Aeneid

they knew their kin and husbands, and their hearts

from Juno were set free. But none the less

the burning and indomitable flames

raged without stay; beneath the ships' smeared sides

the hempen fuel puffed a lingering smoke,

as, through the whole bulk creeping, the slow fire

devoured its way; and little it availed

that strong men fought the fire with stream on stream.

Then good Aeneas from his shoulder rent

his garment, and with lifted hands implored

the help of Heaven. “O Jove omnipotent!

If thou not yet thy wrath implacable

on every Trojan pourest, if thou still

hast pity, as of old, for what men bear,

O, grant my fleet deliverance from this flame!

From uttermost destruction, Father, save

our desperate Trojan cause! Or even now —

last cruelty! thy fatal thunders throw.

If this be my just meed, let thy dread arm

confound us all.” But scarce the prayer is said,

when with a bursting deluge a dark storm

falls, marvellous to see; while hills and plains

with thunder shake, and to each rim of heaven

spreads swollen cloud-rack, black with copious rain

and multitudinous gales. The full flood pours

on every ship, and all the smouldering beams

are drenched, until the smoke and flames expire

and (though four ships be lost) the burning fleet

rides rescued from its doom. But smitten sore

by this mischance, Aeneas doubtfully

weighs in his heart its mighty load of cares,

and ponders if indeed he may abide

in Sicily, not heeding prophet-songs,

or seek Italian shores. Thereon uprose

Nautes, an aged sire, to whom alone

Tritonian Pallas of her wisdom gave

and made his skill renowned; he had the power

to show celestial anger's warning signs,

or tell Fate's fixed decree. The gifted man

thus to Aeneas comfortably spoke:

“O goddess-born, we follow here or there,

as Fate compels or stays. But come what may,

he triumphs over Fortune, who can bear

whate'er she brings. Behold, Acestes draws

from Dardanus his origin divine!

Make him thy willing friend, to share with thee

thy purpose and thy counsel. Leave with him

the crews of the lost ships, and all whose hearts

repine at thy high task and great emprise:

the spent old men, the women ocean-weary,

whate'er is feeble found, or faint of heart

in danger's hour,—set that apart, and give

such weary ones within this friendly isle

a city called Acesta,—if he will.”

Much moved Aeneas was by this wise word

of his gray friend, though still his anxious soul

was vexed by doubt and care. But when dark night

had brought her chariot to the middle sky,

the sacred shade of Sire Anchises seemed,

from heaven descending, thus to speak aloud:

“My son, than life more dear, when life was mine!

O son, upon whose heart the Trojan doom

has weighed so Iong! Beside thy couch I stand,

at pleasure of great Jove, whose hand dispelled

the mad fire from thy ships; and now he looks

from heaven with pitying brow. I bid thee heed

the noble counsels aged Nautes gave.

Only with warriors of dauntless breast

to Italy repair; of hardy breed,

of wild, rough life, thy Latin foes will be.

But first the shores of Pluto and the Shades

thy feet must tread, and through the deep abyss

of dark Avernus come to me, thy sire:

for I inhabit not the guilty gloom

of Tartarus, but bright Elysian day,

where all the just their sweet assemblies hold.

Hither the virgin Sibyl, if thou give

full offerings of the blood of sable kine,

shall lead thee down; and visions I will show

of cities proud and nations sprung from thee.

Farewell, for dewy Night has wheeled her way

far past her middle course; the panting steeds

of orient Morn breathe pitiless upon me.”

He spoke, and passed, like fleeting clouds of smoke,

to empty air. “O, whither haste away?”

Aeneas cried. “Whom dost thou fly? What god

from my fond yearning and embrace removes?”

Then on the altar of the gods of Troy

he woke the smouldering embers, at the shrine

of venerable Vesta, worshipping

with hallowed bread and incense burning free.

Straightway he calls assembly of his friends, —

Acestes first in honor,—and makes known

Jove's will, the counsel of his cherished sire,

and his own fresh resolve. With prompt assent

they hear his word, nor does Acestes fail

the task to share. They people the new town

with women; and leave every wight behind

who wills it—souls not thirsting for high praise.

Themselves re-bench their ships, rebuild, and fit