No More Learning

Now, then, whensoever
strength shall be given, I invoke the enmity of shore to shore, wave to
water, sword to sword; let their battles go down to their children's
children. '

So speaks she as she kept turning her mind round about, seeking how
soonest to break away from the hateful light. Thereon she speaks briefly
to Barce, nurse of Sychaeus; for a heap of dusky ashes held her own, in
her country of long ago:

'Sweet nurse, bring Anna my sister hither to me. Bid her haste and
sprinkle river water over her body, and bring [636-667]with her the
beasts ordained for expiation: so let her come: and thou likewise veil
thy brows with a pure chaplet. I would fulfil the rites of Stygian Jove
that I have fitly ordered and begun, so to set the limit to my
distresses and give over to the flames the funeral pyre of the
Dardanian. '

So speaks she; the old woman went eagerly with quickened pace. But Dido,
fluttered and fierce in her awful purpose, with bloodshot restless gaze,
and spots on her quivering cheeks burning through the pallor of imminent
death, bursts into the inner courts of the house, and mounts in madness
the high funeral pyre, and unsheathes the sword of Dardania, a gift
asked for no use like this. Then after her eyes fell on the Ilian
raiment and the bed she knew, dallying a little with her purpose through
her tears, she sank on the pillow and spoke the last words of all:

'Dress he wore, sweet while doom and deity allowed! receive my spirit
now, and release me from my distresses. I have lived and fulfilled
Fortune's allotted course; and now shall I go a queenly phantom under
the earth. I have built a renowned city; I have seen my ramparts rise;
by my brother's punishment I have avenged my husband of his enemy;
happy, ah me! and over happy, had but the keels of Dardania never
touched our shores! ' She spoke; and burying her face in the pillow,
'Death it will be,' she cries, 'and unavenged; but death be it. Thus,
thus is it good to pass into the dark. Let the pitiless Dardanian's gaze
drink in this fire out at sea, and my death be the omen he carries on
his way. '

She ceased; and even as she spoke her people see her sunk on the steel,
and blood reeking on the sword and spattered on her hands. A cry rises
in the high halls; Rumour riots down the quaking city. The house
resounds with lamentation and sobbing and bitter crying of women;
[668-700]heaven echoes their loud wails; even as though all Carthage or
ancient Tyre went down as the foe poured in, and the flames rolled
furious over the roofs of house and temple. Swooning at the sound, her
sister runs in a flutter of dismay, with torn face and smitten bosom,
and darts through them all, and calls the dying woman by her name. 'Was
it this, mine own? Was my summons a snare? Was it this thy pyre, ah me,
this thine altar fires meant? How shall I begin my desolate moan? Didst
thou disdain a sister's company in death? Thou shouldst have called me
to share thy doom; in the self-same hour, the self-same pang of steel
had been our portion. Did these very hands build it, did my voice call
on our father's gods, that with thee lying thus I should be away as one
without pity? Thou hast destroyed thyself and me together, O my sister,
and the Sidonian lords and people, and this thy city. Give her wounds
water: I will bathe them and catch on my lips the last breath that haply
yet lingers. ' So speaking she had climbed the high steps, and, wailing,
clasped and caressed her half-lifeless sister in her bosom, and stanched
the dark streams of blood with her gown. She, essaying to lift her heavy
eyes, swoons back; the deep-driven wound gurgles in her breast. Thrice
she rose, and strained to lift herself on her elbow; thrice she rolled
back on the pillow, and with wandering eyes sought the light of high
heaven, and moaned as she found it.

Then Juno omnipotent, pitying her long pain and difficult decease, sent
Iris down from heaven to unloose the struggling life from the body where
it clung. For since neither by fate did she perish, nor as one who had
earned her death, but woefully before her day, and fired by sudden
madness, not yet had Proserpine taken her lock from the golden head, nor
sentenced her to the Stygian under world. So Iris on dewy saffron
pinions flits down through the sky [701-705]athwart the sun in a trail
of a thousand changing dyes, and stopping over her head: 'This hair,
sacred to Dis, I take as bidden, and release thee from that body of
thine. ' So speaks she, and cuts it with her hand. And therewith all the
warmth ebbed forth from her, and the life passed away upon the winds.




BOOK FIFTH

THE GAMES OF THE FLEET


Meanwhile Aeneas and his fleet in unwavering track now held mid passage,
and cleft the waves that blackened under the North, looking back on the
city that even now gleams with hapless Elissa's funeral flame. Why the
broad blaze is lit lies unknown; but the bitter pain of a great love
trampled, and the knowledge of what woman can do in madness, draw the
Teucrians' hearts to gloomy guesses.

When their ships held the deep, nor any land farther appears, the seas
all round, and all round the sky, a dusky shower drew up overhead,
carrying night and storm, and the wave shuddered and gloomed. Palinurus,
master of the fleet, cries from the high stern: 'Alas, why have these
heavy storm-clouds girt the sky? lord Neptune, what wilt thou? ' Then he
bids clear the rigging and bend strongly to the oars, and brings the
sails across the wind, saying thus:

'Noble Aeneas, not did Jupiter give word and warrant would I hope to
reach Italy under such a sky. The shifting winds roar athwart our
course, and blow stronger out of the black west, and the air thickens
into mist: nor are we fit to force our way on and across. Fortune is the
stronger; let us follow her, and turn our course whither she calls.
[23-55]Not far away, I think, are the faithful shores of thy brother
Eryx, and the Sicilian haven, if only my memory retraces rightly the
stars I watched before. '

Then good Aeneas: 'Even I ere now discern the winds will have it so, and
thou urgest against them in vain. Turn thou the course of our sailing.
Could any land be welcomer to me, or where I would sooner choose to put
in my weary ships, than this that hath Dardanian Acestes to greet me,
and laps in its embrace lord Anchises' dust? ' This said, they steer for
harbour, while the following west wind stretches their sails; the fleet
runs fast down the flood, and at last they land joyfully on the familiar
beach. But Acestes high on a hill-top, amazed at the friendly squadron
approaching from afar, hastens towards them, weaponed and clad in the
shaggy skin of a Libyan she-bear. Him a Trojan mother conceived and bore
to Crimisus river; not forgetful of his parentage, he wishes them joy of
their return, and gladly entertains them on his rustic treasure and
comforts their weariness with his friendly store. So soon as the
morrow's clear daylight had chased the stars out of the east, Aeneas
calls his comrades along the beach together, and from a mounded hillock
speaks:

