The Aeneid - Virgil (13 ebook reader .TXT) š
- Author: Virgil
Book online Ā«The Aeneid - Virgil (13 ebook reader .TXT) šĀ». Author Virgil
Of vengeance taken in so just a cause;
The punishād crime shall set my soul at ease,
And murmāring manes of my friends appease.ā
Thus while I rave, a gleam of pleasing light
Spread oāer the place; and, shining heavānly bright,
My mother stood revealād before my sight
Never so radiant did her eyes appear;
Not her own star confessād a light so clear:
Great in her charms, as when on gods above
She looks, and breathes herself into their love.
She held my hand, the destinād blow to break;
Then from her rosy lips began to speak:
āMy son, from whence this madness, this neglect
Of my commands, and those whom I protect?
Why this unmanly rage? Recall to mind
Whom you forsake, what pledges leave behind.
Look if your helpless father yet survive,
Or if Ascanius or CreĆ¼sa live.
Around your house the greedy Grecians err;
And these had perishād in the nightly war,
But for my presence and protecting care.
Not Helenās face, nor Paris, was in fault;
But by the gods was this destruction brought.
Now cast your eyes around, while I dissolve
The mists and films that mortal eyes involve,
Purge from your sight the dross, and make you see
The shape of each avenging deity.
Enlightenād thus, my just commands fulfil,
Nor fear obedience to your motherās will.
Where yon disorderād heap of ruin lies,
Stones rent from stones; where clouds of dust ariseā ā
Amid that smother Neptune holds his place,
Below the wallās foundation drives his mace,
And heaves the building from the solid base.
Look where, in arms, imperial Juno stands
Full in the Scaean gate, with loud commands,
Urging on shore the tardy Grecian bands.
See! Pallas, of her snaky buckler proud,
Bestrides the towār, refulgent throā the cloud:
See! Jove new courage to the foe supplies,
And arms against the town the partial deities.
Haste hence, my son; this fruitless labour end:
Haste, where your trembling spouse and sire attend:
Haste; and a motherās care your passage shall befriend.ā
She said, and swiftly vanishād from my sight,
Obscure in clouds and gloomy shades of night.
I lookād, I listenād; dreadful sounds I hear;
And the dire forms of hostile gods appear.
Troy sunk in flames I saw, nor could prevent;
And Ilium from its old foundations rent;
Rent like a mountain ash, which darād the winds,
And stood the sturdy strokes of labāring hinds.
About the roots the cruel ax resounds;
The stumps are piercād with oft-repeated wounds:
The war is felt on high; the nodding crown
Now threats a fall, and throws the leafy honours down.
To their united force it yields, thoā late,
And mourns with mortal groans thā approaching fate:
The roots no more their upper load sustain;
But down she falls, and spreads a ruin throā the plain.
āDescending thence, I scape throā foes and fire:
Before the goddess, foes and flames retire.
Arrivād at home, he, for whose only sake,
Or most for his, such toils I undertake,
The good Anchises, whom, by timely flight,
I purposād to secure on Idaās height,
Refusād the journey, resolute to die
And add his funārals to the fate of Troy,
Rather than exile and old age sustain.
āGo you, whose blood runs warm in evāry vein.
Had Heavān decreed that I should life enjoy,
Heavān had decreed to save unhappy Troy.
āTis, sure, enough, if not too much, for one,
Twice to have seen our Ilium overthrown.
Make haste to save the poor remaining crew,
And give this useless corpse a long adieu.
These weak old hands suffice to stop my breath;
At least the pitying foes will aid my death,
To take my spoils, and leave my body bare:
As for my sepulcher, let Heavān take care.
āTis long since I, for my celestial wife
Loathād by the gods, have draggād a lingāring life;
Since evāry hour and moment I expire,
Blasted from heavān by Joveās avenging fire.ā
This oft repeated, he stood fixād to die:
Myself, my wife, my son, my family,
Intreat, pray, beg, and raise a doleful cryā ā
āWhat, will he still persist, on death resolve,
And in his ruin all his house involve!ā
He still persists his reasons to maintain;
Our prayārs, our tears, our loud laments, are vain.
āUrgād by despair, again I go to try
The fate of arms, resolvād in fight to die:
āWhat hope remains, but what my death must give?
Can I, without so dear a father, live?
You term it prudence, what I baseness call:
Could such a word from such a parent fall?
If Fortune please, and so the gods ordain,
That nothing should of ruinād Troy remain,
And you conspire with Fortune to be slain,
The way to death is wide, thā approaches near:
For soon relentless Pyrrhus will appear,
Reeking with Priamās bloodā āthe wretch who slew
The son (inhuman) in the fatherās view,
And then the sire himself to the dire altar drew.
O goddess mother, give me back to Fate;
Your gift was undesirād, and came too late!
Did you, for this, unhappy me convey
Throā foes and fires, to see my house a prey?
Shall I my father, wife, and son behold,
Weltāring in blood, each otherās arms infold?
Haste! gird my sword, thoā spent and overcome:
āTis the last summons to receive our doom.
I hear thee, Fate; and I obey thy call!
Not unrevengād the foe shall see my fall.
Restore me to the yet unfinishād fight:
My death is wanting to conclude the night.ā
Armād once again, my glittāring sword I wield,
While thā other hand sustains my weighty shield,
And forth I rush to seek thā abandonād field.
I went; but sad CreĆ¼sa stoppād my way,
And cross the threshold in my passage lay,
Embracād my knees, and, when I would have gone,
Shewād me my feeble sire and tender son:
āIf death be your design, at least,ā said she,
āTake us along to share your destiny.
If any farther hopes in arms remain,
This place, these pledges of your love, maintain.
To whom do you expose your fatherās life,
Your sonās, and mine, your now forgotten wife!ā
While thus she fills the house with clamārous cries,
Our hearing is diverted by our eyes:
For, while I held my son, in the short space
Betwixt our kisses and our last embrace;
Strange to relate, from young IĆ¼lusā head
A lambent flame arose, which gently spread
Around his brows, and on his temples fed.
Amazād, with running water we prepare
To quench the sacred fire, and slake his hair;
But old Anchises, versād in omens, rearād
His hands to heavān, and this request preferrād:
āIf any vows, almighty Jove, can bend
Thy will; if piety can prayārs commend,
Confirm the glad presage which thou art pleasād to send.ā
Scarce had he said, when,
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