Libyan bear was he,

and javelins he bore, in sylvan guise:

for him the river-god Crimisus sired

of Trojan wife. Remembering in his heart

his ancient blood, he greeted with glad words

the wanderers returned; bade welcome to

his rude abundance, and with friendly gifts

their weariness consoled. The morrow morn,

soon as the new beams of a golden day

had banished every star, Aeneas called

a council of his followers on the shore,

and from a fair green hillock gave this word:

“Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty line

none but the gods began! This day fulfils

the annual cycle of revolving time,

since the dear relics of my god-like sire

to earth we gave, and with dark offerings due

built altars sorrowful. If now I err not,

this is my day—ye gods have willed it so! —

for mourning and for praise. Should it befall

me exiled in Gaetulia's wilderness,

or sailing some Greek sea, or at the walls

of dire Mycenae, still would I renew

unfailing vows, and make solemnity

with thankful rites, and worshipful array,

at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come,

beyond all hope, where lie the very bones

of my great sire. Nor did it come to pass

without divine intent and heavenly power,

that on these hospitable shores we stand.