Aeneid

Trembles, and all the seven-fold mouths of Nile.

Not o'er domain so wide Alcides passed,

Although the brazen-footed doe he slew

And stilled the groves of Erymanth, and bade

The beast of Lerna at his arrows quail.

Nor half so far triumphant Baechus drove,

With vine-entwisted reins, his frolic team

Of tigers from the tall-topped Indian hill.

“Still do we doubt if heroes' deeds can fill

A realm so wide? Shall craven fear constrain

Thee or thy people from Ausonia's shore?

Look, who is he I may discern from far

By olive-branch and holy emblems known?

His flowing locks and hoary beard, behold!

Fit for a Roman king! By hallowed laws

He shall found Rome anew—from mean estate

In lowly Cures led to mightier sway.

But after him arises one whose reign

Shall wake the land from slumber: Tullus then

Shall stir slack chiefs to battle, rallying

His hosts which had forgot what triumphs be.

Him boastful Ancus follows hard upon,

o'erflushed with his light people's windy praise.

Wilt thou see Tarquins now? And haughty hand

Of vengeful Brutus seize the signs of power?

He first the consul's name shall take; he first

Th' inexorable fasces sternly bear.

When his own sons in rash rebellion join,

The father and the judge shall sentence give

In beauteous freedom's cause—unhappy he!

Howe'er the age to come the story tell,

't will bless such love of honor and of Rome.

See Decius, sire and son, the Drusi, see!

Behold Torquatus with his axe! Look where

Camillus brings the Gallic standards home!

“But who are these in glorious armor clad

And equal power? In this dark world of cloud

Their souls in concord move;—but woe is me!

What duel 'twixt them breaks, when by and by

The light of life is theirs, and forth they call

Their long-embattled lines to carnage dire!

Allied by nuptial truce, the sire descends

From Alpine rampart and that castled cliff,

Monoecus by the sea; the son arrays

His hostile legions in the lands of morn.

Forbear, my children! School not your great souls

In such vast wars, nor turn your giant strength

Against the bowels of your native land!

But be thou first, 0 first in mercy! thou

Who art of birth Olympian! Fling away

Thy glorious sword, mine offspring and mine heir!

“Yonder is one whose chariot shall ascend

The laurelled Capitolian steep; he rides

In glory o'er Achaea's hosts laid low,

And Corinth overthrown. There, too, is he

Who shall uproot proud Argos and the towers

Of Agamemnon; vanquishing the heir

Even of Aeacus, the warrior seed

Of Peleus' son; such vengeance shall be wrought

For Troy's slain sires, and violated shrines!

“Or who could fail great Cato's name to tell?

Or, Cossus, thine? or in oblivion leave

The sons of Gracchus? or the Scipios,

Twin thunderbolts of war, and Libya's bane?

Or, more than kingly in his mean abode,

Fabricius? or Serranus at the plough?

Ye Fabii, how far would ye prolong

My weary praise? But see! 'T is Maximus,

Who by wise waiting saves his native land.

“Let others melt and mould the breathing bronze

To forms more fair,—aye! out of marble bring

Features that live; let them plead causes well;

Or trace with pointed wand the cycled heaven,

And hail the constellations as they rise;

But thou, 0 Roman, learn with sovereign sway

To rule the nations. Thy great art shall be

To keep the world in lasting peace, to spare

humbled foe, and crush to earth the proud.”

So did Anchises speak, then, after pause,

Thus to their wondering ears his word prolonged:

“Behold Marcellus, bright with glorious spoil,

In lifted triumph through his warriors move!

The Roman power in tumultuous days

He shall establish; he rides forth to quell

Afric and rebel Gaul; and to the shrine

Of Romulus the third-won trophy brings.”

Then spoke Aeneas, for he now could see

A beauteous youth in glittering dress of war,

Though of sad forehead and down-dropping eyes:

“Say, father, who attends the prince? a son?

Or of his greatness some remoter heir?

How his friends praise him, and how matchless he!

But mournful night Tests darkly o'er his brow.”

With brimming eyes Anchises answer gave:

“Ask not, 0 son, what heavy weight of woe

Thy race shall bear, when fate shall just reveal

This vision to the world, then yield no more.

0 gods above, too glorious did ye deem

The seed of Rome, had this one gift been sure?

The lamentation of a multitude