'Great people of Dardanus, born of the high blood of gods, the yearly
circle of the months is measured out to fulfilment since we laid the
dust in earth, all that was left of my divine father, and sadly
consecrated our altars. And now the day is at hand (this, O gods, was
your will), which I will ever keep in grief, ever in honour. Did I spend
it an exile on Gaetulian quicksands, did it surprise me on the Argolic
sea or in Mycenae town, yet would I fulfil the yearly vows and annual
ordinance of festival, and pile the altars with their due gifts. Now we
are led hither, to the very dust and ashes of our father, not as I deem
without [56-90]divine purpose and influence, and borne home into the
friendly haven. Up then and let us all gather joyfully to the sacrifice:
pray we for winds, and may he deign that I pay these rites to him year
by year in an established city and consecrated temple. Two head of oxen
Acestes, the seed of Troy, gives to each of your ships by tale: invite
to the feast your own ancestral gods of the household, and those whom
our host Acestes worships. Further, so the ninth Dawn uplift the
gracious day upon men, and her shafts unveil the world, I will ordain
contests for my Trojans; first for swift ships; then whoso excels in the
foot-race, and whoso, confident in strength and skill, comes to shoot
light arrows, or adventures to join battle with gloves of raw hide; let
all be here, and let merit look for the prize and palm. Now all be
hushed, and twine your temples with boughs. '

So speaks he, and shrouds his brows with his mother's myrtle. So Helymus
does, so Aletes ripe of years, so the boy Ascanius, and the rest of the
people follow. He advances from the assembly to the tomb among a throng
of many thousands that crowd about him; here he pours on the ground in
fit libation two goblets of pure wine, two of new milk, two of
consecrated blood, and flings bright blossoms, saying thus: 'Hail, holy
father, once again; hail, ashes of him I saved in vain, and soul and
shade of my sire! Thou wert not to share the search for Italian borders
and destined fields, nor the dim Ausonian Tiber. ' Thus had he spoken;
when from beneath the sanctuary a snake slid out in seven vast coils and
sevenfold slippery spires, quietly circling the grave and gliding from
altar to altar, his green chequered body and the spotted lustre of his
scales ablaze with gold, as the bow in the cloud darts a thousand
changing dyes athwart the sun: Aeneas stood amazed at the sight. At last
he wound [91-126]his long train among the vessels and polished cups,
and tasted the feast, and again leaving the altars where he had fed,
crept harmlessly back beneath the tomb. Doubtful if he shall think it
the Genius of the ground or his father's ministrant, he slays, as is
fit, two sheep of two years old, as many swine and dark-backed steers,
pouring the while cups of wine, and calling on the soul of great
Anchises and the ghost rearisen from Acheron. Therewithal his comrades,
as each hath store, bring gifts to heap joyfully on the altars, and slay
steers in sacrifice: others set cauldrons arow, and, lying along the
grass, heap live embers under spits and roast the flesh.

The desired day came, and now the ninth Dawn rode up clear and bright
behind Phaethon's coursers; and the name and renown of illustrious
Acestes had stirred up all the bordering people; their holiday throng
filled the shore, to see Aeneas' men, and some ready to join in contest.
First of all the prizes are laid out to view in the middle of the
racecourse; tripods of sacrifice, green garlands and palms, the reward
of the conquerors, armour and garments dipped in purple, talents of
silver and gold: and from a hillock in the midst the trumpet sounds the
games begun. First is the contest of rowing, and four ships matched in
weight enter, the choice of all the fleet. Mnestheus' keen oarsmen drive
the swift Dragon, Mnestheus the Italian to be, from whose name is the
Memmian family; Gyas the huge bulk of the huge Chimaera, a floating
town, whom her triple-tiered Dardanian crew urge on with oars rising in
threefold rank; Sergestus, from whom the Sergian house holds her name,
sails in the tall Centaur; and in the sea-coloured Scylla Cloanthus,
whence is thy family, Cluentius of Rome.

