Arms and the man I sing, who first from the coasts of Troy, exiled by fate, came to Italy and Lavine shores; much buffeted on sea and land by violence from above, through cruel Juno’s unforgiving wrath, and much enduring in war also, till he should build a city and bring his gods to Latium; whence came the Latin race, the lords of Alba, and the lofty walls of Rome.

Tell me, O Muse, the cause; wherein thwarted in will or wherefore angered, did the Queen of heaven drive a man, of goodness so wondrous, to traverse so many perils, to face so many toils. Can heavenly spirits cherish resentment so dire?

There was an ancient city, the home of Tyrian settlers, Carthage, over against Italy and the Tiber’s mouths afar, rich in wealth and stern in war’s pursuits. This, ‘tis said, Juno loved above all other lands, holding Samos itself less dear. Here was her armour, here her chariot; that here should be the capital of the nations, should the fates perchance allow it, was even then the goddess’s aim and cherished hope. Yet in truth she had heard that a race was springing from Trojan blood, to overthrow some day the Tyrian towers; that from it a people, kings of broad realms and proud in war, should come forth for Libya’s downfall: so rolled the wheel of fate. The daughter of Saturn, fearful of this and mindful of the old war which erstwhile she had fought at Troy for her beloved Argos – not yet, too, had the cause of her wrath and her bitter sorrows faded from her mind: deep in her heart remain the judgment of Paris and the outrage to her slighted beauty, her hatred of the race and the honours paid to ravished Ganymede – inflamed hereby yet more, she tossed on the wide main the Trojan remnant, left by the Greeks and pitiless Achilles, and kept them far from Latium; and many a year they wandered, driven by the fates o’er all the seas. So vast was the effort to found the Roman race.

Hardly out of sight of Sicilian land were they spreading their sails seaward, and merrily ploughing the foaming brine with brazen prow, when Juno, nursing an undying wound deep in her heart, spoke thus to herself: “What! I resign my purpose, baffled, and fail to turn from Italy the Teucrian king! The fates, doubtless, forbid me! Had Pallas power to burn up the Argive fleet and sink sailors in the deep, because of one single man’s guilt, and the frenzy of Ajax, son of Oileus? Her own hand hurled from the clouds Jove’s swift flame, scattered their ships, and upheaved the sea in tempest; but him, as with pierced breast he breathed forth flame, she caught in a whirlwind and impaled on a spiky crag. Yet I, who move as queen of gods, at once sister and wife of Jove, with one people am warring these many years. And will any still worship Juno’s godhead or humbly lay sacrifice upon her altars?

Thus inwardly brooding with heart inflamed, the goddess came to Aeolia, motherland of storm clouds, tracts teeming with furious blasts. Here in his vast cavern, Aeolus, their king, keeps under his sway and with prison bonds curbs the struggling winds and the roaring gales. They, to the mountain’s mighty moans, chafe blustering around the barriers. In his lofty citadel sits Aeolus, sceptre in hand, taming their passions and soothing their rage; did he not so, they would surely bear off with them in wild flight seas and lands and the vault of heaven, sweeping them through space. But, fearful of this, the father omnipotent hid them in gloomy caverns, and over them piled high mountain masses and gave them a king who, under fixed covenant, should be skilled to tighten and loosen the reins at command. Him Juno now addressed thus in suppliant speech:

“Aeolus – for to you the father of gods and king of men has given power to clam and uplift the waves with the wind – a people hateful to me sails the Tyrrhene sea, carrying into Italy Ilium’s vanquished gods. Hurl fury into your winds, sink and overwhelm the ships, or drive the men asunder and scatter their bodies on the deep. Twice seven nymphs have I of wondrous beauty, of whom Deiopea, fairest of form, I will link to you in wedlock, making her yours for ever, that for such service of yours she may spend all her years with you, and make you father of fair offspring.”

Thus answered Aeolus: “Your task, O queen, is to search out your desire; my duty is to do your bidding. To your grace I owe all this my realm, to your grace my sceptre and Jove’s favour; you grant me a couch at the feasts of the gods gods, and make me lord of clouds and storms.”

So he spoke and, turning his spear, smote the hollow mount on its side; when lo! the winds, as if in armed array, rush forth where passage is given, and blow in storm blasts across the world. They swoop down upon the sea, and from its lowest depths upheave it all – East and South winds together, and the Southwester, thick with tempests – and shoreward roll vast billows. Then come the cries of men and creaking of cables. In a moment clouds snatch sky and day from the Trojan’s eyes; black night broods over the deep. From pole to pole it thunders, the skies lighten with frequent flashes, all forebodes the sailors instant death. Straightway Aeneas’ limbs weaken with chilling dread; he groans and, stretching his two upturned hands to heaven, thus cries aloud: “O thrice and four times blest, whose lot it was to meet death before their fathers’ eyes beneath the lofty walls of Troy! O son of Tydeus, bravest of the Danaan race, ah! that I could not fall on the Ilian plains and gasp out this lifeblood at your hand – where, under the spear of Aeacides, fierce Hector lies prostrate, and mighty Sarpedon; where Simois seizes and sweeps beneath his waves so many shields and helms and bodies of the brave!”

As he flings forth such words, a gust, shrieking from the North, strikes full on his sail and lifts the waves to heaven. The oars snap, then the prow swings round and gives the broadside to the waves; down in a heap comes a sheer mountain of water. Some of the seamen hang upon the billow’s crest; to others the yawning sea shows ground beneath the waves; the surges seethe with sand. Three ships the South Wind catches and hurls on hidden rocks – rocks the Italians call the Altars, rising amidst the waves, a huge ridge topping the sea. Three the East forces from the deep into shallows and sandbanks, a piteous sight, dashes on shoals and girds with a mound of sand. One, which bore the Lycians and loyal Orontes, before the eyes of Aeneas a mighty toppling wave strikes astern. The helmsman is dashed out and hurled head foremost, but the ship is thrice on the same spot whirled round and round by the wave and engulfed in the sea’s devouring eddy. Here and there are seen swimmers in the vast abyss, with weapons of men, planks, and Trojan treasure amid the waves. Now the stout ship of Ilioneus, now of brave Achates, and that wherein Abas sailed and that of aged Aletes, the storm has mastered; with side joints loosened, all let in the hostile flood and gape at every seam.

Meanwhile Neptune saw the sea in turmoil of wild uproar, the storm let loose and the still waters seething up from their lowest depths. Greatly troubled was he, and gazing out over the deep he raised a composed countenance above the water’s surface. He sees Aeneas’ fleet scattered over all the sea, the Trojans overwhelmed by the waves and by the falling heavens, nor did Juno’s wiles and wrath escape her brother’s eye. East Wind and West he calls before him, then speaks thus:

“Has pride in your birth so gained control of you? Do you now dare, winds, without command of mine, to mingle earth and sky, and raise confusion thus? Whom I –! But better it is to clam the troubled waves: hereafter with another penalty shall you pay me for your crimes. Speed your flight and bear this word to your king; not to him, but to me were given by lot the lordship of the sea and the dread trident. He holds the savage rocks, home of you and yours, East Wind; in that hall let Aeolus lord it and rule within the barred prison of the winds.”

Thus he speaks, and swifter than his word he clams the swollen seas, puts to flight the gathered clouds, and brings back the sun. Cymothoë and Triton with common effort thrust the ships from the sharp rock; the god himself levers them up with his trident, opens the vast quicksands, allays the flood, and on light wheels glides over the topmost waters. And as, when ofttimes in a great nation tumult has risen, the base rabble rage angrily, and now brands and stones fly, madness lending arms; then, if perchance they set eyes on a man honoured for noble character and service, they are silent and stand by with attentive ears; with speech he sways their passion and soothes their breasts: just so, all the roar of ocean sank, soon as the Sire, looking forth upon the waters and driving under a clear sky, guides his steeds and, flying onward, gives reins to his willing car.

The wearied followers of Aeneas strive to run for the nearest shore and turn towards the coast of Libya. There in a deep inlet lies a spot, where an island forms a harbour with the barrier of its side, on which every wave from the main is broken, then parts into receding ripples. On either side loom heavenward huge cliffs and twin peaks, beneath whose crest far and wide is the stillness of sheltered water; above, too, is a background of shimmering woods with an overhanging grove, black with gloomy shade. Under the brow of the fronting cliff is a cave of hanging rocks; within are fresh water and seats in living stone, a haunt of Nymphs. Here no fetters imprison weary ships, no anchor holds them fast with hooked bite. Here, with seven ships mustered from all his fleet. Aeneas takes shelter; and, disembarking with earnest longing for the land, the Trojans gain the welcome beach and stretch their brine-drenched limbs upon the shore. At once Achates struck a spar from flint, caught the fire in leaves, laid dry fuel about, and waved the flame amid the tinder. Then, wearied with their lot, they take out the corn of Ceres, spoiled by the waves, with the tools of Ceres, and prepare to parch the rescued grain in the fire and crush it under the stone.

Meanwhile Aeneas climbs a peak and seeks a full view far and wide over the deep, if he may but see aught of storm-tossed Antheus and his Phrygian galleys, or of Capys or the arms of Caïcus on the high stern. There is no ship in sight; he descries three stags straying on the shore; whole herds follow behind these and in long line graze down the valley. Thereon he stopped and seized in his hand his bow and swift arrows, the arms borne by faithful Achates; and first he lays low the leaders themselves, their heads held high with branching antlers, then routs the herd and all the common sort, driving them with his darts amid the leafy woods. Nor does the stay his hand till seven huge forms he stretches victoriously on the ground, equal in number to his ships. Then he seeks the harbour and divides them among all his company. Next he shares the wine, which good Acestes had stowed in jars on the Trinacrian shore, and hero-like had given at parting; and, speaking thus, clams their sorrowing hearts:

“O comrades – for ere this we have not been ignorant of misfortune – you who have suffered worse, this also God will end. You drew near to Scylla’s fury and her deep-echoing crags; you have known, too, the rocks of the Cyclopes; recall your courage and banish sad fear. Perhaps even this distress it will some day be a joy to recall. Through varied fortunes, through countless hazards, we journey towards Latium, where fate promises a home of peace. There it is granted that Troy’s realm shall rise again; endure, and live for a happier day.”

Such words he spoke, while sick with deep distress he feigns hope on his face, and deep in his heart stifles his anguish. The others prepare the spoil, the feast that is to be; they flay the hides from the ribs and lay bare the flesh; some cut it into pieces and impale it, still quivering, on spits; others set cauldrons on the shore and feed them with fire. Then with food they revive their strength, and stretched along the grass take their fill of old wine and fat venison. When hunger was banished by the feast and the board was cleared, in long discourse they yearn for their lost comrades, between hope and fear uncertain whether to deem them still alive, or bearing the final doom and hearing no more when called. More than the rest does loyal Aeneas in silence mourn the loss now of valiant Orontes, now of Amycus, the cruel doom of Lycus, brave Gyas, and brave Cloanthus.

