The Aeneid - Virgil (13 ebook reader .TXT) š
- Author: Virgil
Book online Ā«The Aeneid - Virgil (13 ebook reader .TXT) šĀ». Author Virgil
Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,
When Hectorās ghost before my sight appears:
A bloody shroud he seemād, and bathād in tears;
Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain,
Thessalian coursers draggād him oāer the plain.
Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust
Throā the borād holes; his body black with dust;
Unlike that Hector who returnād from toils
Of war, triumphant, in Aeacian spoils,
Or him who made the fainting Greeks retire,
And launchād against their navy Phrygian fire.
His hair and beard stood stiffenād with his gore;
And all the wounds he for his country bore
Now streamād afresh, and with new purple ran.
I wept to see the visionary man,
And, while my trance continued, thus began:
āO light of Trojans, and support of Troy,
Thy fatherās champion, and thy countryās joy!
O, long expected by thy friends! from whence
Art thou so late returnād for our defence?
Do we behold thee, wearied as we are
With length of labours, and with toils of war?
After so many funārals of thy own
Art thou restorād to thy declining town?
But say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace
Deforms the manly features of thy face?ā
āTo this the spectre no reply did frame,
But answerād to the cause for which he came,
And, groaning from the bottom of his breast,
This warning in these mournful words expressād:
āO goddess-born! escape, by timely flight,
The flames and horrors of this fatal night.
The foes already have possessād the wall;
Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall.
Enough is paid to Priamās royal name,
More than enough to duty and to fame.
If by a mortal hand my fatherās throne
Could be defended, ātwas by mine alone.
Now Troy to thee commends her future state,
And gives her gods companions of thy fate:
From their assistance walls expect,
Which, wandāring long, at last thou shalt erect.ā
He said, and brought me, from their blest abodes,
The venerable statues of the gods,
With ancient Vesta from the sacred choir,
The wreaths and relics of thā immortal fire.
āNow peals of shouts come thundāring from afar,
Cries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war:
The noise approaches, thoā our palace stood
Aloof from streets, encompassād with a wood.
Louder, and yet more loud, I hear thā alarms
Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms.
Fear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay,
But mount the terrace, thence the town survey,
And hearken what the frightful sounds convey.
Thus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne,
Crackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn;
Or deluges, descending on the plains,
Sweep oāer the yellow year, destroy the pains
Of labāring oxen and the peasantās gains;
Unroot the forest oaks, and bear away
Flocks, folds, and trees, and undistinguishād prey:
The shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far
The wasteful ravage of the watāry war.
Then Hectorās faith was manifestly clearād,
And Grecian frauds in open light appearād.
The palace of DeĆÆphobus ascends
In smoky flames, and catches on his friends.
Ucalegon burns next: the seas are bright
With splendour not their own, and shine with Trojan light.
New clamours and new clangours now arise,
The sound of trumpets mixād with fighting cries.
With frenzy seizād, I run to meet thā alarms,
Resolvād on death, resolvād to die in arms,
But first to gather friends, with them tā oppose
If fortune favourād, and repel the foes;
Spurrād by my courage, by my country firād,
With sense of honour and revenge inspirād.
āPantheus, Apolloās priest, a sacred name,
Had scapād the Grecian swords, and passād the flame:
With relics loaden, to my doors he fled,
And by the hand his tender grandson led.
āWhat hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run?
Where make a stand? and what may yet be done?ā
Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan:
āTroy is no more, and Ilium was a town!
The fatal day, thā appointed hour, is come,
When wrathful Joveās irrevocable doom
Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands.
The fire consumes the town, the foe commands;
And armed hosts, an unexpected force,
Break from the bowels of the fatal horse.
Within the gates, proud Sinon throws about
The flames; and foes for entrance press without,
With thousand others, whom I fear to name,
More than from Argos or Mycenae came.
To sevāral posts their parties they divide;
Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide:
The bold they kill, thā unwary they surprise;
Who fights finds death, and death finds him who flies.
The warders of the gate but scarce maintain
Thā unequal combat, and resist in vain.ā
āI heard; and Heavān, that well-born souls inspires,
Prompts me throā lifted swords and rising fires
To run where clashing arms and clamour calls,
And rush undaunted to defend the walls.
Ripheus and Iphāitas by my side engage,
For valour one renownād, and one for age.
Dymas and Hypanis by moonlight knew
My motions and my mien, and to my party drew;
With young Coroebus, who by love was led
To win renown and fair Cassandraās bed,
And lately brought his troops to Priamās aid,
Forewarnād in vain by the prophetic maid.
Whom when I saw resolvād in arms to fall,
And that one spirit animated all:
āBrave souls!ā said Iā āābut brave, alas! in vainā ā
Come, finish what our cruel fates ordain.
You see the despārate state of our affairs,
And heavānās protecting powārs are deaf to prayārs.
The passive gods behold the Greeks defile
Their temples, and abandon to the spoil
Their own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire
To save a sinking town, involvād in fire.
Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes:
Despair of life the means of living shows.ā
So bold a speech incouragād their desire
Of death, and added fuel to their fire.
āAs hungry wolves, with raging appetite,
Scour throā the fields, nor fear the stormy nightā ā
Their whelps at home expect the promisād food,
And long to temper their dry chaps in bloodā ā
So rushād we forth at once; resolvād to die,
Resolvād, in death, the last extremes to try.
We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare
Thā unequal combat in the public square:
Night was our friend; our leader was despair.
What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night?
What eyes can weep the sorrows and affright?
An ancient and imperial city falls:
The streets are fillād with frequent funerals;
Houses and holy temples float in blood,
And hostile nations make a common flood.
Not only Trojans fall; but, in their turn,
The vanquishād triumph, and the victors mourn.
Ours take new courage from despair and night:
Confusād the fortune is, confusād the fight.
All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears;
And grisly Death in sundry shapes
Comments (0)