Apart in the sea and over against the foaming beach, lies a rock that
the swoln waves beat and drown what time the [127-159]north-western
gales of winter blot out the stars; in calm it rises silent out of the
placid water, flat-topped, and a haunt where cormorants love best to
take the sun. Here lord Aeneas set up a goal of leafy ilex, a mark for
the sailors to know whence to return, where to wheel their long course
round. Then they choose stations by lot, and on the sterns their
captains glitter afar, beautiful in gold and purple; the rest of the
crews are crowned with poplar sprays, and their naked shoulders glisten
wet with oil. They sit down at the thwarts, and their arms are tense on
the oars; at full strain they wait the signal, while throbbing fear and
heightened ambition drain their riotous blood. Then, when the clear
trumpet-note rang, all in a moment leap forward from their line; the
shouts of the sailors strike up to heaven, and the channels are swept
into foam by the arms as they swing backward. They cleave their furrows
together, and all the sea is torn asunder by oars and triple-pointed
prows. Not with speed so headlong do racing pairs whirl the chariots
over the plain, as they rush streaming from the barriers; not so do
their charioteers shake the wavy reins loose over their team, and hang
forward on the whip. All the woodland rings with clapping and shouts of
men that cheer their favourites, and the sheltered beach eddies back
their cries; the noise buffets and re-echoes from the hills. Gyas shoots
out in front of the noisy crowd, and glides foremost along the water;
whom Cloanthus follows next, rowing better, but held back by his
dragging weight of pine. After them, at equal distance, the Dragon and
the Centaur strive to win the foremost room; and now the Dragon has it,
now the vast Centaur outstrips and passes her; now they dart on both
together, their stems in a line, and their keels driving long furrows
through the salt water-ways. And now they drew nigh the rock, and were
hard [160-193]on the goal; when Gyas as he led, winner over half the
flood, cries aloud to Menoetes, the ship's steersman: 'Whither away so
far to the right? This way direct her path; kiss the shore, and let the
oarblade graze the leftward reefs. Others may keep to deep water. ' He
spoke; but Menoetes, fearing blind rocks, turns the bow away towards the
open sea. 'Whither wanderest thou away? to the rocks, Menoetes! ' again
shouts Gyas to bring him back; and lo! glancing round he sees Cloanthus
passing up behind and keeping nearer. Between Gyas' ship and the echoing
crags he scrapes through inside on his left, flashes past his leader,
and leaving the goal behind is in safe water. Then indeed grief burned
fierce through his strong frame, and tears sprung out on his cheeks;
heedless of his own dignity and his crew's safety, he flings the too
cautious Menoetes sheer into the sea from the high stern, himself
succeeds as guide and master of the helm, and cheers on his men, and
turns his tiller in to shore. But Menoetes, when at last he rose
struggling from the bottom, heavy with advancing years and wet in his
dripping clothes, makes for the top of the crag, and sits down on a dry
rock. The Teucrians laughed out as he fell and as he swam, and laugh to
see him spitting the salt water from his chest. At this a joyful hope
kindled in the two behind, Sergestus and Mnestheus, of catching up Gyas'
wavering course. Sergestus slips forward as he nears the rock, yet not
all in front, nor leading with his length of keel; part is in front,
part pressed by the Dragon's jealous prow. But striding amidships
between his comrades, Mnestheus cheers them on: 'Now, now swing back,
oarsmen who were Hector's comrades, whom I chose to follow me in Troy's
extremity; now put forth the might and courage you showed in Gaetulian
quicksands, amid Ionian seas and Malea's chasing waves. Not the first
[194-227]place do I now seek for Mnestheus, nor strive for victory;
though ah! --yet let them win, O Neptune, to whom thou givest it. But the
shame of coming in last! Win but this, fellow-citizens, and avert that
disaster! ' His men bend forward, straining every muscle; the brasswork
of the ship quivers to their mighty strokes, and the ground runs from
under her; limbs and parched lips shake with their rapid panting, and
sweat flows in streams all over them. Mere chance brought the crew the
glory they desired. For while Sergestus drives his prow furiously in
towards the rocks and comes up with too scanty room, alas! he caught on
a rock that ran out; the reef ground, the oars struck and shivered on
the jagged teeth, and the bows crashed and hung. The sailors leap up and
hold her with loud cries, and get out iron-shod poles and sharp-pointed
boathooks, and pick up their broken oars out of the eddies. But
Mnestheus, rejoicing and flushed by his triumph, with oars fast-dipping
and winds at his call, issues into the shelving water and runs down the
open sea. As a pigeon whose house and sweet nestlings are in the rock's
recesses, if suddenly startled from her cavern, wings her flight over
the fields and rushes frightened from her house with loud clapping
pinions; then gliding noiselessly through the air, slides on her liquid
way and moves not her rapid wings; so Mnestheus, so the Dragon under him
swiftly cleaves the last space of sea, so her own speed carries her
flying on. And first Sergestus is left behind, struggling on the steep
rock and shoal water, and shouting in vain for help and learning to race
with broken oars. Next he catches up Gyas and the vast bulk of the
Chimaera; she gives way, without her steersman. And now on the very goal
Cloanthus alone is left; him he pursues and presses hard, straining all
his strength. Then indeed the shouts redouble, as all together eagerly
cheer on the pursuer, and [228-264]the sky echoes their din. These
scorn to lose the honour that is their own, the glory in their grasp,
and would sell life for renown; to these success lends life; power comes
with belief in it. And haply they had carried the prize with prows
abreast, had not Cloanthus, stretching both his open hands over the sea,
poured forth prayers and called the gods to hear his vows: 'Gods who are
sovereign on the sea, over whose waters I run, to your altars on this
beach will I bring a snow-white bull, my vow's glad penalty, and will
cast his entrails into the salt flood and pour liquid wine. ' He spoke,
and far beneath the flood maiden Panopea heard him, with all Phorcus'
choir of Nereids, and lord Portunus with his own mighty hand pushed him
on his way. The ship flies to land swifter than the wind or an arrow's
flight, and shoots into the deep harbour. Then the seed of Anchises,
summoning all in order, declares Cloanthus conqueror by herald's outcry,
and dresses his brows in green bay, and gives gifts to each crew, three
bullocks of their choice, and wine, and a large talent of silver to take
away. For their captains he adds special honours; to the winner a scarf
wrought with gold, encircled by a double border of deep Meliboean
purple; woven in it is the kingly boy on leafy Ida, chasing swift stags
with javelin and racing feet, keen and as one panting; him Jove's
swooping armour-bearer hath caught up from Ida in his talons; his aged
guardians stretch their hands vainly upwards, and the barking of hounds
rings fierce into the air. But to him who, next in merit, held the
second place, he gives to wear a corslet triple-woven with hooks of
polished gold, stripped by his own conquering hand from Demoleos under
tall Troy by the swift Simois, an ornament and safeguard among arms.
Scarce could the straining shoulders of his servants Phegeus and Sagaris
carry its heavy folds; yet with it on, Demoleos at [265-302]full speed
would chase the scattered Trojans. The third prize he makes twin
cauldrons of brass, and bowls wrought in silver and rough with tracery.
And now all moved away in the pride and wealth of their prizes, their
brows bound with scarlet ribbons; when, hardly torn loose by all his art
from the cruel rock, his oars lost, rowing feebly with a single tier,
Sergestus brought in his ship jeered at and unhonoured. Even as often a
serpent caught on a highway, if a brazen wheel hath gone aslant over him
or a wayfarer left him half dead and mangled with the blow of a heavy
stone, wreathes himself slowly in vain effort to escape, in part
undaunted, his eyes ablaze and his hissing throat lifted high; in part
the disabling wound keeps him coiling in knots and twisting back on his
own body; so the ship kept rowing slowly on, yet hoists sail and under
full sail glides into the harbour mouth. Glad that the ship is saved and
the crew brought back, Aeneas presents Sergestus with his promised
reward. A slave woman is given him not unskilled in Minerva's labours,
Pholoe the Cretan, with twin boys at her breast.