Now all was ended, when from the sky’s summit Jupiter looked forth upon the sail-winged sea and outspread lands, the shores and peoples far and wide, and, looking, paused on heaven’s height and cast his eyes on Libya’s realm. And lo! as on such cares he pondered in heart, Venus, saddened and her bright eyes brimming with tears, spoke to him: “You that with eternal sway rule the world of men and gods, and frighten with your bolt, what great crime could my Aeneas – could my Trojans – have wrought against you, to whom, after many disasters borne, the whole world is barred for Italy’s sake? Surely it was your promise that from them some time, as the years rolled on, the Romans were to arise; from them, even from Teucer’s restored line, should come rulers to hold the sea and all lands beneath their sway. What thought, father, ahs turned you? That promise, indeed, was my comfort for Troy’s fall and sad overthrow, when I weighed fate against the fates opposed. Now, though tried by so many disasters, the same fortune dogs them. What end of their toils, great king, do you grant? Antenor could escape the Achaean host, thread safely the Illyrian gulfs and inmost realms of the Liburnians, and pass the springs of Timavus, and whence through nine mouths, with a mountain’s mighty roar, it comes a bursting flood and buries the fields under its sounding sea. Yet here he set Padua’s town, a home for his Teucrians, gave a name to the race, and hung up the arms of Troy; now, settled in tranquil peace, he is at rest. But we, your offspring, to whom you grant the heights of heaven, have lost our ships – O shame unutterable! – and, to appease one angry foe, are betrayed and kept far from Italian shores. And thus is piety honoured? Is this the way you restore us to empire?

Smiling on her with that look wherewith he clears sky and storms, the Father of men and gods gently kissed his daughter’s lips, and then spoke thus: “Spare your fears, Lady of Cythera; your children’s fates abide unmoved. You will see Lavinium’s city and its promised walls; and great-souled Aeneas you will raise on high to the starry heaven. No though ahs turned me. This your son – for, since this care gnaws your heart, I will speak and, further unrolling the scroll of fate, will disclose its secrets – shall wage a great war in Italy, shall crush proud nations, and for his people shall set up laws and city walls, till the third summer has seen him reigning in Latium and three winters have passed in camp since the Rutulians were laid low. But the lad Ascanius, now surnamed Iulus – Ilus he was, while the Ilian state stood firm in sovereignty – shall fulfil in empire thirty great circles of rolling months, shall ships his throne from Lavinium’s seat, and, great in power, shall build the walls of Alba Longa. Here then for thrice a hundred years unbroken shall the kingdom endure under Hector’s race, until Ilia, a royal priestess, shall bear to Mars her twin offspring. Then Romulus, proud in the tawny hide of the she-wolf, his nurse, shall take up the line, and found the walls of Mars and call the people Romans after his own name. For these I set no bounds in space or time; but have given empire without end. Spiteful Juno, who now in her fear troubles sea and earth and sky, shall change to better counsels and with me cherish the Romans, lords of the world, and the nation of the toga. Thus is it decreed. Thee shall come a day, as the sacred seasons glide past, when the house of Assaracus shall bring into bondage Phthia and famed Mycenae, and hold lordship over vanquished Argos. From this noble line shall be born the Trojan Caesar, who shall extend his empire to the ocean, his glory to the stars, a Julius [Augustus], name descended from great Iulus! Him, in days to come, shall you, anxious no more, welcome to heaven, laden with Eastern spoils; he, too, shall be invoked in vows. Then wars shall cease and savage ages soften; hoary Faith and Vesta, Quirinus with his brother Remus, shall give laws. The gates of war, grim with iron and close-fitting bars, shall be closed; within, impious Rage, sitting on savage arms, his hands fast bound behind with a hundred brazen knots, shall roar in the ghastliness of blood-stained lips.”

So speaking, he sends the son of Maia down from heaven, that the land and towers of new-built Carthage may open to greet the Teucrians, and Dido, ignorant of fate, might not bar them from her lands. Through the wide air he flies on the oarage of wings, and speedily alights on the Libyan coasts. At once he does his bidding, and, God willing it, the Phoenicians lay aside their savage thoughts; above all, the queen receives a gentle mind and gracious purpose toward the Teucrians.

But loyal Aeneas, through the night revolving many a care, as soon as kindly light was given, determines to issue forth and explore the strange country; to learn to what coasts he has come with the wind, who dwells there, man or beast – for all he sees is waste – then bring back tidings to his friends. The fleet he hides in over-arching groves beneath a hollow rock, closely encircled by trees and quivering shade; then, Achates alone attending, himself strides forth, grasping in hand two shafts, tipped with broad steel. Across his path, in the midst of the forest, came his mother, with a maiden’s face and mien, and a maiden’s arms, whether one of Sparta or such a one as Thracian Harpalyce, when she out-tires horses and outstrips the winged East Wind in flight. For from her shoulders in huntress fashion she had slung the ready bow and had given her hair to the winds to scatter; her knee bare, and her flowing robes gathered in a knot. Before he speaks, “Ho!” she cries, “tell me, youths, if perchance you have seen a sister of mine here straying, girt with quiver and a dappled lynx’s hide, or pressing with shouts on the track of a foaming boar.”

Thus Venus; and thus in answer Venus’ son began: “None of your sisters have I heard or seen – but by what name should I call you, maiden? for your face is not mortal nor has your voice a human ring; O goddess surely! sister of Phoebus, or one of the race of Nymphs? Show grace to us, whoever you may be, and lighten this our burden. Inform us, pray, beneath what sky, on what coasts of the world, we are cast; knowing nothing of countries or peoples we wander driven hither by wind and huge billows. Many a victim shall fall for you at our hand before your altars.”

Then said Venus: “Nay, I claim not such worship. Tyrian maids are wont to wear the quiver, and bind their ankles high with the purple buskin. It is the Punic realm you see, a Tyrian people, and the city of Agenor; but the bordering country is Lybian, a race unconquerable in war. Dido wields the sceptre – Dido, who, fleeing from her brother, came from the city of Tyre. Long would be the tale of wrong, long its winding course – but the main heads of the story I will trace. Her husband was Sychaeus, richest in gold of the Phoenicians, and fondly loved by unhappy Dido; to him her father had given the maiden, yoking her to him in the first bridal auspices. But the kingdom of Tyre was in the hands of her brother Pygmalion, monstrous in crime beyond all others. Between these two came frenzy. The king, impiously before the altars and blinded by lust for gold, strikes down Sychaeus unawares by stealthy blow, without a thought for his sister’s love; and for long he hid the deed, and by many a pretence cunningly cheated the lovesick bride with empty hope. But in her sleep came the very ghost of her unburied husband; raising his pale face in wondrous wise, he lad bare the cruel altars and his breast pierced with steel, unveiling all the secret horror of the house. Then he bids her take speedy flight and leave her country, and to aid her journey brought to light treasures long hidden underground, a mass of gold and silver known to none. Moved by this, Dido made ready her flight and her company. Then all assemble who felt towards the tyrant relentless hatred or keen fear; ships, which by chance were ready, they seize and load with gold; the wealth of grasping Pygmalion is borne overseas, the leader of the enterprise a woman. They came to the place where today you will see the huge walls and rising citadel of new Carthage, and bought ground – Byrsa they called it therefrom – as much as they could encompass by a bull’s hide, and they are choosing laws and magistrates, and an august senate. But who, pray, are you, or from what coasts come, or whither hold you your coarse?” As she questioned thus he replied, sighing and drawing every word deep from his breast.

“O goddess, should I, tracing back from the first beginning, go on to tell, and you have leisure to hear the story of our woes, sooner would heaven close and evening lay the day to rest. From ancient Troy, if perchance the name of Troy has come to your hears, sailing over distant seas, the storm at its own caprice drove us to the Libyan coast. I am the loyal Aeneas, who carry with me in my fleet my household gods, snatched from the foe; my fame is known to the heavens above. It is Italy I seek, my father’s land, and a race sprung from Jupiter most high. With twice ten ships I embarked on the Phrygian sea, following the fates declared, my goddess-mother pointing me the way; scarcely do seven remain, shattered by waves and wind. Myself unknown and destitute, I wander over the Libyan wastes, driven from Europe and Asia.” His further complaint Venus suffered not, but in the midst of his lament broke in thus:

“Whoever you are, not hateful, I think, to the powers of heaven do you draw the breath of life, since you have reached the Tyrian city. Only go forward and make your way to the queen’s palace. For I bring you tidings of your comrades restored and of your fleet recovered, driven to safe haven by shifting winds – unless my parents were false, and vain the augury they taught me. Look at those twelve swans in exultant line, which Jove’s bird, swooping from the expanse of heaven, was harrying in the open air; now in long array they seem either to be settling in their places or already to be gazing down on the places where others have settled. As they, returning, sport with rustling wings, and in company have circled the sky and uttered their songs, with like joy your ships and the men of your company have reached harbour already or under full sail enter the river’s mouth. Only go forward and where the path leads you, direct your steps!”

She spoke, and as she turned away, her roseate neck flashed bright. From her head her ambrosial tresses breathed celestial fragrance; down to her feet fell her raiment, and in her step she was revealed a very goddess. He knew her for his mother, and as she fled pursued her with these words: “Why, cruel like others, do you so often mock your son with vain phantoms? Why am I not allowed to clasp hand in hand and hear and utter words unfeigned?” Thus he reproaches her and bends his steps towards the city. But Venus shrouded them, as they went, with dusky air, and enveloped them, goddess as she was, in a thick mantle of cloud, that none might see or touch them, none delay or seek the cause of their coming. She herself through the sky goes her way to Paphos, and joyfully revisits her abode, where the temple and its hundred altars steam with Sabaean incense and are fragrant with garlands ever fresh.

Meanwhile they sped on the road where the pathway points. And now they were climbing the hill that looms large over the city and looks down on the confronting towers. Aeneas marvels at the massive buildings, mere huts once; marvels at the gates, the din and paved high-roads. Eagerly the Tyrians press on, some to build walls, to rear the citadel, and roll up stones by hand; some to choose the site for a dwelling and enclose it with a furrow. Here some are digging harbours, here others lay the deep foundations of their theatre and hew out of the cliffs vast columns, fit adornments for the stage to be. Even as bees in early summer, amid flowery fields, ply their task in sunshine, when they lead forth the full-grown young of their race, or pack the fluid honey and strain their cells to bursting with sweet nectar, or receive the burdens of incomers, or in martial array drive from their folds the drones, a lazy herd; all aglow is the work and the fragrant honey is sweet with thyme. “Happy they whose walls already rise!” cries Aeneas, lifting his eyes towards the city roofs. Veiled in a cloud, he enters – wondrous to tell – through their midst, and mingles with the people, seen by none!

Amid the city was a grove, luxuriant in shade, the spot where the first Phoenicians, tossed by waves and whirlwind, dug up the token which queenly Juno had pointed out, a head of the spirited horse; for thus was the race to be famous in war and rich in substance through the ages. Here Sidonian Dido was founding to Juno a mighty temple, rich in gifts and the presence of the goddess. Brazen was its threshold uprising on steps; bronze plates were its lintel beams, on doors of bronze creaked the hinges. In this grove first did a strange sight appear to him and allay his fears; here first did Aeneas dare to hope for safety and put surer trust in his shattered fortunes. For while beneath the mighty temple, awaiting the queen, he scans each object, while he marvels at the city’s fortune, the handicraft of the several artists and the work of their toil, he sees in due order the battles of Ilium, the warfare now known by fame throughout the world, the sons of Atreus, and Priam, and Achilles, fierce in his wrath against both. He stopped and weeping cried: “Is there any place, Achates, any land on earth not full of our sorrow? See, there is Priam! Here, too, virtue finds its due reward; here, too, are tears for misfortune and human sorrows pierce the heart. Dispel your fears; this fame will bring you some salvation.”

