Aeneid

her flying feet. For sight of her the youth

from field and fortress sped, and matrons grave

stood wondering as she passed, well-pleased to see

her royal scarf in many a purple fold

float off her shining shoulder, her dark hair

in golden clasp caught fast, and how she bore

for arms a quiver of the Lycian mode,

and shepherd's shaft of myrtle tipped with steel.

When Turnus from Laurentum's bastion proud

published the war, and roused the dreadful note

of the harsh trumpet's song; when on swift steeds

the lash he laid and clashed his sounding arms;

then woke each warrior soul; all Latium stirred

with tumult and alarm; and martial rage

enkindled youth's hot blood. The chieftains proud,

Messapus, Ufens, and that foe of Heaven,

Mezentius, compel from far and wide

their loyal hosts, and strip the field and farm

of husbandmen. To seek auxiliar arms

they send to glorious Diomed's domain

the herald Venulus, and bid him cry:

“Troy is to Latium come; Aeneas' fleet

has come to land. He brings his vanquished gods,

and gives himself to be our destined King.

Cities not few accept him, and his name

through Latium waxes large. But what the foe

by such attempt intends, what victory

is his presumptuous hope, if Fortune smile,

Aetolia's lord will not less wisely fear

than royal Turnus or our Latin King.”

Thus Latium's cause moved on. Meanwhile the heir

of great Laomedon, who knew full well

the whole wide land astir, was vexed and tossed

in troubled seas of care. This way and that

his swift thoughts flew, and scanned with like dismay

each partial peril or the general storm.

Thus the vexed waters at a fountain's brim,

smitten by sunshine or the silver sphere

of a reflected moon, send forth a beam

of flickering light that leaps from wall to wall,

or, skyward lifted in ethereal flight,

glances along some rich-wrought, vaulted dome.

Now night had fallen, and all weary things,

all shapes of beast or bird, the wide world o'er,

lay deep in slumber. So beneath the arch

of a cold sky Aeneas laid him down

upon the river-bank, his heart sore tried

by so much war and sorrow, and gave o'er

his body to its Iong-delayed repose.

There, 'twixt the poplars by the gentle stream,

the River-Father, genius of that place,

old Tiberinus visibly uprose;

a cloak of gray-green lawn he wore, his hair

o'erhung with wreath of reeds. In soothing words

thus, to console Aeneas' cares, he spoke:

“Seed of the gods! who bringest to my shore

thy Trojan city wrested from her foe,

a stronghold everlasting, Latium's plain

and fair Laurentum long have looked for thee.

Here truly is thy home. Turn not away.

Here the true guardians of thy hearth shall be.

Fear not the gathering war. The wrath of Heaven

has stilled its swollen wave. A sign I tell:

Lest thou shouldst deem this message of thy sleep

a vain, deluding dream, thou soon shalt find

in the oak-copses on my margent green,

a huge sow, with her newly-littered brood

of thirty young; along the ground she lies,

snow-white, and round her udders her white young.

There shall thy city stand, and there thy toil

shall find untroubled rest. After the lapse

of thrice ten rolling years, Ascanius

shall found a city there of noble name,

White-City, Alba; 't is no dream I sing!

But I instruct thee now by what wise way

th' impending wars may bring thee victory:

receive the counsel, though the words be few:

within this land are men of Arcady,

of Pallas' line, who, following in the train

of King Evander and his men-at-arms,

built them a city in the hills, and chose

(honoring Pallas, their Pelasgian sire),

the name of Pallanteum. They make war

incessant with the Latins. Therefore call

this people to thy side and bind them close

in federated power. My channel fair

and shaded shore shall guide thee where they dwell,

and thy strong oarsmen on my waters borne

shall mount my falling stream. Rise, goddess-born,

and ere the starlight fade give honor due

to Juno, and with supplicating vow

avert her wrath and frown. But unto me

make offering in thy victorious hour,

in time to come. I am the copious flood

which thou beholdest chafing at yon shores

and parting fruitful fields: cerulean stream

of Tiber, favored greatly of high Heaven.

here shall arise my house magnificent,

a city of all cities chief and crown.”

So spake the river-god, and sank from view