This contest sped, good Aeneas moved to a grassy plain girt all about
with winding wooded hills, and amid the valley an amphitheatre, whither,
with a concourse of many thousands, the hero advanced and took his seat
on a mound. Here he allures with rewards and offer of prizes those who
will try their hap in the fleet foot-race. Trojans and Sicilians gather
mingling from all sides, Nisus and Euryalus foremost . . . Euryalus in
the flower of youth and famed for beauty, Nisus for pure love of the
boy. Next follows renowned Diores, of Priam's royal line; after him
Salius and Patron together, the one Acarnanian, the other Tegean by
family and of Arcadian blood; next two men of Sicily, Helymus and
Panopes, foresters and attendants on old Acestes; many besides whose
fame is hid in [303-338]obscurity. Then among them all Aeneas spoke
thus: 'Hearken to this, and attend in good cheer. None out of this
number will I let go without a gift. To each will I give two glittering
Gnosian spearheads of polished steel, and an axe chased with silver to
bear away; one and all shall be honoured thus. The three foremost shall
receive prizes, and have pale olive bound about their head. The first
shall have a caparisoned horse as conqueror; the second an Amazonian
quiver filled with arrows of Thrace, girt about by a broad belt of gold,
and on the link of the clasp a polished gem; let the third depart with
this Argolic helmet for recompense. ' This said, they take their place,
and the signal once heard, dart over the course and leave the line,
pouring forth like a storm-cloud while they mark the goal. Nisus gets
away first, and shoots out far in front of the throng, fleeter than the
winds or the winged thunderbolt. Next to him, but next by a long gap,
Salius follows; then, left a space behind him, Euryalus third . . . and
Helymus comes after Euryalus; and close behind him, lo! Diores goes
flying, just grazing foot with foot, hard on his shoulder; and if a
longer space were left, he would creep out past him and win the tie. And
now almost in the last space, they began to come up breathless to the
goal, when unfortunate Nisus trips on the slippery blood of the slain
steers, where haply it had spilled over the ground and wetted the green
grass. Here, just in the flush of victory, he lost his feet; they slid
away on the ground they pressed, and he fell forward right among the
ordure and blood of the sacrifice. Yet forgot he not his darling
Euryalus; for rising, he flung himself over the slippery ground in front
of Salius, and he rolled over and lay all along on the hard sand.
Euryalus shoots by, wins and holds the first place his friend gave, and
flies on amid prosperous clapping and cheers. Behind Helymus comes
[339-373]up, and Diores, now third for the palm. At this Salius fills
with loud clamour the whole concourse of the vast theatre, and the lords
who looked on in front, demanding restoration of his defrauded prize.
Euryalus is strong in favour, and beauty in tears, and the merit that
gains grace from so fair a form. Diores supports him, who succeeded to
the palm, so he loudly cries, and bore off the last prize in vain, if
the highest honours be restored to Salius. Then lord Aeneas speaks: 'For
you, O boys, your rewards remain assured, and none alters the prizes'
order: let me be allowed to pity a friend's innocent mischance. ' So
speaking, he gives to Salius a vast Gaetulian lion-skin, with shaggy
masses of hair and claws of gold. 'If this,' cries Nisus, 'is the reward
of defeat, and thy pity is stirred for the fallen, what fit recompense
wilt thou give to Nisus? to my excellence the first crown was due, had
not I, like Salius, met Fortune's hostility. ' And with the words he
displayed his face and limbs foul with the wet dung. His lord laughed
kindly on him, and bade a shield be brought forth, the workmanship of
Didymaon, torn by him from the hallowed gates of Neptune's Grecian
temple; with this special prize he rewards his excellence.

Thereafter, when the races are finished and the gifts fulfilled: 'Now,'
he cries, 'come, whoso hath in him valour and ready heart, and lift up
his arms with gauntleted hands. ' So speaks he, and sets forth a double
prize of battle; for the conqueror a bullock gilt and garlanded; a sword
and beautiful helmet to console the conquered. Straightway without pause
Dares issues to view in his vast strength, rising amid loud murmurs of
the people; he who alone was wont to meet Paris in combat; he who, at
the mound where princely Hector lies, struck down as he came the vast
bulk upborne by conquering Butes, of Amycus' Bebrycian line, and
stretched him in [374-410]death on the yellow sand. Such was Dares; at
once he raises his head high for battle, displays his broad shoulders,
and stretches and swings his arms right and left, lashing the air with
blows. For him another is required; but none out of all the train durst
approach or put the gloves on his hands. So he takes his stand exultant
before Aeneas' feet, deeming he excelled all in victories; and thereon
without more delay grasps the bull's horn with his left hand, and speaks
thus: 'Goddess-born, if no man dare trust himself to battle, to what
conclusion shall I stand? how long is it seemly to keep me? bid me carry
off thy gifts. ' Therewith all the Dardanians murmured assent, and bade
yield him the promised prize. At this aged Acestes spoke sharply to
Entellus, as he sate next him on the green cushion of grass: 'Entellus,
bravest of heroes once of old in vain, wilt thou thus idly let a gift so
great be borne away uncontested? Where now prithee is divine Eryx, thy
master of fruitless fame? where thy renown over all Sicily, and those
spoils hanging in thine house? ' Thereat he: 'Desire of glory is not
gone, nor ambition checked by fear; but torpid age dulls my chilly
blood, and my strength of limb is numb and outworn. If I had what once
was mine, if I had now that prime of years, yonder braggart's boast and
confidence, it had taken no prize of goodly bullock to allure me; nor
heed I these gifts. ' So he spoke, and on that flung down a pair of
gloves of giant weight, with whose hard hide bound about his wrists
valiant Eryx was wont to come to battle. They stood amazed; so stiff and
grim lay the vast sevenfold oxhide sewed in with lead and iron. Dares
most of all shrinks far back in horror, and the noble son of Anchises
turns round this way and that their vast weight and voluminous folds.
Then the old man spoke thus in deep accents: 'How, had they seen the
gloves [411-444]that were Hercules' own armour, and the fatal fight on
this very beach? These arms thy brother Eryx once wore; thou seest them
yet stained with blood and spattered brains. In them he stood to face
great Alcides; to them was I used while fuller blood supplied me
strength, and envious old age had not yet strewn her snows on either
temple. But if Dares of Troy will have none of these our arms, and good
Aeneas is resolved on it, and my patron Acestes approves, let us make
the battle even. See, I give up the gauntlets of Eryx; dismiss thy
fears; and do thou put off thy Trojan gloves. ' So spoke he, and throwing
back the fold of his raiment from his shoulders, he bares the massive
joints and limbs, the great bones and muscles, and stands up huge in the
middle of the ground. Then Anchises' lordly seed brought out equal
gloves and bound the hands of both in matched arms. Straightway each
took his stand on tiptoe, and undauntedly raised his arms high in air.
They lift their heads right back and away out of reach of blows, and
make hand play through hand, inviting attack; the one nimbler of foot
and confident in his youth, the other mighty in mass of limb, but his
knees totter tremulous and slow, and sick panting shakes his vast frame.
Many a mutual blow they deliver in vain, many an one they redouble on
chest and side, sounding hollow and loud: hands play fast about ear and
temple, and jawbones clash under the hard strokes. Old Entellus stands
immoveable and astrain, only parrying hits with body and watchful eye.
The other, as one who casts mounts against some high city or blockades a
hill-fort in arms, tries this and that entrance, and ranges cunningly
over all the ground, and presses many an attack in vain. Entellus rose
and struck clean out with his right downwards; his quick opponent saw
the descending blow before it came, [445-481]and slid his body rapidly
out of its way. Entellus hurled his strength into the air, and all his
heavy mass, overreaching, fell heavily to the earth; as sometime on
Erymanthus or mighty Ida a hollow pine falls torn out by the roots.
Teucrians and men of Sicily rise eagerly; a cry goes up, and Acestes
himself runs forward, and pityingly lifts his friend and birthmate from
the ground. But the hero, not dulled nor dismayed by his mishap, returns
the keener to battle, and grows violent in wrath, while shame and
resolved valour kindle his strength. All afire, he hunts Dares headlong
over the lists, and redoubles his blows now with right hand, now with
left; no breath nor pause; heavy as hailstones rattle on the roof from a
storm-cloud, so thickly shower the blows from both his hands as he
buffets Dares to and fro. Then lord Aeneas allowed not wrath to swell
higher or Entellus to rage out his bitterness, but stopped the fight and
rescued the exhausted Dares, saying thus in soothing words: 'Unhappy!
what height of madness hath seized thy mind? Knowest thou not the
strength is another's and the gods are changed? Yield thou to Heaven. '
And with the words he proclaimed the battle over. But him his faithful
mates lead to the ships dragging his knees feebly, swaying his head from
side to side, and spitting from his mouth clotted blood mingled with
teeth. At summons they bear away the helmet and shield, and leave palm
and bull to Entellus. At this the conqueror, swelling in pride over the
bull, cries: 'Goddess-born, and you, O Trojans! learn thus what my
strength of body was in its prime, and from what a death Dares is saved
by your recall.
' He spoke, and stood right opposite in face of the
bullock as it stood by, the prize of battle; then drew back his hand,
and swinging the hard gauntlet sheer down between the horns, smashed the
bones in upon the shattered brain. The ox rolls over, and quivering and
[482-516]lifeless lies along the ground. Above it he utters these deep
accents: 'This life, Eryx, I give to thee, a better payment than Dares'
death; here I lay down my gloves and unconquered skill. '