So he speaks, and feasts his soul on the unsubstantial portraiture, sighing oft, and his face wet with a flood of tears. For he saw how, as they fought round Pergamus, here the Greeks were in rout, the Trojan youth hard on their heels; there fled the Phrygians, plumed Achilles in his chariot pressing them close. Not far away he discerns with tears the snowy-canvassed tents of Rhesus, which, betrayed in their first sleep, the blood-stained son of Tydeus laid waste with many a death, and turned the fiery steeds away to the camp, before they could taste Trojan fodder or drink of Xanthus. Elsewhere Troilus, his armour flung away in flight – unhappy boy, and ill-matched in conflict with Achilles – is carried along by his horses and, fallen backward, clings to the empty car, still clasping the reins; his neck and hair are dragged on the ground, and the dust is scored by his reversed spear. Meanwhile, to the temple of unfriendly Pallas the Trojan women passed along with streaming tresses, and bore the robe, mourning in suppliant guise and beating breasts with hands: with averted face the goddess kept her eyes fast upon the ground. Thrice had Achilles dragged Hector round the walls of Troy and was selling the lifeless body for gold. Then indeed from the bottom of his heart he heaves a deep groan, as the spoils, as the chariot, as the very corpse of his friend meet his gaze, and Priam outstretching weaponless hands. Himself, too, in close combat with the Achaean chiefs, he recognized, and the Eastern ranks, and swarthy Memnon’s armour. Penthesilea in fury leads the crescent-shielded ranks of Amazons and blazes amid her thousands; a golden belt she binds below her naked breast, and, as a warrior queen, dares battle, a maid clashing with men.

While these wondrous sights are seen by Dardan Aeneas, while in amazement he hangs rapt in one fixed gaze, the queen, Dido, moved toward the temple, of surpassing beauty, with a vast company of youths thronging round her. Even as on Eurotas’ banks or along the heights of Cythus Diana guides her dancing bands, in whose train a thousand Oreads troop to right and left; she bears a quiver on her shoulder, and as she treads overtops all the goddesses; joys thrill Latona’s silent breast – such was Dido, so moved she joyously through their midst, pressing on the work of her rising kingdom. Then at the door of the goddess, beneath the temple’s central dome, girt with arms and high enthroned, she took her seat. Laws and ordinances she gave to her people; their tasks she adjusted in equal shares or assigned by lot; when suddenly Aeneas sees approaching, in the midst of a great crowd, Antheus and Sergestus and brave Cloanthus with others of the Trojans, whom the black storm had scattered on the sea and driven far away to other coasts. Amazed was he; amazed, too, was Achates, thrilled with joy and fear. They burned with eagerness to clasp hands, but the uncertain event confuses their hearts. They keep hidden, and, clothed in the enfolding cloud, look to see what is their comrade’s fortune, on what shore they leave the fleet, and why they come; for from all the ships chosen men advanced, craving grace, and with loud cries made for the temple.

When they had entered, and freedom to speak before the queen was granted, the eldest, Ilioneus, with placid mien thus began: “Queen, to whom Jupiter has granted to found a new city, and to put the curb of justice on haughty tribes, we, unhappy Trojans, tempest-driven over every sea, make our prayer to you: ward off the horror of flames from our ships; spare a pious race, and look more graciously on our fortunes. We have not come to spoil with the sword your Libyan homes or to drive stolen booty to the shore. No such violence is in our hearts, nor have the vanquished such assurance. A place there is, by Greeks named Hesperia, an ancient land, mighty in arms and wealth of soil. There dwelt Oenotrians; now the rumour is that a younger race has called it from their leader’s name, Italy. Hither lay our course … [incomplete verse] when, rising with sudden swell, stormy Orion bore us on hidden shoals and with fierce blasts scattered us afar amid pathless rocks and waves of overwhelming surge; hither to your shores have we few drifted. What race of men is this? What land is so barbarous as to allow this custom? We are debarred the welcome of the beach; they stir up wars and forbid us to set foot on the border of their land. If you think light of human kinship and mortal arms, yet look unto gods who will remember right and wrong. A king we had, Aeneas: none more just or dutiful than he, or more renowned in war and arms. If fate still preserves that hero, if he feeds on the air of heaven and lies not yet in the cruel shades, we have no fear, nor would you regret to have taken the first step in the strife of courtesy. In Sicilian regions, too, there are cities and a supply of arms, and a prince of Trojan blood, famed Acestes. Grant us to beach our storm-battered fleet, to fashion planks in the forests and trim oars, so that, if we are granted to find king and comrades and steer our course to Italy, Italy and Latium we may gladly seek; but if our salvation is cut off, if you, noble father of the Trojan people, are the prey of the Libyan gulf, and a nation’s hope no longer lives in Iulus, that we at least may seek the straits of Sicily, whence we came hither, and the homes there ready, and Acestes for our king.” So spoke Ilioneus, and all the sons of Dardanus loudly assent …

Then Dido, lowering her eyes, briefly speaks: “Free your hearts of fear, Teucrians; put away your cares. Stern necessity and the new estate of my kingdom force me to do such hard deeds and protect my frontiers far and wide with guards. Who could be ignorant of the race of Aeneas’ people, who of Troy’s town and her brave deeds and brave men, or of the fires of that great war? Not so dull are our Punic hearts, and not so far from this Tyrian city does the sun yoke his steeds. Whether your choice be great Hesperia and the fields of Saturn, or the lands of Eryx and Acestes for your king, I will send you hence guarded by an escort, and aid you with my wealth. Or is it your wish to settle with me on even terms within these realms? The city I build is yours; draw up your ships; Trojan and Tyrian I shall treat alike. And would that your king were here, driven by the same wind – Aeneas himself! Nay, I will send trusty scouts along the coast and bid them traverse the ends of Libya, if perchance he strays shipwrecked in forest or in town.”

Stirred in spirit by these words, brave Achates and father Aeneas had long burned to break through the cloud. First Achates addresses Aeneas: “Goddess-born, what purpose now rises in your heart? You see that all is safe, comrades and fleet restored. One only is wanting, whom our own eyes saw engulfed amid the waves; all else agrees with your mother’s words.”

Scarce had he said this, when the encircling cloud suddenly parts and clears into open heaven. Aeneas stood forth, gleaming in the clear light, godlike in face and shoulders; for his mother herself had shed upon her son the beauty of flowing locks, with youth’s ruddy bloom, and on his eyes a joyous luster; even as the beauty which the hand gives to ivory, or when silver or Parian marble is set in yellow gold. Then thus he addresses the queen, and, unforeseen by all, suddenly speaks: “I, whom you seek, am here before you, Aeneas of Troy, snatched from the Libyan waves. O you who alone have pitied Troy’s unutterable woes, you who grant us – the remnant left by the Greeks, now outworn by every mischance of land and sea, and destitute of all – a share in your city and home, to pay you fitting thanks, Dido, is not in our power, nor in theirs who anywhere survive of Trojan race, scattered over the wide world. May the gods, if any divine powers have regard for the good, if there is any justice anywhere – may the gods and the consciousness of right bring you worthy rewards! What happy ages bore you! What glorious parents gave birth to so noble a child? While rivers run to ocean, while on the mountains shadows move over slopes, while heaven feeds the stars, ever shall your honour, your name, and your praises abide, whatever be the lands that summon me!” So saying, he grasps his dear Ilioneus with the right hand, and with the left Serestus; then others, brave Gyas and brave Cloanthus.

Sidonian Dido was amazed, first at the sight of the hero, then at his strange misfortune, and thus her lips made utterance: “What fate pursues you, goddess-born, amidst such perils? What violence drives you to savage shores? Are you that Aeneas whom gracious Venus bore to Dardanian Anchises by the wave of Phrygian Simois? Indeed, I myself remember well Teucer’s coming to Sidon, when exiled from his native land he sought a new kingdom by aid of Belus; my father Belus was then wasting rich Cyprus, and held it under his victorious sway. From that time on the fall of the Trojan city has been known to me; known, too, your name and the Pelasgian kings. Foe thou he was, he often lauded the Teucrians with highest praise and claimed that he was sprung from the Teucrians’ ancient stock. Come therefore, sirs, and pass within our halls. Me, too, has a like fortune driven through many toils, and willed that in this land I should at last find rest. Not ignorant of ill I learn to aid distress.”

Thus she speaks, and at once leads Aeneas into the royal house; at once proclaims a sacrifice at the temples of the gods. Meanwhile not less careful is she to send his comrades on the shore twenty bulls, a hundred huge swine with bristling backs, a hundred fatted lambs with their ewes, the joyous gifts of the god [wine of Bacchus] … But the palace within is laid out with the splendour of princely pomp, and amid the halls they prepare a banquet. Coverlets there are, skillfully embroidered and of royal purple; on the tables is massive silver plate, and in gold are graven the doughty deeds of her sires, a long, long course of exploits traced through many a hero from the early dawn of the race.

Aeneas – for a father’s love did not suffer his heart to rest – speedily sends Achates forward to the ships to carry this news to Ascanius and lead him to the city; in Ascanius all his fond parental care is centred. Presents, too, snatched from the wreck of Ilium, he bids him bring, a mantle stiff with figures wrought in gold, and a veil fringed with yellow acanthus, once worn by Argive Helen when she sailed for Pergamus and her unlawful marriage – she had brought them from Mycenae, the wondrous gift of her mother Leda – the sceptre too, which Ilione, Priam’s eldest daughter, once had borne, a necklace hung with pearls, and a coronet with double circled of jewels and gold. Speeding these commands, Achates bent his way towards the ships.

But the Cytherean revolves in her breast new wiles, new schemes; how Cupid, changed in face and form, may come in the stead of sweet Ascanius, and by his gifts kindle the queen to madness and send the flame into her very marrow. In truth, she fears the uncertain house and double-tongued Tyrians; Juno’s fury chafes her, and at nightfall her care rushes back. Therefore to winged Love she speaks these words:

“Son, my strength, my mighty power – O son, who alone scorn the mighty father’s Typhoean darts, to you I flee and suppliant sue your godhead. How your brother Aeneas is tossed on the sea about all coasts by bitter Juno’s hate is known to you, and often have you grieved in our grief. Phoenician Dido now holds him, staying him with soft words, and I dread what may be the outcome of Juno’s hospitality; at such a turning point of fortune she will not be idle. Wherefore I purpose to outwit the queen with guile and encircle her with love’s flame, that so no power may change her, but on my side she may be held fast in strong love for Aeneas. How you can do this take now my thought. The princely boy, my chiefest care, at his dear father’s bidding, makes ready to go to the Sidonian city, bearing gifts that survive the sea and the flames of Troy. Him will I lull to sleep, and on the heights of Cythera or Idalium will hide in my sacred shrine, so that he may by no means learn my wiles or come between to thwart them. For but a single night, feign by craft his form and, boy that you are, don the boy’s familiar face, so that when, in the fullness of her joy, amid the royal feast and the flowing wine, Dido takes you to her bosom, embraces you and imprints sweet kisses, you may breathe into her a hidden fire and beguile her with your poison.” Love obeys his dear mother’s words, lays by his wings, and walks joyously with the step of Iulus. But Venus pours over the limbs of Ascanius the dew of gentle repose and, fondling him in her bosom, uplifts him with divine power to Idalia’s high groves, where soft marjoram enwraps him in flowers and the breath of its sweet shade.

And now, obedient to her word and rejoicing in Achates as guide, Cupid went forth, carrying the royal gifts for the Tyrians. As he enters, the queen has already, amid royal hangings, laid herself on a golden couch, and taken her place in their midst. Now father Aeneas, now the Trojan youth gather, and the guests recline on coverlets of purple. Servants pour water on their hands, serve bread from baskets, and bring smooth-shorn napkins. There are fifty serving-maids within, whose task it is to arrange the long feast in order and keep the hearth aglow with fire. A hundred more there are, with as many pages of like age, to load the board with viands and set out the cups. The Tyrians, too, are gathered in throngs throughout the festal halls; summoned to recline on the embroidered couches, they marvel at the gifts of Aeneas, marvel at Iulus, at the god’s glowing looks and well-feigned words, at the robe and the veil, embroidered with saffron acanthus. Above all, the unhappy Phoenician, doomed to impending ruin, cannot satiate her soul, but takes fire as she gazes, thrilled alike by the boy and by the gifts. He, when he has hung in embrace on Aeneas’ neck and satisfied the deluded father’s deep love, goes to the queen. With her eyes, with all her heart she clings to him and repeatedly fondles him in her lap, knowing not, poor Dido, how great a god settles there to her sorrow. But he, mindful of his Acidalian mother, little by little begins to efface Sychaeus, and essays with a living passion to surprise her long-slumbering soul and her heart unused to love.

