Aeneid

Arises from the field of Mars, and strikes

The city's heart. 0 Father Tiber, see

What pomp of sorrow near the new-made tomb

Beside thy fleeting stream! What Ilian youth

Shall e'er his Latin kindred so advance

In hope of glory? When shall the proud land

Of Romulus of such a nursling boast?

Ah, woe' is me! 0 loyal heart and true!

0 brave, right arm invincible! What foe

Had 'scaped his onset in the shock of arms,

Whether on foot he strode, or if he spurred

The hot flanks of his war-horse flecked with foam?

0 lost, lamented child! If thou evade

Thy evil star, Marcellus thou shalt be.

0 bring me lilies! Bring with liberal hand!

Sad purple blossoms let me throw—the shade

Of my own kin to honor, heaping high

My gifts upon his grave! So let me pay

An unavailing vow!”

Then, far and wide

Through spacious fields of air, they wander free,

Witnessing all; Anchises guides his son

From point to point, and quickens in his mind

Hunger for future fame. Of wars he tells

Soon imminent; of fair Laurentum's tribes;

Of King Latinus' town; and shows what way

Each task and hardship to prevent, or bear.

Now Sleep has portals twain, whereof the one

Is horn, they say, and easy exit gives

To visions true; the other, gleaming white

With polished ivory, the.dead employ

To people night with unsubstantial dreams.

Here now Anchises bids his son farewell;

And with Sibylla, his companion sage,

Up through that ivory portal lets him rise.

Back to his fleet and his dear comrades all

Aeneas hastes.Then hold they their straight course

Into Caieta's bay. An anchor holds

Each lofty prow; the sterns stand firm on shore.

One more immortal name thy death bequeathed,

Nurse of Aeneas, to Italian shores,

Caieta; there thy honor hath a home;

Thy bones a name: and on Hesperia's breast

Their proper glory.When Aeneas now

The tribute of sepulchral vows had paid

Beside the funeral mound, and o'er the seas

Stillness had fallen, he flung forth his sails,

And leaving port pursued his destined way.

Freshly the night-winds breathe; the cloudless moon

Outpours upon his path unstinted beam,

And with far-trembling glory smites the sea.

Close to the lands of Circe soon they fare,

Where the Sun's golden daughter in far groves

Sounds forth her ceaseless song; her lofty hall

Is fragrant every night with flaring brands

Of cedar, giving light the while she weaves

With shrill-voiced shuttle at her linens fine.

From hence are heard the loud lament and wrath

Of lions, rebels to their linked chains

And roaring all night long; great bristly boars

And herded bears, in pinfold closely kept,

Rage horribly, and monster-wolves make moan;

Whom the dread goddess with foul juices strong

From forms of men drove forth, and bade to wear

the mouths and maws of beasts in Circe's thrall.

But lest the sacred Trojans should endure

such prodigy of doom, or anchor there

on that destroying shore, kind Neptune filled

their sails with winds of power, and sped them on

in safety past the perils of that sea.

Now morning flushed the wave, and saffron-garbed

Aurora from her rose-red chariot beamed

in highest heaven; the sea-winds ceased to stir;

a sudden calm possessed the air, and tides

of marble smoothness met the laboring oar.

Then, gazing from the deep, Aeneas saw

a stretch of groves, whence Tiber's smiling stream,

its tumbling current rich with yellow sands,

burst seaward forth: around it and above

shore-haunting birds of varied voice and plume

flattered the sky with song, and, circling far

o'er river-bed and grove, took joyful wing.

Thither to landward now his ships he steered,

and sailed, high-hearted, up the shadowy stream.

Hail, Erato! while olden kings and thrones

and all their sequent story I unfold!

How Latium's honor stood, when alien ships

brought war to Italy, and from what cause

the primal conflict sprang, O goddess, breathe

upon thy bard in song. Dread wars I tell,

array of battle, and high-hearted kings

thrust forth to perish, when Etruria's host

and all Hesperia gathered to the fray.

Events of grander march impel my song,

and loftier task I try. Latinus, then

an aged king, held long-accepted sway

o'er tranquil vales and towns. He was the son

of Faunus, so the legend tells, who wed

the nymph Marica of Laurentian stem.

Picus was Faunus' father, whence the line