Forthwith Aeneas invites all that will to the contest of the swift
arrow, and proclaims the prizes. With his strong hand he uprears the
mast of Serestus' ship, and on a cord crossing it hangs from the
masthead a fluttering pigeon as mark for their steel. They gather, and a
helmet of brass takes the lots as they throw them in. First in rank, and
before them all, amid prosperous cheers, comes out Hippocoon son of
Hyrtacus; and Mnestheus follows on him, but now conqueror in the ship
race, Mnestheus with his chaplet of green olive. Third is Eurytion, thy
brother, O Pandarus, great in renown, thou who of old, when prompted to
shatter the truce, didst hurl the first shaft amid the Achaeans. Last of
all, and at the bottom of the helmet, sank Acestes, he too venturing to
set hand to the task of youth. Then each and all they strongly bend
their bows into a curve and pull shafts from their quivers. And first
the arrow of the son of Hyrtacus, flying through heaven from the
sounding string, whistles through the fleet breezes, and reaches and
sticks fast full in the mast's wood: the mast quivered, and the bird
fluttered her feathers in affright, and the whole ground rang with loud
clapping. Next valiant Mnestheus took his stand with bow bent, aiming
high with levelled eye and arrow; yet could not, unfortunate! hit the
bird herself with his steel, but cut the knotted hempen bands that tied
her foot as she hung from the masthead; she winged her flight into the
dark windy clouds. Then Eurytion, who ere now held the arrow ready on
his bended bow, swiftly called in prayer to his brother, marked the
pigeon as she now went down the empty sky exultant on clapping wings;
and as she passed under a dark cloud, [517-553]struck her: she fell
breathless, and, leaving her life in the aery firmament, slid down
carrying the arrow that pierced her. Acestes alone was over, and the
prize lost; yet he sped his arrow up into the air, to display his lordly
skill and resounding bow. At this a sudden sign meets their eyes, mighty
in augural presage, as the high event taught thereafter, and in late
days boding seers prophesied of the omen. For the flying reed blazed out
amid the swimming clouds, traced its path in flame, and burned away on
the light winds; even as often stars shooting from their sphere draw a
train athwart the sky. Trinacrians and Trojans hung in astonishment,
praying to the heavenly powers; neither did great Aeneas reject the
omen, but embraces glad Acestes and loads him with lavish gifts,
speaking thus: 'Take, my lord: for the high King of heaven by these
signs hath willed thee to draw the lot of peculiar honour. This gift
shalt thou have as from aged Anchises' own hand, a bowl embossed with
figures, that once Cisseus of Thrace gave my father Anchises to bear, in
high token and guerdon of affection. ' So speaking, he twines green bay
about his brows, and proclaims Acestes conqueror first before them all.
Nor did gentle Eurytion, though he alone struck the bird down from the
lofty sky, grudge him to be preferred in honour. Next comes for his
prize he who cut the cord; he last, who pierced the mast with his winged
reed.

But lord Aeneas, ere yet the contest is sped, calls to him Epytides,
guardian and attendant of ungrown Iulus, and thus speaks into his
faithful ear: 'Up and away, and tell Ascanius, if he now holds his band
of boys ready, and their horses arrayed for the charge, to defile his
squadrons to his grandsire's honour in bravery of arms. ' So says he, and
himself bids all the crowding throng withdraw from the long racecourse
and leave the lists free. The boys move in before their parents' faces,
glittering in rank on their [554-590]bitted horses; as they go all the
people of Troy and Trinacria murmur and admire. On the hair of them all
rests a garland fitly trimmed; each carries two cornel spear-shafts
tipped with steel; some have polished quivers on their shoulders; above
their breast and round their neck goes a flexible circlet of twisted
gold. Three in number are the troops of riders, and three captains
gallop up and down; following each in equal command rides a glittering
division of twelve boys. One youthful line goes rejoicingly behind
little Priam, renewer of his grandsire's name, thy renowned seed, O
Polites, and destined to people Italy; he rides a Thracian horse dappled
with spots of white, showing white on his pacing pasterns and white on
his high forehead. Second is Atys, from whom the Latin Atii draw their
line, little Atys, boy beloved of the boy Iulus. Last and excellent in
beauty before them all, Iulus rode in on a Sidonian horse that Dido the
bright had given him for token and pledge of love. The rest of them are
mounted on old Acestes' Sicilian horses. . . . The Dardanians greet
their shy entrance with applause, and rejoice at the view, and recognise
the features of their parents of old. When they have ridden merrily
round all the concourse of their gazing friends, Epytides shouts from
afar the signal they await, and sounds his whip. They gallop apart in
equal numbers, and open their files three and three in deploying bands,
and again at the call wheel about and bear down with levelled arms. Next
they start on other charges and other retreats in corresponsive spaces,
and interlink circle with circle, and wage the armed phantom of battle.
And now they bare their backs in flight, now turn their lances to the
charge, now plight peace and ride on side by side. As once of old, they
say, the labyrinth in high Crete had a tangled path between blind walls,
and a thousand ways of doubling treachery, where tokens to follow failed
in the [591-625]maze unmastered and irrecoverable: even in such a track
do the children of Troy entangle their footsteps and weave the game of
flight and battle; like dolphins who, swimming through the wet seas, cut
Carpathian or Libyan. . . .