When first there came a lull in the feasting, and the boards were cleared, they set down great bowls and crown the wine. A din arises in the palace and voices roll through the spacious halls; lighted lamps hang down from the fretted roof of gold, and flaming torches drive out the night. Then the queen called for a cup, heavy with jewels and gold, and filled it with wine – one that Belus and all of Belus’ line had been wont to use. Then through the hall fell silence: “Jupiter – for they say that you appoint laws for host and guest – grant that this be a day of joy for Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy, and that our children may remember it! May Bacchus, giver of joy, be near, and bounteous Juno; and do you, Tyrians, grace the gathering with friendly spirit!” She spoke, and on the board offered a libation of wine, and, after the libation, was first to touch the goblet with her lips; then with a challenge gave it to Bitias. He briskly drained the foaming cup, and drank deep in the brimming gold; then other lords drank. Long-haired Iopas, once taught by mighty Atlas, makes the hall ring with his golden lyre. He sings of the wandering moon and the sun’s toils; when sprang man and beast, whence rain and fire; of Arcturus, and rainy Hyades and the twin Bears; why wintry suns make such haste to dip themselves in Ocean, or what delay stays the slowly passing nights. With shout on shout the Tyrians applaud, and the Trojans follow. No less did unhappy Dido prolong the night with varied talk and drank deep draughts of love, asking much of Priam, of Hector much; now of the armour in which came the son of Dawn; now of the wondrous steeds of Diomedes; now of the greatness of Achilles. “Nay, more,” she cries, “tell us, my guest, from the first beginning the treachery of the Greeks, the sad fate of your people, and your own wanderings; for already a seventh summer bears you a wanderer over every land and sea.”

All were hushed, and kept their rapt gaze upon him; then from his raised couch father Aeneas thus began:

“Too deep for words, O queen, is the grief you bid me renew, how the Greeks overthrew Troy’s wealth and woeful realm – the sights most piteous that I saw myself and wherein I played no small role. What Myrmidon or Dolopian, or soldier of the stern Ulysses, could refrain from tears in telling such a tale? And now dewy night is speeding from the sky and the setting stars counsel sleep. Yet if such is your desire to learn of our disasters, and in few words to hear of Troy’s last agony, though my mind shudders to remember and has recoiled in pain, I will begin.

“Broken in war and thwarted by the fates, the Danaan chiefs, now that so many years were gliding by, build by Pallas’ divine art a horse of mountainous bulk, and interweave its ribs with planks of fir. They pretend it is an offering for their safe return; this is the rumour that goes abroad. Here, within its dark sides, they stealthily enclose the choicest of their stalwart men and deep within they fill the huge cavern of the belly with armed soldiery.

“There lies in sight an island well known to fame, Tenedos, rich in wealth while Priam’s kingdom stood, now but a bay and an unsafe anchorage for ships. Hither they sail and hide themselves on the barren shore. We thought they had gone and before the wind were bound for Mycenae. So all the Teucrian land frees itself from its long sorrow. The gates are opened; it is a joy to go and see the Doric camp, the deserted stations and forsaken shore. Here the Dolopian bands encamped, here cruel Achilles; here lay the fleet; here they used to meet us in battle. Some are amazed at maiden Minerva’s gift of death, and marvel at the massive horse: and first Thymoetes urges that it be drawn within our walls and lodged in the citadel; either it was treachery or the doom of Troy was already tending that way. But Capys, and they whose minds were wiser in counsel, bid us either hurl headlong into the sea this guile of the Greeks, this distrusted gift, or fire it with flames heaped beneath; or else pierce and probe the hollow hiding place of the belly. The wavering crowd is torn into opposing factions.

“Then, foremost of all and with a great throng following, Laocoön in hot haste runs down from the citadel’s height, and cries from afar: ‘My poor countrymen, what monstrous madness is this? Do you believe the foe has sailed away? Do you think that any gifts of the Greeks are free from treachery? Is Ulysses known to be this sort of man? Either enclosed in this frame there lurk Achaeans, or this has been built as an engine of war against our walls, to spy into our homes and come down upon the city from above; or some trickery lurks inside. Men of Troy, trust not the horse. Whatever it be, I fear the Greeks, even when bringing gifts.’ So saying, with mighty force he hurled his great spear at the beast’s side an the arched frame of the belly. The spear stood quivering and with the cavity’s reverberation the vaults rang hollow, sending forth a moan. And had the gods’ decrees, had our mind not been perverse, he would have driven us to violate with steel the Argive den, and Troy would now be standing, and you, lofty citadel of Priam, would still abide!

“But meanwhile some Dardan shepherds with loud shouts were haling to the king a youth whose hands were bound behind his back. To compass this very end and open Troy to the Achaeans, deliberately, stranger though he was, he had placed himself in their path, confident in spirit and ready for either event, either to ply his crafty wiles or to meet certain death. From all sides, in eagerness to see, the Trojan youth run streaming in and vie in mocking the captive. Hear now the treachery of the Greeks and from a single crime learn the wickedness of all … For as he stood amid the gazing crowd, dismayed, unarmed, and cast his eyes about the Phrygian bands, ‘Alas!’ he cried, ‘what land now, what seas can receive me? Or what fate at the last yet awaits my misery? No place at all have I among the Greeks, and the Trojans themselves, too, wildly clamour for vengeance and my life.’ At that wail our mood was changed and all violence checked. We urge him to say from what blood he is sprung and what tidings he brings. ‘Tell us, ‘we cry, ‘on what you rely, now that you are our prisoner.’ At last he lays aside his fear and speaks these words:

“’Surely, king,’ he says, ‘whatever befalls, I will tell all to you, nor will I deny that I am of Argive birth. This first I own; nor, if Fortune has moulded Sinon for misery, will she also in her spite mould him as false and lying. If it chance that speech to your ears has brought some rumour of Palamedes, son of Belus, and the glory of his fame – whom under false evidence, by wicked witnessing, because he forbade the war, the Pelasgians sent down innocent to death, and mourn him, now that he is bereft of light – in his company, being of kindred blood, my father, poor as he was, sent me hither to arms in my earliest years. While he stood secure in princely power and strong in the councils of the kings, we, too, bore some name and renown. But when through the malice of subtle Ulysses – not unknown is the tale – he passed from this world above, I dragged on my ruined life in darkness and grief, wrathful in my heart over the fate of my innocent friend. Nor in my madness was I silent, but, if any chance should offer, if I ever returned in triumph to my native Argos, I vowed myself his avenger and with my words awoke fierce hate. Hence for me the first taint of ill; hence would Ulysses ever terrify me with new charges; hence would he sow dark rumours in the crowd and with guilty fear seek weapons. Nor indeed id he rest until with Calchas as his tool – but why do I vainly unroll this unwelcome tale? Or why delay you? If you hold the Achaeans in one rank, and if it is enough to hear that, take your vengeance at once; this the Ithacan would wish and the son of Atreus buy at a great price!’

“Then indeed we burn to inquire and ask the causes, strangers as we were to wickedness so great and to Pelasgian gilde. Trembling he takes up the tale and speaks with feigned emotion:

“’Often the Greeks longed to quit Troy, compass a retreat, and depart, weary with the long war; and how I wish that they had done so! Often a fierce tempest on the deep cut them off and the gale scared them from going. Above all, when this horse was ready, a structure compacted of maple beams, storm clouds thundered throughout the sky. Perplexed, we send Eurypylus to ask the oracle of Phoebus, and he brings back from the shrine the gloomy words: “With blood of a slain virgin you appeased the winds, when first, Greeks, you came to the Ilian coasts; with blood must you win your return and gain favour by an Argive life.” When this utterance came to the ears of the crowd, they in their hearts were dazed, and a cold shudder ran through their inmost marrow. For whom is fate preparing this doom? Whom does Apollo claim? On this the Ithacan with loud clamour drags the seer Calchas into their midst and demands what this is that the gods will. And now many predicated that I was the target of the schemer’s cruel crime and silently saw what was to come. Twice five days is the seer silent in his tent, refusing to denounce any by his lips or to consign to death. Reluctantly, at last, forced by the Ithacan’s loud cries, even as agreed he breaks into utterance and dooms me to the altar. All approved; and what each feared for himself they bore with patience, when turned to one man’s ruin.

“’And now the day of horror was at hand; for me the rites were preparing, the salted meat, and the fillets for my temples. I snatched myself, I confess, from death; I burst my bonds, and lurked all night in muddy mere, hidden in the sedge, until they should set sail, in case they would. And now no hope have I of seeing my ancient homeland, or my sweet children and the father I long for. Of them perchance they will demand due punishment for my flight, and by their death, unhappy ones, expiate this crime of mine. But I beseech you, by the gods above, by the powers that know the truth, by whatever faith may still be found unstained anywhere among mortals, pity such distress; pity a soul that bears sorrow undeserved!’

“To these tears we grant life and pity him besides. Priam himself first bids his fetters and tight bonds be removed, and thus speaks with words of kindness: ‘Whoever you are, from now on forget the Greeks you have lost; you will be one of us. And explain to me truly this that I ask. To what end have they set up this huge mass of horse? Who is the contriver? What is their aim? What religious offering is it? What engine of war?’ He ceased; the other, schooled in Pelasgian guile and craft, lifted to the stars his unfettered hands: ‘You, everlasting fires,’ he cries, ‘and your inviolable majesty, be my witness; you, altars, and accursed swords which I escaped, and chaplets of the gods, which I wore as victim, grant that I may rightly break my solemn obligations to the Greeks, rightly hate them and bring all things to light if they hide aught; nor am I bound by any laws of country. But Troy, stand by your promises and, yourself, preserve your faith, if my tidings prove true and pay you a large return!

“’All the hope of the Danaans and their confidence in beginning the war always rested on the help of Pallas. But from the time that the ungodly son of Tydeus and Ulysses, the author of crime, dared to tear the fateful Palladium from its hallowed shrine, slew the guards of the citadel-height, and, snatching up the sacred image, ventured with bloody hands to touch the fillets of the maiden goddess – from that time the hopes of the Danaans ebbed and, stealing backward, receded; their strength was broken and the heart of the goddess estranged. And with no doubtful portents did Tritonia give signs thereof. Scarcely was the image placed within the camp, when from the upraised eyes there blazed forth flickering flames, salt sweat coursed over the limbs, and thrice, wonderful to relate, the goddess herself flashed forth from the ground with shield and quivering spear. Straightway Calchas prophesies that the seas must be essayed in flight, and that Pergamus cannot be uptorn by Argive weapons, unless they seek new omens at Argos, and escort back the deity, whom they have taken away overseas in their curved ships. And now that before the wind they are bound for their native Mycenae, it is but to get them forces and attendant gods; then, recrossing the sea, they will be here unlooked for. So Calchas interprets the omens. This image, at his warning, they have set up in atonement for the Palladium, for the insult to deity, and to expiate the woeful sacrilege. Yet Calchas bade them raise this mass of interlaced timbers so huge, and to built it up to heaven, so that it might find no entrance at the gates, be drawn within the walls, or guard the people under shelter of their ancient faith. For if hand of yours should wrong Minerva’s offering, then utter destruction – may the gods turn rather on himself that augury! – would fall on Priam’s empire and the Phrygians; but if by your hands it climbed into your city, Asia would even advance in mighty war to the walls of Pelops, and such would be the doom awaiting our offspring!’

