Aeneid

“No tribulations new, 0 Sibyl blest,

Can now confront me; every future pain

I have foretasted; my prophetic soul

Endured each stroke of fate before it fell.

One boon I ask. If of th' infernal King

This be the portal where the murky wave

Of swollen Acheron o'erflows its bound,

Here let me enter and behold the face

Of my loved sire. Thy hand may point the way;

Thy word will open wide yon holy doors.

My father through the flames and falling spears,

Straight through the centre of our foes, I bore

Upon these shoulders. My long flight he shared

From sea to sea, and suffered at my side

The anger of rude waters and dark skies,—

Though weak—0 task too great for old and gray!

Thus as a suppliant at thy door to stand,

Was his behest and prayer. On son and sire,

0 gracious one, have pity,—for thy rule

Is over all; no vain authority

Hadst thou from Trivia o'er th' Avernian groves.

If Orpheus could call back his loved one's shade,

Emboldened by the lyre's melodious string :

If Pollux by the interchange of death

Redeemed his twin, and oft repassed the way :

If Theseus—but why name him? why recall

Alcides' task? I, too, am sprung from Jove.”

Thus, to the altar clinging, did he pray :

The Sibyl thus replied : “Offspring of Heaven,

Anchises' son, the downward path to death

Is easy; all the livelong night and day

Dark Pluto's door stands open for a guest.

But 0! remounting to the world of light,

This is a task indeed, a strife supreme.

Few, very few, whom righteous Jove did bless,

Or quenchless virtue carried to the stars,

Children of gods, have such a victory won.

Grim forests stop the way, and, gliding slow,

Cocytus circles through the sightless gloom.

But if it be thy dream and fond desire

Twice o'er the Stygian gulf to travel, twice

On glooms of Tartarus to set thine eyes,

If such mad quest be now thy pleasure—hear

What must be first fulfilled . A certain tree

Hides in obscurest shade a golden bough,

Of pliant stems and many a leaf of gold,

Sacred to Proserpine, infernal Queen.

Far in the grove it hides; in sunless vale

Deep shadows keep it in captivity.

No pilgrim to that underworld can pass

But he who plucks this burgeoned, leafy gold;

For this hath beauteous Proserpine ordained

Her chosen gift to be. Whene'er it is culled,

A branch out-leafing in like golden gleam,

A second wonder-stem, fails not to spring.

Therefore go seek it with uplifted eyes!

And when by will of Heaven thou findest it,

Reach forth and pluck; for at a touch it yields,

A free and willing gift, if Fate ordain;

But otherwise no mortal strength avails,

Nor strong, sharp steel, to rend it from the tree.

Another task awaits; thy friend's cold clay

Lies unentombed. Alas! thou art not ware

(While in my house thou lingerest, seeking light)

That all thy ships are by his death defiled.

Unto his resting-place and sepulchre,

Go, carry him! And sable victims bring,

In expiation, to his mournful shade.

So at the last on yonder Stygian groves,

And realms to things that breathe impassable,

Thine eye shall gaze.” So closed her lips inspired.

Aeneas then drew forth, with downcast eyes,

From that dark cavern, pondering in his heart

The riddle of his fate. His faithful friend

Achates at his side, with paces slow,

Companioned all his care, while their sad souls

Made mutual and oft-renewed surmise

What comrade dead, what cold and tombless clay,

The Sibyl's word would show.

But as they mused,

Behold Misenus on the dry sea-sands,

By hasty hand of death struck guiltless down!

A son of Aeolus, none better knew

To waken heroes by the clarion's call,

With war-enkindling sound. Great Hector's friend

In happier days, he oft at Hector's side

Strode to the fight with glittering lance and horn.

But when Achilles stripped his fallen foe,

This dauntless hero to Aeneas gave

Allegiance true, in not less noble cause.

But, on a day, he chanced beside the sea

To blow his shell-shaped horn, and wildly dared

Challenge the gods themselves to rival song;

Till jealous Triton, if the tale be true,

Grasped the rash mortal, and out-flung him far

'mid surf-beat rocks and waves of whirling foam.

Now from all sides, with tumult and loud cry,

The Trojans came,—Aeneas leading all

In faithful grief; they hasten to fulfil

The Sibyl's mandate, and with many a tear