This fashion of riding, these games Ascanius first revived, when he girt
Alba the Long about with walls, and taught their celebration to the Old
Latins in the way of his own boyhood, with the youth of Troy about him.
The Albans taught it their children; on from them mighty Rome received
it and kept the ancestral observance; and now it is called Troy, and the
boys the Trojan troop.

Thus far sped the sacred contests to their holy lord. Just at this
Fortune broke faith and grew estranged. While they pay the due rites to
the tomb with diverse games, Juno, daughter of Saturn, sends Iris down
the sky to the Ilian fleet, and breathes a gale to speed her on,
revolving many a thought, and not yet satiate of the ancient pain. She,
speeding her way along the thousand-coloured bow, runs swiftly, seen of
none, down her maiden path. She discerns the vast concourse, and
traverses the shore, and sees the haven abandoned and the fleet left
alone. But far withdrawn by the solitary verge of the sea the Trojan
women wept their lost Anchises, and as they wept gazed all together on
the fathomless flood. 'Alas! after all those weary waterways, that so
wide a sea is yet to come! ' such is the single cry of all. They pray for
a city, sick of the burden of their sea-sorrow. So she darts among them,
not witless to harm, and lays by face and raiment of a goddess: she
becomes Beroe, the aged wife of Tmarian Doryclus, who had once had birth
and name and children, and in this guise goes among the Dardanian
matrons. 'Ah, wretched we,' she cries, 'whom hostile Achaean hands did
not drag to death beneath our native city! ah hapless race, for what
destruction does Fortune hold thee back? The [626-660]seventh summer
now declines since Troy's overthrow, while we pass measuring out by so
many stars the harbourless rocks over every water and land, pursuing all
the while over the vast sea an Italy that flies us, and tossing on the
waves. Here are our brother Eryx' borders, and Acestes' welcome: who
denies us to cast up walls and give our citizens a city? O country, O
household gods vainly rescued from the foe! shall there never be a
Trojan town to tell of? shall I nowhere see a Xanthus and a Simois, the
rivers of Hector? Nay, up and join me in burning with fire these
ill-ominous ships. For in sleep the phantom of Cassandra the soothsayer
seemed to give me blazing brands: _Here seek your Troy_, she said; _here
is your home_. Now is the time to do it; nor do these high portents
allow delay. Behold four altars to Neptune; the god himself lends the
firebrand and the nerve. ' Speaking thus, at once she strongly seizes the
fiery weapon, and with straining hand whirls it far upreared, and
flings: the souls of the Ilian women are startled and their wits amazed.
At this one of their multitude, and she the eldest, Pyrgo, nurse in the
palace to all Priam's many children: 'This is not Beroe, I tell you, O
mothers; this is not the wife of Doryclus of Rhoeteum. Mark the
lineaments of divine grace and the gleaming eyes, what a breath is hers,
what a countenance, and the sound of her voice and the steps of her
going. I, I time agone left Beroe apart, sick and fretting that she
alone must have no part in this our service, nor pay Anchises his due
sacrifice. ' So spoke she. . . . But the matrons at first, dubious and
wavering, gazed on the ships with malignant eyes, between the wretched
longing for the land they trod and the fated realm that summoned them:
when the goddess rose through the sky on poised wings, and in her flight
drew a vast bow beneath the clouds. Then indeed, amazed at the tokens
and driven by madness, they raise a cry and snatch fire from the
[661-694]hearths within; others plunder the altars, and cast on
brushwood boughs and brands. The Fire-god rages with loose rein over
thwarts and oars and hulls of painted fir. Eumelus carries the news of
the burning ships to the grave of Anchises and the ranges of the
theatre; and looking back, their own eyes see the floating cloud of dark
ashes. And in a moment Ascanius, as he rode gaily before his cavalry,
spurred his horse to the disordered camp; nor can his breathless
guardians hold him back. 'What strange madness is this? ' he cries;
'whither now hasten you, whither, alas and woe! O citizens? not on the
foe nor on some hostile Argive camp; it is your own hopes you burn.
Behold me, your Ascanius! ' and he flung before his feet the empty
helmet, put on when he roused the mimicry of war. Aeneas and the Trojan
train together hurry to the spot. But the women scatter apart in fear
all over the beach, and stealthily seek the woods and the hollow rocks
they find: they loathe their deed and the daylight, and with changed
eyes know their people, and Juno is startled out of their breast. But
not thereby do the flames of the burning lay down their unconquered
strength; under the wet oak the seams are alive, spouting slow coils of
smoke; the creeping heat devours the hulls, and the destroyer takes deep
hold of all: nor does the heroes' strength avail nor the floods they
pour in. Then good Aeneas rent away the raiment from his shoulders and
called the gods to aid, stretching forth his hands: 'Jupiter omnipotent,
if thou hatest not Troy yet wholly to her last man, if thine ancient
pity looks at all on human woes, now, O Lord, grant our fleet to escape
the flame, and rescue from doom the slender Teucrian estate. Or do thou
plunge to death this remnant, if I deserve it, with levelled
thunderbolt, and here with thine own hand smite us down. ' Scarce had he
uttered this, when a black tempest rages in streaming showers; earth
trembles [695-726]to the thunder on plain and steep; the water-flood
rushes in torrents from the whole heaven amid black darkness and
volleying blasts of the South. The ships are filled from overhead, the
half-burnt timbers are soaking; till all the heat is quenched, and all
the hulls, but four that are lost, are rescued from destruction.