“Through such snares and craft of forsworn Sinon the story won belief, and we were ensnared by wiles and forced tears – we whom neither the son of Tydeus nor Achilles of Larissa laid low, not ten years, not a thousand ships!

“Hereupon another portent, more fell and more frightful by far, is thrust upon us, unhappy ones, and confounds our unforeseeing souls. Laocoön, priest of Neptue, as drawn by lot, was slaying a great bull at the wonted altars; and lo! from Tenedos, over the peaceful depths – I shudder as I speak – a pair of serpents with endless coils are breasting he sea and side by side making for the shore. Their bosoms rise amid he surge, and their crests, blood-red, overtop the waves; the rest of them skims the main behind and their huge backs curve in many a fold; we hear the noise as the water foams. And now they were gaining the fields and, with blazing eyes suffused with blood and fire, were licking with quivering tongues their hissing mouths. Pale at the sight, we scatter. They in unswerving course make for Laocoön; and first each serpent enfolds in its embrace the small bodies of his two sons and with its fangs feeds upon the hapless limbs. Then himself too, as he comes to their aid, weapons in hand, they seize and bind in mighty folds; and now, twice encircling his waist, twice winding their scaly backs around his throat, they tower above with head and lofty necks. He the while strains his hands to burst the knots, his fillets steeped in gore and black venom; the while he lifts to heaven hideous cries, like the bellowings of a wounded bull that has bled from the altar and shaken from its neck the ill-aimed axe. But, gliding away, the dragon pair escape to the lofty shrines, and seek fierce Tritonia’s citadel, there to nestle under the goddess’s feet and the circle of her shield. Then indeed a strange terror steals through the shuddering hearts of all, and they say that Laocoön has rightly paid the penalty of crime, who with his lance profaned the sacred oak and hurled into its body the accursed spear. ‘Draw the image to her house,’ all cry, ‘and supplicate her godhead.’ … We part the walls and lay bare the city’s battlements. All gird themselves for the work; under the feet they place gliding wheels, and about the neck stretch hemp bands. The fateful engine climbs our walls, big with arms. Around it boys and unwedded girls chant holy songs and delight to touch the cable with their hands. Up it moves, and glides threatening into the city’s midst. O my country! O Ilium, home of gods, and you Dardan battlements, famed in war! Four times at the gates’ very threshold it halted, and four times from its belly the armour clashed; yet we press on, heedless and blind with rage, and set the ill-omened monster on our hallowed citadel. Even then Cassandra opened her lips for the coming doom – lips at a god’s command never believed by the Trojans. We, hapless ones, for whom that day was our last, wreathe the shrines of the gods with festal boughs throughout the city.

“Meanwhile the sky revolves and night rushes from the ocean, wrapping in its mighty shade earth and heaven and the wiles of the Myrmidons. Through the town the Teucrians lay stretched in silence; sleep clasps their weary limbs. And now the Argive host, with marshaled ships, was moving from Tenedos, amid the friendly silence of the mute moon, seeking the well-known shores, when the royal galley had raised the beacon light – and Sinon, shielded by the gods’ malign doom, stealthily sets free from the barriers of pine the Danaans shut within the womb. The opened horse restores them to the air, and joyfully from the hollow wood come forth Thessandrus and Sthenelus the captains, and dread Ulysses, sliding down the lowered rope; Acamas and Thoas and Neoptolemus of Peleus’ line, prince Machaon, Menelaus, and Epeus himself, who devised the fraud. They storm the city, buried in sleep and wine; they slay the watch, and at the open gates welcome all their comrades and unite confederate bands.

“It was the hour when the first rest of weary mortals begins, and by grace of the gods steals over them most sweet. In slumbers, I dreamed that Hector, most sorrowful and shedding floods of tears, stood before my eyes, torn by the car, as once of old, and black with gory dust, his swollen feet pierced with thongs. Ah me, what aspect was his! How changed he was from that Hector who returns after donning the spoils of Achilles or hurling on Danaan ships the Phrygian fires – with ragged beard, with hair matted with blood, and bearing those many wounds he received around his native walls. I dreamed I wept myself, hailing him first, and uttering words of grief: ‘O light of the Dardan land, surest hope of the Trojans, what long delay has held you? From what shores, Hector, the long looked for, do you come? Oh, how gladly after the many deaths of your kin, after woes untold of citizens and city, our weary eyes behold you! What shameful cause has marred that unclouded face? Why do I see these wounds?’ He answers not, nor heeds my idle questioning, but drawing heavy sighs from his bosom’s depths, ‘Ah, flee, goddess-born,’ he cries, ‘and escape from these flames. The foe holds our walls; Troy falls from her lofty height. All claims are paid to king and country; if Troy’s towers could be saved by strength of hand, by mine, too, had they been saved. Troy entrusts to you her holy things and household gods; take them to share your fortunes: seek for them the mighty city, which, when you have wandered over the deep, you shall at last establish!’ So he speaks and in his hands brings forth from the inner shrine the fillets, great Vesta, and the undying fire.

“On every side, meanwhile, the city is in a turmoil of anguish; and more and more, though my father Anchises’ house lay far withdrawn and screened by trees, clearer grow the sounds and war’s dread din sweeps on. I shake myself from sleep and, climbing to the roof’s topmost height, stand with straining ears: even as, when fire falls on a cornfield while south winds are raging, or the rushing torrent from a mountain streams lays low the fields, lays low the glad crops and labours of oxen and drags down forests headlong, spellbound the bewildering shepherd hears the roar from a rock’s lofty peak. Then indeed the truth is clear and the guile of the Danaans grows manifest. Even now the spacious house of Deiphobus has fallen, as the fire god towers above; even now his neighbour Ucalegon blazes; the broad Sigean straits reflect the flames. Then rise the cries of men and blare of clarions. Frantic I seize arms; yet little purpose is there in arms, but my heart burns to muster a force for battle and hasten with my comrades to the citadel. Frenzy and anger drive my soul headlong and I think how glorious it is to die in arms!

“But, lo! Panthus, escaping from Achaean swords – Panthus, son of Othrys, priest of Phoebus on the citadel – in his own hand bearing the holy things and vanquished gods, and dragging his little grandchild, runs frantic to my doors. ‘Where is the crisis, Panthus? What stronghold are we to seize?’ Scarcely had I said these words, when with a groan he answers thus: ‘It is come – the last day and inevitable hour for Troy. We Trojans are no more, Ilium is no more, nor the great glory of the Teucrians; in wrath Jupiter ahs taken all away to Argos; our city is aflame, and in it the Greeks are lords. The horse, standing high in the city’s midst, pours forth armed men, and Sinon, victorious, insolently scatters flames! Some are at the wide-open gates, as many thousands as ever came from mighty Mycenae; others with confronting weapons have barred the narrow ways; a standing line of steel, with flashing point unsheathed, is ready for the slaughter. Scarce do the first guards of the gates essay battle, and resist in blind warfare.’ By such words of Othrys’ son and by divine will I am driven amid flames and weapons, where the fell Fury, where the roar and the shouts rising to heaven call. Then, falling in with me in the moonlight, comrades join me, and there gather to our side Rhipeus and Epytus, mighty in arms, Hypanis and Dymas, with young Coroebus, son of Mygdon. In those days, as it chanced, he had come to Troy, fired with mad love for Cassandra, and as a son was bringing aid to Priam and the Phrygians – luckless one, not to have heeded the warning of his inspired bride … When I saw them in close ranks and eager for battle, I thereupon begin thus: ‘My men, hearts vainly valiant, if your desire is fixed to follow me in my final venture, you see what is the fate of our cause. All the gods on whom this empire was stayed have gone forth, leaving shrine and altar; the city you aid is in flames. Let us die, and rush into the battle’s midst! Once chance the vanquished have, to hope for none.’

“Thus their young spirits were spurred to fury. Then, like ravening wolves in a black mist, when the belly’s lawless rage has driven them blindly forth, and their whelps at home await them with thirsty jaws, through swords, through foes we pass to certain death, and hold our way to the city’s heart; black night hovers around with sheltering shade. Who could unfold in speech that night’s havoc? Who its carnage? Who could match our toils with tears? The ancient city falls, for many years a queen; in heaps lifeless corpses lie scattered amid the streets, amid the homes and hallowed portals of the gods. Nor do Teucrians alone pay penalty with their lifeblood; at times valour returns to the hearts of the vanquished also and the Danaan victors fall. Everywhere is cruel grief, everywhere panic, and full many a shape of death.

“First, with a great throng of Greeks attending him, Androgeos meets us, in ignorance, deeming us an allied band, and hails us forthwith in friendly words: “Hurry, men; what sloth keeps you back so long? Others sack and ravage burning Pergamus; are you but now coming from the tall ships?’ He spoke, and at once – for no reply that he could well trust was offered – knew that he had fallen into the midst of foes. He was dazed, and drawing back checked foot and voice. As one who has crushed a serpent unseen amid the rough briars, when stepping firmly on the ground, and in sudden terror shrinks back as it rises in wrath and puffs out its purple neck; so Androgeos, affrighted at the sight, was drawing away. We charge and with serried arms stream around them; in their ignorance of the ground and the surprise of their panic we slay them on all sides. Fortune favours our first effort. And here, flushed with success and courage, Coroebus cries: ‘Comrades, where fortune first points out the road to safety and where she shows herself auspicious, let us follow. Let us change the shields and don Danaan emblems; whether this is deceit or valour, who would ask in warfare? Our foes themselves shall give us weapons.’ So saying, he then puts no the plumed helmet of Androgeos, and the shield with its comely device, and fits to his side the Argive sword. So does Rhipeus, so Dymas too, and all the youth in delight; each man arms himself in the new-won spoils. We move on, mingling with the Greeks, under gods not our own, and in the blind night we clash in many a close fight, and many a Greek we send down to Orcus. Some scatter to the ships and make with speed for safe shores; some in base terror again climb the huge horse and hide in the familiar womb.

“Alas, it is wrong for man to rely on the gods for anything against their will! Lo! Priam’s daughter, the maiden Cassandra, was being dragged with streaming hair from the temple and shrine of Minerva, vainly uplifting to heaven her blazing eyes – her eyes, for bonds confined her tender hands. Maddened in soul, Coroebus brooked not this sight, but flung himself to death into the midst of the band. We all follow and charge with serried arms. Here first from the high temple roof we are overwhelmed with the weapons of our friends, the piteous slaughter arises from the appearance of our arms and the confusion of our Greek crests. Then the Danaans, with a shout of rage at the maiden’s rescue, mustering from all sides, fall upon us, Ajax most fiercely, the two sons of Atreus, and the whole Dolopian host: even as at times, when a hurricane bursts forth, diverse winds clash, West and South and East, proud of his orient steeds; the forests groan and Nereus, steeped in foam, storms with his trident, and stirs the seas from their lowest depths. There appear, too, those whom amid the shade of the dim night we had routed by stratagem and driven throughout the town; they first recognize our shields and lying weapons, and mark our speech as differing in tone. Straightway we are outnumbered; and first Coroebus falls at the hands of Peneleus by the altar of the warrior goddess; Rhipeus, too, falls, most just of all the Trojans, most zealous for the right, but Heaven’s will was otherwise; Hypanis and Dymas perish, pierced by friends; nor could all your goodness, Panthus, nor Apollo’s fillet shield you in your fall! O ashes of Ilium! O funeral flames of my kin! I call you to witness that in your doom I shunned no fight or hazard, and had the fates willed my death at the hands of the Greeks, that I had earned that death! We are torn from there, Iphitus and Pelias with me, Iphitus now burdened with years, Pelias slow-footed, too, under a wound from Ulysses. Straightway we are called by the clamour to Priam’s house.

