The Aeneid - Virgil (13 ebook reader .TXT) 📗

blood,
Affrighted by the monsters of the flood.
His son, the second Virbius, yet retain’d
His father’s art, and warrior steeds he rein’d.

Amid the troops, and like the leading god,
High o’er the rest in arms the graceful Turnus rode:
A triple of plumes his crest adorn’d,
On which with belching flames Chimaera burn’d:
The more the kindled combat rises high’r,
The more with fury burns the blazing fire.
Fair Io grac’d his shield; but Io now
With horns exalted stands, and seems to low⁠—
A noble charge! Her keeper by her side,
To watch her walks, his hundred eyes applied;
And on the brims her sire, the wat’ry god,
Roll’d from a silver urn his crystal flood.
A cloud of foot succeeds, and fills the fields
With swords, and pointed spears, and clatt’ring shields;
Of Argives, and of old Sicanian bands,
And those who plow the rich Rutulian lands;
Auruncan youth, and those Sacrana yields,
And the proud Labicans, with painted shields,
And those who near Numician streams reside,
And those whom Tiber’s holy forests hide,
Or Circe’s hills from the main land divide;
Where Ufens glides along the lowly lands,
Or the black water of Pomptina stands.

Last, from the Volscians fair Camilla came,
And led her warlike troops, a warrior dame;
Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskill’d,
She chose the nobler Pallas of the field.
Mix’d with the first, the fierce Virago fought,
Sustain’d the toils of arms, the danger sought,
Outstripp’d the winds in speed upon the plain,
Flew o’er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain:
She swept the seas, and, as she skimm’d along,
Her flying feet unbath’d on billows hung.
Men, boys, and women, stupid with surprise,
Where’er she passes, fix their wond’ring eyes:
Longing they look, and, gaping at the sight,
Devour her o’er and o’er with vast delight;
Her purple habit sits with such a grace
On her smooth shoulders, and so suits her face;
Her head with ringlets of her hair is crown’d,
And in a golden caul the curls are bound.
She shakes her myrtle jav’lin; and, behind,
Her Lycian quiver dances in the wind.

Book VIII

The war being now begun, both the generals make all possible preparations. Turnus sends to Diomedes. Aeneas goes in person to beg succours from Evander and the Tuscans. Evander receives him kindly, furnishes him with men, and sends his son Pallas with him. Vulcan, at the request of Venus, makes arms for her son Aeneas, and draws on his shield the most memorable actions of his posterity.

When Turnus had assembled all his pow’rs,
His standard planted on Laurentum’s tow’rs;
When now the sprightly trumpet, from afar,
Had giv’n the signal of approaching war,
Had rous’d the neighing steeds to scour the fields,
While the fierce riders clatter’d on their shields;
Trembling with rage, the Latian youth prepare
To join th’ allies, and headlong rush to war.
Fierce Ufens, and Messapus, led the crowd,
With bold Mezentius, who blasphem’d aloud.
These thro’ the country took their wasteful course,
The fields to forage, and to gather force.
Then Venulus to Diomede they send,
To beg his aid Ausonia to defend,
Declare the common danger, and inform
The Grecian leader of the growing storm:
“Aeneas, landed on the Latian coast,
With banish’d gods, and with a baffled host,
Yet now aspir’d to conquest of the state,
And claim’d a title from the gods and fate;
What num’rous nations in his quarrel came,
And how they spread his formidable name.
What he design’d, what mischief might arise,
If fortune favour’d his first enterprise,
Was left for him to weigh, whose equal fears,
And common interest, was involv’d in theirs.”

While Turnus and th’ allies thus urge the war,
The Trojan, floating in a flood of care,
Beholds the tempest which his foes prepare.
This way and that he turns his anxious mind;
Thinks, and rejects the counsels he design’d;
Explores himself in vain, in ev’ry part,
And gives no rest to his distracted heart.
So, when the sun by day, or moon by night,
Strike on the polish’d brass their trembling light,
The glitt’ring species here and there divide,
And cast their dubious beams from side to side;
Now on the walls, now on the pavement play,
And to the ceiling flash the glaring day.

’Twas night; and weary nature lull’d asleep
The birds of air, and fishes of the deep,
And beasts, and mortal men. The Trojan chief
Was laid on Tiber’s banks, oppress’d with grief,
And found in silent slumber late relief.
Then, thro’ the shadows of the poplar wood,
Arose the father of the Roman flood;
An azure robe was o’er his body spread,
A wreath of shady reeds adorn’d his head:
Thus, manifest to sight, the god appear’d,
And with these pleasing words his sorrow cheer’d:
“Undoubted offspring of ethereal race,
O long expected in this promis’d place!
Who thro’ the foes hast borne thy banish’d gods,
Restor’d them to their hearths, and old abodes;
This is thy happy home, the clime where fate
Ordains thee to restore the Trojan state.
Fear not! The war shall end in lasting peace,
And all the rage of haughty Juno cease.
And that this nightly vision may not seem
Th’ effect of fancy, or an idle dream,
A sow beneath an oak shall lie along,
All white herself, and white her thirty young.
When thirty rolling years have run their race,
Thy son Ascanius, on this empty space,
Shall build a royal town, of lasting fame,
Which from this omen shall receive the name.
Time shall approve the truth. For what remains,
And how with sure success to crown thy pains,
With patience next attend. A banish’d band,
Driv’n with Evander from th’ Arcadian land,
Have planted here, and plac’d on high their walls;
Their town the founder Pallanteum calls,
Deriv’d from Pallas, his great-grandsire’s name:
But the fierce Latians old possession claim,
With war infesting the new colony.
These make thy friends, and on their aid rely.
To thy free passage I submit my streams.
Wake, son of Venus, from thy pleasing dreams;
And, when the setting stars are lost in day,
To Juno’s pow’r thy just devotion pay;
With sacrifice the wrathful queen appease:
Her pride at length shall fall, her fury cease.
When thou return’st victorious from the war,
Perform thy vows to me with grateful care.
The god am I, whose yellow water flows
Around these fields, and fattens as it goes:
Tiber my name; among the rolling floods
Renown’d on earth, esteem’d among the gods.
This is my certain seat. In times to come,
My waves shall wash the walls of mighty Rome.”

He said, and plung’d below. While yet he spoke,
His dream Aeneas and his sleep forsook.
He