But lord Aeneas, dismayed by the bitter mischance, revolved at heart
this way and that his shifting weight of care, whether, forgetting fate,
he should rest in Sicilian fields, or reach forth to the borders of
Italy. Then old Nautes, whom Tritonian Pallas taught like none other,
and made famous in eminence of art--she granted him to reply what the
gods' heavy anger menaced or what the order of fate claimed--he then in
accents of comfort thus speaks to Aeneas:

'Goddess-born, follow we fate's ebb and flow, whatsoever it shall be;
fortune must be borne to be overcome. Acestes is of thine own divine
Dardanian race; take him, for he is willing, to join thee in common
counsel; deliver to him those who are over, now these ships are lost,
and those who are quite weary of thy fortunes and the great quest.
Choose out the old men stricken in years, and the matrons sick of the
sea, and all that is weak and fearful of peril in thy company. Let this
land give a city to the weary; they shall be allowed to call their town
Acesta by name. '

Then, indeed, kindled by these words of his aged friend, his spirit is
distracted among all his cares. And now black Night rose chariot-borne,
and held the sky; when the likeness of his father Anchises seemed to
descend from heaven and suddenly utter thus:

'O son, more dear to me than life once of old while life was yet mine; O
son, hard wrought by the destinies of Ilium! I come hither by Jove's
command, who drove the [727-760]fire from thy fleets, and at last had
pity out of high heaven. Obey thou the fair counsel aged Nautes now
gives. Carry through to Italy thy chosen men and bravest souls; in
Latium must thou war down a people hard and rough in living. Yet ere
then draw thou nigh the nether chambers of Dis, and in the deep tract of
hell come, O son, to meet me. For I am not held in cruel Tartarus among
wailing ghosts, but inhabit Elysium and the sweet societies of the good.
Hither with much blood of dark cattle shall the holy Sibyl lead thee.
Then shalt thou learn of all thy line, and what city is given thee. And
now farewell; dank Night wheels her mid-career, and even now I feel the
stern breath of the panting horses of the East. ' He ended, and retreated
like a vapour into thin air. 'Ah, whither hurriest thou? ' cries Aeneas;
'whither so fast away? From whom fliest thou? or who withholds thee from
our embrace? ' So speaking, he kindles the sleeping embers of the fire,
and with holy meal and laden censer does sacrifice to the tutelar of
Pergama and hoar Vesta's secret shrine.

Straightway he summons his crews and Acestes first of all, and instructs
them of Jove's command and his beloved father's precepts, and what is
now his fixed mind and purpose. They linger not in counsel, nor does
Acestes decline his bidden duty: they enrol the matrons in their town,
and plant a people there, souls that will have none of glory. The rest
repair the thwarts and replace the ships' timbers that the flames had
gnawed upon, and fit up oars and rigging, little in number, but alive
and valiant for war. Meanwhile Aeneas traces the town with the plough
and allots the homesteads; this he bids be Ilium, and these lands Troy.
Trojan Acestes, rejoicing in his kingdom, appoints a court and gathers
his senators to give them statutes. Next, where the crest of Eryx is
neighbour to the stars, a dwelling is founded to Venus the Idalian;
[761-793]and a priest and breadth of holy wood is attached to Anchises'
grave.

And now for nine days all the people hath feasted, and offering been
paid at the altars; quiet breezes have smoothed the ocean floor, and the
gathering south wind blows, calling them again to sea. A mighty weeping
arises along the winding shore; a night and a day they linger in mutual
embraces. The very mothers now, the very men to whom once the sight of
the sea seemed cruel and the name intolerable, would go on and endure
the journey's travail to the end. These Aeneas comforts with kindly
words, and commends with tears to his kinsman Acestes' care. Then he
bids slay three steers to Eryx and a she-lamb to the Tempests, and loose
the hawser as is due. Himself, his head bound with stripped leaves of
olive, he stands apart on the prow holding the cup, and casts the
entrails into the salt flood and pours liquid wine. A wind rising astern
follows them forth on their way. Emulously the crews strike the water,
and sweep through the seas.

But Venus meanwhile, wrought upon with distress, accosts Neptune, and
thus pours forth her heart's complaint: 'Juno's bitter wrath and heart
insatiable compel me, O Neptune, to sink to the uttermost of entreaty:
neither length of days nor any goodness softens her, nor doth Jove's
command and fate itself break her to desistence. It is not enough that
her accursed hatred hath devoured the Phrygian city from among the
people, and exhausted on it the stores of vengeance; still she pursues
this remnant, the bones and ashes of murdered Troy. I pray she know why
her passion is so fierce. Thyself art my witness what a sudden stir she
raised of late on the Libyan waters, flinging all the seas to heaven in
vain reliance on Aeolus' blasts; this she dared in thy realm. . . .
Lo too, driving the Trojan matrons into guilt, she hath foully
[794-826]burned their ships, and forced them, their fleet lost, to
leave the crews to an unknown land. Let the remnant, I beseech thee,
give their sails to thy safe keeping across the seas; let them reach
Laurentine Tiber; if I ask what is permitted, if fate grants them a city
there. '

Then the son of Saturn, compeller of the ocean deep, uttered thus: 'It
is wholly right, O Cytherean, that thy trust should be in my realm,
whence thou drawest birth; and I have deserved it: often have I allayed
the rage and full fury of sky and sea. Nor less on land, I call Xanthus
and Simois to witness, hath been my care of thine Aeneas. When Achilles
pursued the Trojan armies and hurled them breathless on their walls, and
sent many thousands to death,--when the choked rivers groaned and
Xanthus could not find passage or roll out to sea,--then I snatched
Aeneas away in sheltering mist as he met the brave son of Peleus
outmatched in strength and gods, eager as I was to overthrow the walls
of perjured Troy that mine own hands had built. Now too my mind rests
the same; dismiss thy fear. In safety, as thou desirest, shall he reach
the haven of Avernus. One will there be alone whom on the flood thou
shalt lose and require; one life shall be given for many. . . . '

With these words the goddess' bosom is soothed to joy. Then their lord
yokes his wild horses with gold and fastens the foaming bits, and
letting all the reins run slack in his hand, flies lightly in his
sea-coloured chariot over the ocean surface. The waves sink to rest, and
the swoln water-ways smooth out under the thundering axle; the
storm-clouds scatter from the vast sky. Diverse shapes attend him,
monstrous whales, and Glaucus' aged choir, and Palaemon, son of Ino, the
swift Tritons, and Phorcus with all his army. Thetis and Melite keep the
left, and maiden Panopea, Nesaea and Spio, Thalia and Cymodoce.