“Here indeed is a mighty battle, as if no fighting were taking place elsewhere, as if none were dying throughout the city; so do we see the god of war unbridled, Danaans rushing to the roof and the threshold beset with an assaulting mantlet of shields. Ladders hug the walls, under the very doorposts men force a way on the rungs; with left hands they hold up protecting shields against the darts and with right they clutch the battlements. The Trojans in turn tear down the towers and all the rooftop of the palace; with these as missiles – for they see the end near – even at the point of death they prepare to defend themselves; and roll down gilded rafters, the stately splendours of their fathers of old. Others with drawn swords have beset the doors below, and guard them, closely massed. Our spirits are quickened to succour the king’s dwelling, to relieve our men by our aid and bring fresh force to the vanquished.

“There was an entrance with secret doors, a passage running from hall to hall of Priam’s palace, a postern gate apart, by which, while one kingdom yet stood, Andromache, poor soul, would often unattended pass to her husband’s parents, and lead the little Astyanax to his grandsire. I gain the roof’s topmost height, whence the hapless Teucrians were hurling their useless missiles. A tower stood on the sheer edge, rising skyward from the rooftop, whence all Troy was wont to be seen, and the Danaan ships and the Achaean camp. Assailing this with iron round about, where the topmost stories offered weak joints, we wrenched it from its lofty place and thrust it forth. With sudden fall it trails a thunderous ruin, and over the Danaan ranks crashes far and wide. Yet more come up, nor meanwhile do stones nor any kind of missiles cease …

“Just before the entrance court and at the very portal is Pyrrhus, proudly gleaming in the sheen of brazen arms: even as when into the light comes a snake, fed on poisonous herbs, whom cold winter kept swollen underground now, his slough cast off, fresh and glistening in youth, with uplifted breast he rolls his slippery length, towering towards the sun and darting from his mouth a three-forked tongue. With him huge Periphas and Automedon his armour bearer, driver of Achilles’ horses; with him all the Scyrian youth close on the dwelling and hurl flames on to the roof. Pyrrhus himself among the foremost grasps a battle axe, bursts through the stubborn gateway, and from their hinge tears the brass-bound doors; and now, heaving out a panel, he has breached the solid oak and made a huge wide-mouthed gap. Open to view is the house within, and the long halls are bared; open to view are the inner chambers of Priam and the kings of old, and armed men are seen standing at the very threshold.

“But within, amid shrieks and woeful uproar, the house is in confusion, and at its heart the vaulted halls ring with women’s wails; the din strikes the golden stars. Then through the vast dwelling trembling matrons roam, clinging fast to the doors and imprinting kisses on them. On presses Pyrrhus with his father’s might; no bars, no warders even, can stay his course. The gate totters under the ram’s many blows and the doors, wrenched from their sockets, fall forward. Force finds a way; the Greeks, pouring in, burst a passage, slaughter thee foremost, and fill the wide space with soldiery. Not with such fury, when a foaming river, bursting its barriers, has overflowed and with its torrent overwhelmed the resisting banks, does it rush furiously upon the fields in a mass and over all the plains sweep herds and folds. I myself saw on the threshold Neoptolemus, mad with slaughter, and both the sons of Atreus; I saw Hecuba and her hundred daughters, and amid the altars Priam, polluting with his blood the fires he himself had hallowed. The famous fifty chambers, the rich promise of offspring, the doors proud with the spoils of barbaric gold, fall low; where the fire fails, the Greeks hold sway.

“Perhaps, too, you may inquire what was Priam’s fate. When he saw the fall of the captured city, saw the doors of his palace shattered, and the foe in the heart of his home, old as he is, he vainly throws his long-disused armour about his aged trembling shoulders, girds his useless sword, and rushes to his death among his thronging foes. In the middle of the palace and beneath the open arch of heaven was a huge altar, and hard by an ancient laurel, leaning against the altar and clasping the household gods in its shade. Here, round the shrines, vainly crouched Hecuba and her daughters, huddled together like doves swept before a black storm, and clasping the images of the gods. But when she saw even Priam harnessed in the armour of his youth, ‘My poor husband,’ she cries, ‘what dreadful thought has driven you to don these weapons? Where are you rushing to? The hour calls not for such aid or such defenders, not though my own Hector were here himself! Come hither, pray; this altar will guard us all, or you will die with us!’ Thus she spoke, then drew the aged man to her and placed him on the holy seat.

“But lo! escaping from the sword of Pyrrhus, through darts, through foes, Polites, one of Priam’s sons, flees down the long colonnades and, wounded, traverses the empty courts. Pyrrhus presses hotly upon him eager to strike, and at any moment will catch him and overwhelm him with the spear. When at last he came before the eyes and faces of his parents, he fell, and poured out his life in a stream of blood. Hereupon Priam, though now in death’s closest grasp, yet held not back nor spared his voice and wrath: ‘For your crime, for deeds so heinous,’ he cries, ‘if in heaven there is any righteousness to mark such sins, may the gods pay you fitting thanks and render you due rewards, who has made me look on my own son’s murder, and defiled with death a father’s face! Not so did Achilles deal with his foe Priam, that Achilles whose sonship you falsely claim, but he had respect for a suppliant’s rights and trust; he gave back to the tomb Hector’s bloodless corpse and sent me back to my realm.’ So spoke the old man and hurled his weak and harmless spear, which straight recoiled from the clanging brass and hung idly from the top of the shield’s boss. To him Pyrrhus: ‘Then you shall bear this news and go as messenger to my sire, Peleus’ son; be sure to tell him of my sorry deeds and his degenerate Neoptolemus! Now die!’ So saying, to the very altar stones he drew him, trembling and slipping in his son’s streaming blood, and wound his left hand in his hair, while with the right he raised high the flashing sword and buried it to the hilt in his side. Such was the close of Priam’s fortunes; such the doom that by fate befell him – to see Troy in flames and Pergamus laid low, he who was once lord of so many tribes and lands, the monarch of Asia. He lies, a huge trunk upon the shore, a head severed from the neck, a corpse without a name!

“Then first an awful horror encompassed me. I stood aghast, and there rose before me the form of my dear father, as I looked upon the king, of like age, gasping away his life under a cruel wound. There rose forlorn Creüsa, the pillaged house, and the fate of little Iulus. I look back and scan the force about me. All, outworn, have deserted me and flung their bodies to the ground or dropped helpless into the flames.

And now I alone was left, when I saw, sheltered in Vesta’s shrine and silently hiding in the unfrequented fane, the daughter of Tyndareus [Helen]; the bright fires give me light as I wander and cast my eyes, here and there, over the scene. She, fearing the Trojans’ anger against her for the overthrow of Pergamum, the vengeance of the Greeks, and the wrath of the husband she abandoned – she, the undoing alike of her motherland and ours – had hidden herself and was crouching, hateful creature, by the altars. Fire blazed up in my heart; there comes an angry desire to avenge my ruined country and exact a penalty for her sin. ‘So is she to look unscathed on Sparta and her native Mycenae, and parade a queen in the triumph she has won? Is she to see husband and home, parents and children, attended by a train of Ilian ladies and Phrygian captives? For this is Priam to have perished by the sword? Troy burnt in flames? The Dardan shore so often soaked in blood? Not so! For though there is no glorious renown in punishing a woman and such victory gains no honour, yet I shall win praise for blotting out villainy and exacting just recompense; and it will be a joy to have filled my soul with the flame of revenge and satisfied the ashes of my people.’ Such words I blurted out and in frenzied mind was rushing on, when my gracious mother, never before so brilliant to behold, came before my eyes, in pure radiance gleaming through the night, manifesting her deity, in beauty and statue such as she is wont to appear to the lords of heaven. She caught me by the hand and stayed me, and spoke these words besides with roseate lips: ‘My son, what resentment thus stirs ungovernable wrath? Why this rage? Whither has your care for me fled? Will you not first see where you have left your father, age-worn Anchises, whether Creüsa your wife and the boy Ascanius still live? All these the Greek lines compass round on every side, and did not my love prevent it, by now the flames would have swept them away and the hostile sword would have drunk their blood. Know that it is not the hated face of the Laconian woman, daughter of Tyndareus, it is not Paris that is to blame; but the gods, the relentless gods, overturn this wealth and make Troy topple from her pinnacle. Behold – for all the cloud, which now, drawn over your sight, dulls your mortal vision and with dank pall enshrouds you, I will tear away; fear no commands of your mother nor refuse to obey her counsels – here, where you see shattered piles and rocks torn from rocks, and smoke eddying up mixed with dust, Neptune shakes the walls and foundations that his mighty trident has upheaved, and uproots all the city from her base. Here Juno, fiercest of all, is foremost to hold the Scaean gates and, girt with steel, furiously calls from the ships her allied band … Now on the highest towers – turn and see – Tritonian Pallas is planted, gleaming with storm cloud and grim Gorgon. My father himself gives the Greeks courage and auspicious strength; he himself stirs up the gods against the Dardan arms. Hasten your flight, my son, and put an end to your toil. Nowhere will I leave you but will set you safely on your father’s threshold.’ She spoke, and vanished in the thick shades of night. Dread shapes come to view and, hating Troy, great presences divine …

“Then, indeed, it seemed to me that all Ilium was sinking into the flames and that Neptune’s Troy was being overturned from her base – even as when on mountain-tops woodmen emulously strain to overturn an ancient ash tree, which has been hacked with many a blow of axe and iron; it ever threatens to fall, and nods with trembling leafage and rocking crest, till, little by little, overcome with wounds, it gives on loud last groan and, uptorn from the ridges, comes crashing down. I descend and, guided by a god, make my way amid fire and foes. Weapons give me passage and the flames retire.

“And now, when I had reached the door of my father’s house, my ancient home, my sire, whom it was my first longing to bear high into the hills, and whom first I sought, refused, since Troy was laid low, to prolong his days or suffer exile. ‘You,’ he cried, ‘whose blood has the freshness of youth and whose strength stands sound in native vigour, you must turn to flight … For me, had the lords of heaven willed that I should lengthen life’s thread, they would have spared this my home. Enough and more it is that I have seen one destruction, and have survived one capture of the city. To my body, thus lying, yea thus, bid farewell and depart! I shall find a warrior’s death; the foe will take pity and seek my spoils. Light is the loss of burial. Hated of heaven and useless, I have long stayed the years, ever since the father of gods and king of men breathed upon me with the winds of his bolt and touched me with his fire.’

“So he persisted in his speech and remained unshaken. But we were dissolved in tears – my wife Creüsa, Ascanius and all our household – pleading that our father not bring all to ruin along with him, nor add weight to our crushing doom. He refuses, and abides in his purpose and his place. Again I rush to arms, and in utter misery long for death, for what device or what chance was offered now? ‘Did you think, my father, that I could go forth leaving you? Did such a monstrous word fall from a father’s lips? If the gods will that naught remain of our great city, if this purpose is firmly set in your mind and it is your pleasure to cast yourself and your kin into the wreck of Troy, for this death the gate is open wide, and soon will come Pyrrhus, steeped in the blood of Priam – Pyrrhus who butchers the son before the father’s eyes, the father at the altars. Was it for this, gracious mother, that you saved me amid fire and sword, to see the foe in the heart of my home, and Ascanius, and my father, and Creüsa at their side, slaughtered in each others blood? Arms, men, bring arms; the last light of life calls the vanquished. Give me back to the Greeks; let me seek again and renew the fight Never this day shall we all die unavenged!’

