Aeneid

that mighty mother of the gods, they say,

the Berecynthian goddess, thus to Jove

addressed her plea: “Grant, O my son, a boon,

which thy dear mother asks, who aided thee

to quell Olympian war. A grove I have

of sacred pine, long-loved from year to year.

On lofty hill it grew, and thither came

my worshippers with gifts, in secret gloom

of pine-trees dark and shadowing maple-boughs.;

these on the Dardan warrior at his need

I, not unwilling, for his fleet bestowed.

But I have fears. O, Iet a parent's prayer

in this prevail, and bid my care begone!

Let not rude voyages nor the shock of storm

my ships subdue, but let their sacred birth

on my charmed hills their strength and safety be!”

Then spake her son, who guides the wheeling spheres:

“Wouldst thou, my mother, strive to oversway

the course of Fate? What means this prayer of thine?

Can it be granted ships of mortal mould

to wear immortal being? Wouldst thou see

Aeneas pass undoubting and secure

through doubtful strait and peril? On what god

was e'er such power bestowed? Yet will I grant

a different boon. Whatever ships shall find

a safe Ausonian haven, and convey

safe through the seas to yon Laurentian plain

the Dardan King, from such I will remove

their perishable shapes, and bid them be

sea-nymphs divine, like Nereus' daughters fair,

Doto and Galatea, whose white breasts

divide the foaming wave.” He said, and swore

by his Tartarean brother's mournful stream,

the pitch-black floods and dark engulfing shore

of Styx; then great Jove bowed his head, and all

Olympus quaked at his consenting brow.

Now was the promised day at hand (for Fate

had woven the web so far) when Turnus' rage

stirred the divine progenitress to save

her sacred ships from fire. Then sudden shone

a strange effulgence in the eastern air;

and in a storm-cloud wafted o'er the sky

were Corybantic choirs, whose dreadful song

smote both on Teucrian and Rutulian ear:

“O Teucrians, fear not for the sure defence

of all the ships, nor arm your mortal hands.

Yon impious Turnus shall burn up the seas

before my pine-trees blest. Arise! Be free,

ye goddesses of ocean, and obey

your mother's mighty word.” Then instant broke

the hawsers of the sterns; the beaked prows

went plunging like great dolphins from the shore

down to the deeps, and, wonderful to tell,

the forms of virgin goddesses uprose,

one for each ship, and seaward sped away.

The hearts of the Rutulian host stood still

in panic, and Messapus terrified

his trembling horses reined; the sacred stream

of Father Tiber, harshly murmuring,

held back his flood and checked his seaward way.

But Turnus' courage failed not; he alone

his followers roused, and with reproachful words

alone spoke forth: “These signs and prodigies

threaten the Trojan only. Jove himself

has stripped them of their wonted strength: no more

can they abide our deadly sword and fire.

The Trojan path to sea is shut. What hope

of flight is left them now? The half their cause

is fallen. The possession of this land

is ours already; thousands of sharp swords

Italia's nations bring. Small fear have I

of Phrygia's boasted omens. What to me

their oracles from heaven? The will of Fate

and Venus have achieved their uttermost

in casting on Ausonia's fruitful shore

yon sons of Troy. I too have destinies:

and mine, good match for theirs, with this true blade

will spill the blood of all the baneful brood,

in vengeance for my stolen wife. Such wrongs

move not on Atreus' sons alone, nor rouse

only Mycenae to a righteous war.

Say you, ‘Troy falls but once?’ One crime, say I,

should have contented them; and now their souls

should little less than loathe all womankind.

These are the sort of soldiers that be brave

behind entrenchment, where the moated walls

may stem the foe and make a little room

betwixt themselves and death. Did they not see

how Troy's vast bulwark built by Neptune's hand

crumbled in flame? Forward, my chosen brave!

Who follows me to cleave his deadly way

through yonder battlement, and leap like storm

upon its craven guard? I have no need

of arms from Vulcan's smithy; nor of ships

a thousand strong against our Teucrian foes,

though all Etruria's league enlarge their power.

Let them not fear dark nights, nor coward theft

of Pallas' shrine, nor murdered sentinels

on their acropolis. We shall not hide

in blinding belly of a horse. But I