[827-860]At this lord Aeneas' soul is thrilled with soft counterchange
of delight. He bids all the masts be upreared with speed, and the sails
stretched on the yards. Together all set their sheets, and all at once
slacken their canvas to left and again to right; together they brace and
unbrace the yard-arms aloft; prosperous gales waft the fleet along.
First, in front of all, Palinurus steered the close column; the rest
under orders ply their course by his. And now dewy Night had just
reached heaven's mid-cone; the sailors, stretched on their hard benches
under the oars, relaxed their limbs in quiet rest: when Sleep, sliding
lightly down from the starry sky, parted the shadowy air and cleft the
dark, seeking thee, O Palinurus, carrying dreams of bale to thee who
dreamt not of harm, and lit on the high stern, a god in Phorbas'
likeness, dropping this speech from his lips: 'Palinurus son of Iasus,
the very seas bear our fleet along; the breezes breathe steadily; for an
hour rest is given. Lay down thine head, and steal thy worn eyes from
their toil. I myself for a little will take thy duty in thy stead. ' To
whom Palinurus, scarcely lifting his eyes, returns: 'Wouldst thou have
me ignorant what the calm face of the brine means, and the waves at
rest? Shall I have faith in this perilous thing? How shall I trust
Aeneas to deceitful breezes, and the placid treachery of sky that hath
so often deceived me? ' Such words he uttered, and, clinging fast to the
tiller, slackened hold no whit, and looked up steadily on the stars. Lo!
the god shakes over either temple a bough dripping with Lethean dew and
made slumberous with the might of Styx, and makes his swimming eyes
relax their struggles. Scarcely had sleep begun to slacken his limbs
unaware, when bending down, he flung him sheer into the clear water,
tearing rudder and half the stern away with him, and many a time crying
vainly on his comrades: himself [861-871]he rose on flying wings into
the thin air. None the less does the fleet run safe on its sea path, and
glides on unalarmed in lord Neptune's assurance. Yes, and now they were
sailing in to the cliffs of the Sirens, dangerous once of old and white
with the bones of many a man; and the hoarse rocks echoed afar in the
ceaseless surf; when her lord felt the ship rocking astray for loss of
her helmsman, and himself steered her on over the darkling water,
sighing often the while, and heavy at heart for his friend's mischance.
'Ah too trustful in sky's and sea's serenity, thou shalt lie, O
Palinurus, naked on an alien sand! '




BOOK SIXTH

THE VISION OF THE UNDER WORLD


So speaks he weeping, and gives his fleet the rein, and at last glides
in to Euboic Cumae's coast. They turn the prows seaward; the ships
grounded fast on their anchors' teeth, and the curving ships line the
beach. The warrior band leaps forth eagerly on the Hesperian shore; some
seek the seeds of flame hidden in veins of flint, some scour the woods,
the thick coverts of wild beasts, and find and shew the streams. But
good Aeneas seeks the fortress where Apollo sits high enthroned, and the
lone mystery of the awful Sibyl's cavern depth, over whose mind and soul
the prophetic Delian breathes high inspiration and reveals futurity.

Now they draw nigh the groves of Trivia and the roof of gold. Daedalus,
as the story runs, when in flight from Minos' realm he dared to spread
his fleet wings to the sky, glided on his unwonted way towards the icy
northern star, and at length lit gently on the Chalcidian fastness.
Here, on the first land he retrod, he dedicated his winged oarage to
thee, O Phoebus, in the vast temple he built. On the doors is Androgeus'
death; thereby the children of Cecrops, bidden, ah me! to pay for yearly
ransom seven souls of their sons; the urn stands there, and the lots are
drawn. Right [23-55]opposite the land of Gnosus rises from the sea; on
it is the cruel love of the bull, the disguised stealth of Pasiphae, and
the mingled breed and double issue of the Minotaur, record of a shameful
passion; on it the famous dwelling's laborious inextricable maze; but
Daedalus, pitying the great love of the princess, himself unlocked the
tangled treachery of the palace, guiding with the clue her lover's blind
footsteps. Thou too hadst no slight part in the work he wrought, O
Icarus, did grief allow. Twice had he essayed to portray thy fate in
gold; twice the father's hands dropped down. Nay, their eyes would scan
all the story in order, were not Achates already returned from his
errand, and with him the priestess of Phoebus and Trivia, Deiphobe
daughter of Glaucus, who thus accosts the king: 'Other than this are the
sights the time demands: now were it well to sacrifice seven unbroken
bullocks of the herd, as many fitly chosen sheep of two years old. ' Thus
speaks she to Aeneas; nor do they delay to do her sacred bidding; and
the priestess calls the Teucrians into the lofty shrine.

A vast cavern is scooped in the side of the Euboic cliff, whither lead
an hundred wide passages by an hundred gates, whence peal forth as
manifold the responses of the Sibyl. They had reached the threshold,
when the maiden cries: _It is time to enquire thy fate: the god, lo! the
god! _ And even as she spoke thus in the gateway, suddenly countenance
nor colour nor ranged tresses stayed the same; her wild heart heaves
madly in her panting bosom; and she expands to sight, and her voice is
more than mortal, now the god breathes on her in nearer deity.
'Lingerest thou to vow and pray,' she cries, 'Aeneas of Troy? lingerest
thou? for not till then will the vast portals of the spellbound house
swing open. ' So spoke she, and sank to silence. A cold shiver ran
through the Teucrians' iron frames, and the king pours heart-deep
supplication:

[56-89]'Phoebus, who hast ever pitied the sore travail of Troy, who
didst guide the Dardanian shaft from Paris' hand full on the son of
Aeacus, in thy leading have I pierced all these seas that skirt mighty
lands, the Massylian nations far withdrawn, and the fields the Syrtes
fringe; thus far let the fortune of Troy follow us. You too may now
unforbidden spare the nation of Pergama, gods and goddesses to
whomsoever Ilium and the great glory of Dardania did wrong. And thou, O
prophetess most holy, foreknower of the future, grant (for no unearned
realm does my destiny claim) a resting-place in Latium to the Teucrians,
to their wandering gods and the storm-tossed deities of Troy. Then will
I ordain to Phoebus and Trivia a temple of solid marble, and festal days
in Phoebus' name. Thee likewise a mighty sanctuary awaits in our realm.
For here will I place thine oracles and the secrets of destiny uttered
to my people, and consecrate chosen men, O gracious one. Only commit not
thou thy verses to leaves, lest they fly disordered, the sport of
rushing winds; thyself utter them, I beseech thee. ' His lips made an end
of utterance.

But the prophetess, not yet tame to Phoebus' hand, rages fiercely in the
cavern, so she may shake the mighty godhead from her breast; so much the
more does he tire her maddened mouth and subdue her wild breast and
shape her to his pressure. And now the hundred mighty portals of the
house open of their own accord, and bring through the air the answer of
the soothsayer:

'O past at length with the great perils of the sea! though heavier yet
by land await thee, the Dardanians shall come to the realm of Lavinium;
relieve thy heart of this care; but not so shall they have joy of their
coming.