“Once more I strap on my sword, pass my left arm into the shield, as I fit it on, and was hurrying forth from the house, when lo! on the threshold my wife clung to men, clasping my feet and holding up little Iulus to his father. ‘If you go to die, take us, too, with you for any fate. But if from past experience, you place some hope in the armour you have donned, guard first this house. To whom do you abandon little Iulus, your father, and men, once called your wife?’

“So crying, she filled all the house with moaning; when a sudden portent appears, wondrous to tell. For between the hands and faces of his ad parents, from above the head of Iulus a light tongue of flame was seen to shed a gleam and, harmless in its touch, lick his soft locks and pasture round his temples. Trembling with alarm, we quickly shake out the blazing hair and quench with water the holy fires. But my father Anchises joyously raises his eyes to the skies and uplifts to heaven hands and voice: ‘Almighty Jupiter, if you are moved by any prayers, look upon us – this only do I ask – and if our goodness earn it, give us your aid, Father, and ratify this omen!’

“Scarcely had the aged man thus spoken, when with sudden crash there was thunder on the left and a star shot from heaven, gliding through the darkness, and drawing a fiery trail amid a flood of light. We watch it glide over the palace roof and bury in Ida’s forest the splendour that marked its path; then the long-drawn furrow shines, and far and wide all about reeks of sulphur. At this, indeed, my father was overcome and, rising to his feet, salutes the gods, and worships the holy star. ‘Now, now there is no delay; I follow, and where you lead, there am I. Gods of my fathers! save my house, save my grandson. Yours is this omen, and under your protection stands Troy. Yes, I yield, and refuse not, my son, to go in your company.’ He ceased, and now through the city more loudly is heard the blaze, and nearer the flames roll their fiery flood. ‘Come then, dear father, mount upon my neck; on my own shoulders I will support you, and this task will not weigh me down. However things may fall, we two will have on common peril, one salvation. Let little Iulus come with me, and let my wife follow our steps at a distance. You servants, heed what I say. As one leaves the city, there is a mound and ancient temple of forlorn Ceres, with an old cypress hard by, saved for many years by the reverence of our fathers. To this one spot we will come from different directions. Father, take in your arms the sacred emblems of our country’s household gods; for me, fresh from fierce battle and recent slaughter, it would be sinful to handle them until I have washed myself clean in running water … ‘ So I spoke, and over my broad shoulders and bowed neck I spread the cover of a tawny lion’s pelt and stoop to the burden. Little Iulus clasps his hand in mine, and follows his father with steps that match not his. Behind comes my wife. We pass on amid the shadows; and I, whom of late no shower of missiles could move nor any Greeks thronging in opposing mass, now am affrighted by every breeze and startled by every sound, tremulous as I am and fearing alike for my companion and my burden.

And now I was nearing the gates, and thought I had accomplished all my journey, when suddenly, crowding on my ears, seemed to come a tramp of feet, and peering through the gloom, my father cries: ‘My son, my son, flee; they draw near! I see their glowing shields and glittering brass.’ At this, in my alarm, some malign power stole my distracted wits. For while I plunge down byways and leave the course of the streets I know, alas! my wife Creüsa was snatched from me by an unhappy fate. Did she halt? Did she stray from the path or sit down in exhaustion? I do not know. Never again was she restored to my eyes, nor did I look back for my lost one, or cast a thought behind, until we came to the mound and ancient Ceres’ hallowed home. Here at last, when all were gathered, she alone was missing and had vanished from the company, her child, and her husband. What man or god did I see in the overthrown city? Ascanius, my father Anchises, and the household gods of Troy I put in charge of my fellows and hid them in a winding vale. I myself seek again the city, and gird on my glittering arms. I am resolved to renew every risk, to retrace my way through all Troy and once more expose my life to every peril.

“First I seek again the walls and dark gateway by which I had left the city; I mark and follow back my steps in the night, scanning them with close eye. Everywhere dread fills my heart; the very silence, too, dismays. Then I turn homeward in case – in case she had made her way there! The Danai had rushed in and filled all the house. Forthwith the devouring fire rolls before the wind to the very roof; the flames tower above, the hot blast roars skyward. I pass on and see once more the citadel and Priam’s home. And now in the empty courts of Juno’s sanctuary Phoenix and dread Ulysses, chosen guards, watched the spoil. Here the treasures from all parts of Troy, torn from blazing shrines, tables of the gods, bowls of solid gold, and plundered raiment, are heaped up; boys and trembling matrons in long array stand round … Nay, I dared even to cast my cries upon the night; I filled the streets with shouts and in my misery, with vain iteration, called Creüsa again and again. As I rushed in my quest madly and endlessly among the buildings of the city, there rose before my eyes the sad phantom and ghost of Creüsa herself, a form larger than her wont. I was appalled, my hair stood up, and the voice choked in my throat. Then thus she spoke to me and with these words dispelled my cares: ‘Of what avail is it to yield thus to frantic grief, my sweet husband? Not without the will of heaven does this befall; that you should take Creüsa from here in your company cannot be, nor does the mighty lord of high Olympus allow it. Long exile is your lot, a vast stretch of sea you must plough; and you will come to the land Hesperia, where amid the rich fields of husbandmen the Lydian Tiber flows with gentle sweep. There in store for you are happy days, kingship, and a royal wife. Banish tears for your beloved Creüsa. I shall never look upon the proud homes of the Myrmidons or Dolopians, or go to be the slave of Greek matrons, I a Dardan woman and wife of the son of divine Venus; … but the mighty mother of the gods keeps me on these shores. And now farewell, and guard your love for our common child.’ When thus she had spoken, she left me weeping and eager to tell her much, and drew back into thin air. Thrice there I strove to throw my arms about her neck; thrice the form, vainly clasped, fled from my hands, even as light winds, and most like a winged ream. Thus at last, when night is spent, I revisit my companions.

“And here, astonished, I find that a vast number of new comrades has streamed in, mothers and men, a band gathered for exile, a piteous throne. From all sides they have come, with heart and fortune ready for me to lead them over the sea to whatever lands I will. And now above Ida’s topmost ridges the day star was rising, ushering in the morn; and the Danaans held the blockaded gates, nor was any hope of help offered. I gave way and, taking up my father, sought the hills.

“After it had pleased the gods above to overthrow the power of Asia and Priam’s guiltless race, after proud Ilium fell, and all Neptune’s Troy smokes from the ground, we are driven by heaven’s auguries to seek distant scenes of exile in waste lands. Close to Antandros and the mountains of Phrygian Ida we build a fleet, uncertain whither the Fates lead or where it is granted us to settle; and there we muster our men. Scarcely had the beginning of summer come when my father Anchises bade us spread sails to Fate, and then with tears I quit my native shores and harbours, and the plains, where once was Troy. An exile, I fare forth upon the deep, with my comrades and son, my household gods and the great deities.

“At a distance lies the war god’s land, of widespread plains, tilled by Thracians, and once ruled by fierce Lycurgus; friendly of old to Troy, with allied gods, in happier times. To it I sail and on the winding shore found my first city, entering on the task with untoward fates, and from my own name fashion the name Aeneadae.

“I was offering sacrifice to my mother, daughter of Dione, and the other gods, that they might bless the work begun, and to the high king of the lords of heaven was slaying a shining white bull upon the shore. By chance, hard by there was a mound, on whose top were cornel bushes and myrtles bristling with crowded spear shafts. I drew near, and essaying to tear up the green growth from the soil, that I might deck the altar with leafy boughs, I see an awful portent, wondrous to tell. For from the first tree which is torn from the ground with broken roots trickle drops of black blood and stain the earth with gore. A cold shudder shakes my limbs, and my chilled blood freezes with terror. Once more, from a second also I go on to pluck a tough shoot and probe deep the hidden cause; from the bark of the second also follows black blood. Pondering much in heart, I prayed to woodland Nymphs, and father Gradivus, who rules over the Getic fields, duly to bless the vision and lighten the omen. But when with greater effort I assail the third shafts, and with my knees wrestle against the resisting sands – should I speak of be silent? – a piteous groan is heard from the depth of the mound, and an answering voice comes to my ears. ‘Woe is me! why, Aeneas, do you tear me? Spare me in the tomb at last; spare the pollution of your pure hands! I, born of Troy, am no stranger to you; not from a lifeless stock oozes this blood. Ah! flee the cruel land, flee the greedy shore! For I am Polydorus. Here an iron harvest of spears covered my pierced body, and grew up into sharp javelins.’ Then, indeed, with mind borne down with perplexing dread, I was appalled, my hair stood up, and the voice choked in my throat.

“This Polydorus, with great weight of gold, luckless Priam had once sent in secret to be reared by the Thracian king, when he now lost hope in the arms of Dardania and saw the city beleaguered. When the power of Troy was crushed and Fortune withdrew, the Thracian, following Agamemnon’s cause and triumphant arms, severs every sacred tie, slays Polydorus, and takes the gold perforce. To what crime do you not drive the hearts of men, accursed hunger for gold? When fear had fled my soul, I lay the divine portents before the chosen chiefs of the people, my father first, and ask what is their judgement. All are of one mind, to quit the guilty land, to leave a place where hospitality is profaned, and to give our fleet the winds. So for Polydorus we solemnize fresh funeral rites, and earth is heaped high upon the mound; altars are set up the dead, made mournful with somber rivers and black cypress; and about them stand Ilian women, with hair streaming as custom ordains. We offer foaming bowls of warm milk and cups of victims’ blood, lay the spirit at rest in the tomb, and with loud voice give the last call.

“Then, as soon as we can trust the main, and the winds give us seas at peace, and the soft-whispering South calls to the deep, my comrades launch the ships and crowd the shores. We put out from port, and lands and towns fade from view. In mid-sea lies a holy land [Delos], most dear to the mother of the Nereids and Aegean Neptune, which, as it wandered round coasts and shores, the grateful archer god bound fast, to lofty Myconos and Gyaros, suffering it to lie unmoved, defying the winds. Hither I sail; and most peacefully the island welcomes our weary band in a safe haven. Landing, we do homage to Apollo’s town. King Anius – at once king of the people and priest of Phoebus – his brows bound with fillets and hallowed laurel, meets us, and in Anchises finds an old friend. We clasp hands in welcome, and pass beneath his roof.

“I was paying homage to the god’s temple, built of ancient stone: ‘Grant us, god of Thymbra, an enduring home; grant our weary band walls, and a race, and a city that shall abide; preserve Troy’s second fortress, the remnant left by the Greeks and pitiless Achilles! Whom should we follow? Whither do you bid us go? Where fix our home? Grant, father, an omen, and inspire our hearts!’

“Scarcely had I said this, when suddenly it seemed all things trembled, the doors and laurels of the god; the whole hill shook round about and the tripod moaned as the shrine was thrown open. Prostrate we fall to earth, and a voice comes to our ears: ‘Long-suffering sons of Dardanus, the land which bore you first from your parent stock shall welcome you back to her fruitful bosom. Seek out your ancient mother. There the house of Aeneas shall lord it over all lands, even his childrens’ children and their race that shall be born of them.’ Thus Phoebus; and mighty joy arose, mingled with tumult; all ask, What walls are those? Whither calls Phoebus the wanderers, bidding them return? Then my father, pondering the memorials of the men of old, cries: ‘Hear, princes, and learn your hopes. In mid-ocean lies Crete, the island of great Jove, where is Mount Ida, and the cradle of our race. There men dwell in a hundred great cities, a realm most fertile, whence our earliest ancestor Teucer, if I recall the tale aright, fist sailed to the Rhoetean shores, and chose a site for his kingdom. Not yet had Ilium and the towers of Pergamus been reared; men dwelt in the low valleys. Hence came the Mother who haunts Cybelus, the Corybantian cymbals and the grove of Ida; hence came the faithful silence of her mysteries, and yoked lions submitted to our lady’s chariot. Come then, and let us follow where the gods bidding leads, let us appease the winds and seek the realm of Cnosus! Nor is it a long run thither: if only Jupiter be gracious, the third dawn shall anchor our fleet on the Cretan coast.’ So he spoke, and on the altars slew the sacrifices due, a bull to Neptune, a bull to you, fair Apollo, a black sheep to the storm god, a white to the favouring Zephyrs.

