Aeneid
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in early summer amid sunbeams toil,
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leading abroad their nation's youthful brood;
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or with the flowing honey storing close
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the pliant cells, until they quite run o'er
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with nectared sweet; while from the entering swarm
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they take their little loads; or lined for war,
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rout the dull drones, and chase them from the hive;
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brisk is the task, and all the honeyed air
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breathes odors of wild thyme. “How blest of Heaven.
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These men that see their promised ramparts rise!”
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Aeneas sighed; and swift his glances moved
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from tower to tower; then on his way he fared,
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veiled in the wonder-cloud, whence all unseen
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of human eyes,—O strange the tale and true!—
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he threaded the thronged streets, unmarked, unknown.
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Deep in the city's heart there was a grove
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of beauteous shade, where once the Tyrians,
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cast here by stormful waves, delved out of earth
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that portent which Queen Juno bade them find,—
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the head of a proud horse,—that ages long
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their boast might be wealth, luxury and war.
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Upon this spot Sidonian Dido raised
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a spacious fane to Juno, which became
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splendid with gifts, and hallowed far and wide
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for potency divine. Its beams were bronze,
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and on loud hinges swung the brazen doors.
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A rare, new sight this sacred grove did show,
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which calmed Aeneas' fears, and made him bold
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to hope for safety, and with lifted heart
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from his low-fallen fortunes re-aspire.
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For while he waits the advent of the Queen,
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he scans the mighty temple, and admires
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the city's opulent pride, and all the skill
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its rival craftsmen in their work approve.
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Behold! he sees old Ilium's well-fought fields
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in sequent picture, and those famous wars
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now told upon men's lips the whole world round.
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There Atreus' sons, there kingly Priam moved,
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and fierce Pelides pitiless to both.
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Aeneas paused, and, weeping, thus began:
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“Alas, Achates, what far region now,
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what land in all the world knows not our pain?
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See, it is Priam! Virtue's wage is given—
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O even here! Here also there be tears
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for what men bear, and mortal creatures feel
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each other's sorrow. Therefore, have no fear!
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This story of our loss forbodes us well.”
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So saying, he received into his heart
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that visionary scene, profoundly sighed,
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and let his plenteous tears unheeded flow.
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There he beheld the citadel of Troy
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girt with embattled foes; here, Greeks in flight
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some Trojan onset 'scaped; there, Phrygian bands
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before tall-plumed Achilles' chariot sped.
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The snowy tents of Rhesus spread hard by
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(he sees them through his tears), where Diomed
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in night's first watch burst o'er them unawares
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with bloody havoc and a host of deaths;
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then drove his fiery coursers o'er the plain
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before their thirst or hunger could be stayed
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on Trojan corn or Xanthus' cooling stream.
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Here too was princely Troilus, despoiled,
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routed and weaponless, O wretched boy!
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Ill-matched against Achilles! His wild steeds
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bear him along, as from his chariot's rear
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he falls far back, but clutches still the rein;
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his hair and shoulders on the ground go trailing,
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and his down-pointing spear-head scrawls the dust.
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Elsewhere, to Pallas' ever-hostile shrine,
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daughters of Ilium, with unsnooded hair,
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and lifting all in vain her hallowed pall,
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walked suppliant and sad, beating their breasts,
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with outspread palms. But her unswerving eyes
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the goddess fixed on earth, and would not see.
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Achilles round the Trojan rampart thrice
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had dragged the fallen Hector, and for gold
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was making traffic of the lifeless clay.
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Aeneas groaned aloud, with bursting heart,
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to see the spoils, the car, the very corpse
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of his lost friend,—while Priam for the dead
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stretched forth in piteous prayer his helpless hands.
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There too his own presentment he could see
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surrounded by Greek kings; and there were shown
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hordes from the East, and black-browed Memnon's arms;
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her band of Amazons, with moon-shaped shields,
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Penthesilea led; her martial eye
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flamed on from troop to troop; a belt of gold
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beneath one bare, protruded breast she bound—
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a warrior-virgin braving mail-clad men.
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While on such spectacle Aeneas' eyes
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looked wondering, while mute and motionless
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he stood at gaze, Queen Dido to the shrine
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in lovely majesty drew near; a throng
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of youthful followers pressed round her way.
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So by the margin of Eurotas wide
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or o'er the Cynthian steep, Diana leads
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her bright processional; hither and yon
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are visionary legions numberless
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of Oreads; the regnant goddess bears
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a quiver on her shoulders, and is seen
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