“A rumour flies that Idomeneus, the chieftain, ahs left his father’s realm for exile, that the shores of Crete are abandoned, her homes are void of foes, and the deserted abodes stand ready for our coming. We leave the harbour of Ortygia and fly over the sea, past Naxos with its Bacchic revels on the heights, and green Donysa, Olearos, snow-white Paros, and the sea-strewn Cyclades, and thread the straits sown thick with islands. The sailors’ shouts rise in varied rivalry; the crews raise the cheer: ‘On to Crete and our forefathers!’ A wind rising astern attends us as we sail, and at last we glide up to the ancient shores of the Curetes. Eagerly, therefore, I work on the walls of my chosen city, call it Pergamum, and urge my people, who rejoice at the old name, to love their hearths and build a citadel with lofty roof. And now the ships were just drawn up on the dry beach; our youth were busy with marriages and new tillage, and I was giving laws and homes, when on a sudden, from a tainted quarter of the sky, came a pestilence and season of death, to the wasting of our bodies and the piteous ruin of trees and crops. Men gave up their sweet lives, or dragged enfeebled frames; Sirius, too, scorched the fields with drought; the grass withered, and the sickly crop denied sustenance. My father urges us to recross the sea and go again to Phoebus and Ortygia’s oracle, to pray for favour, and ask what end he grants to our weary lot, whence he bids us seek aid for our distress, whither bend our course.

“It was night and on earth sleep held the living world. The sacred images of the gods, the Phrygian Penates, whom I had borne with me from Troy out of the midst of the burning city, seemed as I lay in slumber to stand before my eyes, clear in the flood of light, where the full moon streamed through the inset windows. Then thus they spoke to me and with these words dispelled my cares, ‘What Apollo is going to tell you when you reach Ortygia, he here utters, and he sends us unbidden to your threshold. We followed you and your arms when Dardania was burned; under you we traversed on ships the swelling sea; we, too, shall exalt to heaven your sons that are to be, and give empire to your city. Prepare mighty walls for the mighty, and do not shrink fro the long toil of flight. You must change your home. Not these the shores the Delian Apollo counseled, not in Crete did he bid you settle. A place there is, by Greeks named Hesperia, and ancient land, mighty in arms and in richness of the soil. There dwelt Oenotrians; now the rumour is that a younger race has called it from their leader’s name Italy. This is our abiding home; hence are Dardanus sprung and father Iasius, from whom first came our race. Come, arise, and with good cheer bear to your aged parent these certain tidings, to seek Corythus and the lands of Ausonia. Jupiter denies you the Dictaean fields.’

“Awed by this vision and the voice of gods – nor was that a mere dream, but openly I seemed to know their looks, their filleted hair, and their living faces; and a cold sweat bedewed all my limbs – I snatch myself from my bed, raise my voice and upturned hands to heaven, and offer pure gifts upon the hearth. This rite fulfilled, I gladly tell Anchises the tale and reveal all in order. He recognized the twofold stock and double parentage, and his own confusion through a new error touching ancient lands. Then he speaks: ‘Son, tested by Ilium’s fate, Cassandra alone declared to me this fortune. Now I recall her foretelling this as due to our race, often naming Hesperia, often the Italian realm. But who was to believe that Teucrians should come to Hesperia’s shores? And whom would Cassandra’s prophecies then sway? Let us yield to Phoebus and at his warning pursue a better course.’ So he says and we all obey his speech with joyfulness. This home, too, we quit and, leaving some behind, spread our sails and speed in hollow keels over the waste sea.

“After our ships gained the deep, and now no longer any land is seen, but sky on all sides and on all sides sea, then a murky rain cloud loomed overhead, bringing night and tempest, while the wave shuddered darkling. Straightway the winds roll up the waters and great seas rise; we are tossed hither and thither in the vast abyss. Storm clouds enwrapped the day, and a night of rain blotted out the sky; oft from the rent clouds dark lightning fires. We are hurled from our course and wander on the blind waves. Even Palinurus avows that he knows not day from night in the sky nor remembers the way amid the waters. For full three days, shrouded in misty gloom, we wander on the deep, for as many starless nights. On the fourth day at length land first was seen to rise, disclosing mountains far and curling smoke. The sails come down; we bend to the oars; without delay the sailors lustily churn the foam and sweep the blue waters.

“Saved from the waves, I am received first by the shores of the Strophades – Strophades the Greek name they bear – islands set in the great Ionian sea, where dwell dread Celaeno and the other Harpies, since Phineus’ house was closed on them, and in fear they left their former tables. No monster more baneful than these, no fiercer plague or wrath of the gods ever rose from the Stygian waves. Maiden faces have these birds, foulest filth they drop, clawed hands are theirs, and faces ever gaunt with hunger … When hither borne we entered the harbour, lo! we see goodly herds of cattle scattered over the plains and flocks of goats untended no the grass. We rush upon them with the sword, calling the gods and Jove himself to share our spoil; then on the winding shore we build couches and banquet on the rich dainties. But suddenly, with fearful swoop from the mountains the Harpies are upon us, and with loud clanging shake their wings, plunder the feast; and with unclean touch mire every dish. Once more, in a deep recess under a hollowed rock, closely encircled by trees and quivering shade, we spread the tables and renew the fire on the altars; once more, from an opposite quarter o the sky and from a hidden lair, the noisy crowd with taloned feet hovers round the prey, tainting the dishes with their lips. Then I bid my comrades seize arms and declare war on the fell race. They do as they are bidden lay their swords in hiding in the grass, and bury their shields out of sight. So when, swooping down, the birds screamed along the winding shore, Misenus on his hollow brass gave the signal from his watch aloft. My comrades charge, and essay a strange combat, to despoil with the sword those filthy birds of ocean. Yet they feel now blows on their feathers, nor wounds on their backs, but, soaring skyward with rapid flight, leave the half-eaten prey and their foul traces.

Only one, Celaeno, ill-boding seer, alights on a lofty rock, and breaks forth with this cry: ‘Is it even war, in return for slaughtered cattle and slain bullocks, is it war you are ready to bring upon us, sons of Laomedon, and would you drive the guiltless Harpies from their father’s realm? Take then to heart and fix there these words of mine. What the Father omnipotent foretold to Phoebus and Phoebus Apollo to me, I, eldest of the Furies, reveal to you. That you may reach Italy you sail the seas and invoke the winds: to Italy you shall go and freely enter her harbours; but you shall not gird with walls your promised city until dread hunger and the wrong of violence towards us force you to gnaw with your teeth and devour your very tables!’

“She spoke and, borne away on her wings, fled back to the forest. But my comrades’ blood chilled and froze with sudden fear; their spirit fell, and no longer with arms, but with vows and prayers they now bid me sue for peace, whether these be goddesses, or dread and ill-omened birds. And father Anchises, with hands outstretched, from the beach calls upon the mighty gods, and proclaims the sacrifices due: ‘O gods, stay their threats! Gods, turn aside this misfortune and graciously save the guiltless!’ Then he bids them tear the cable from the shore, uncoil and loose the sheets. South winds stretch the sails; we flee over foaming waves, where breeze and pilot called our course. Now amid the waves appear wooded Zacynthus, Dulichium, and Same, and Neritus with its steepy crags. We flee past the rocks of Ithaca, Laertes’ realm, and curse the land that nursed cruel Ulysses. Soon, too, Mount Leucata’s storm-capped peaks come in view, and Apollo’s shrine, dreaded by sailors. Hither we wearily sail, and draw near the little town; the anchor is cast from the prow, the sterns stand ranged on the shore.

“So having at last won land unhoped for, we offer to Jove dues of cleansing, kindle the altars with offerings, and throne the Actian shores in the games of Ilium. My comrades strip and, sleek with oil, engage in their native wrestling bouts, glad to have slipped past so many Argive towns, and kept on their flight through the midst of foes. Meanwhile the sun wheels round the mighty circuit of the year, and icy winter ruffles the waters with northern blasts. A shield of hollow brass, once borne by great Abas, I fix on the entrance pillars nad mark the even with a verse: These arms Aeneas from victorious Greeks.
Then I bid them quit the harbour and man the benches; with rival strokes my comrades lash the sea and sweep the waters. Soon we lose from sight the towering heights of the Phaeacians, skirt the shores of Epirus, enter the Chaonian harbour, and draw near Buthrotum’s lofty city.

“Here the rumour of a tale beyond belief fills our ears, that Priam’s son Helenus, is reigning over Greek cities, having won the wife and kingdom of Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, and that Andromache has again passed to a husband of her own race. I was amazed, and my heart burned with wondrous desire to address him and learn of this strange fortune. I advance from the harbour, leaving shore and fleet, just when, as it happened, Andromache, in a grove outside the city, by the waters of a mimic Simois, was offering her yearly feast and gifts of mourning to the dust, and calling the ghost to Hector’s tomb – the empty mound of green turf that she had hallowed with twin altars, there to shed her tears. When she caught sight of me coming, and saw to her amazement the arms of Troy around, awed by these great marvels she stiffened even as she gazed, and the warmth forsook her limbs. She swoons, and at last after a long time speaks: ‘Are you real form, a real messenger, coming to me, goddess-born? Are you alive? Or if the light of life has left you, where is Hector?’ She spoke, and shedding a flood of tears filled all the place with her cries. To her in her frenzy I can scarcely make a brief reply, a deeply moved gasp with broken words: ‘I live indeed, and drag on my life through all extremes; doubt not, for what you see is real … Ah! What face has befallen you, since you lost such a husband? What fortune worthy of you, Hector’s Andromache, is yours again? Are you still wedded to Pyrrhus?’ She cast down her eyes, and with lowered voice spoke:

“’O happy beyond all others, maiden daughter of Priam, bidden to die at a foeman’s tomb, beneath Troy’s lofty walls, who never bore the lot’s award, nor knew, as captive, a conquering master’s bed! We, our homeland burnt, borne over distant seas, have endured the pride of Achilles’ son and his youthful insolence, bearing children in slavery; afterwards, seeking Leda’s Hermione and a Spartan marriage, he passed me over to Helenus’ keeping – a bondmaid and to a bondman. But him Orestes, fired with strong desire for his stolen bride, and goaded by the Furies of his crimes, catches unawares and slays at his father’s altar. By the death of Neoptolemus a portion of the realm passed as his due to Helenus, who called the plains Chaonian from Chaon of Troy, and placed on the heights a Pergamus, this Ilian citadel. But to you what winds, what fates gave a course? What god has driven you unknowing on our coasts? What of the boy Ascanius? Lives he yet and feeds he on the air of heaven? Whom no, lo, when Troy … Has the lad none the less some love for his lost mother? Do his father Aeneas and his uncle Hector arouse him at all to ancestral valour and to manly spirit?’ Such words she poured forth weeping, and was vainly raising a long lament, when the hero Helenus, Priam’s son, draws near from the city with a great company. He knows us for his kin, joyfully leads us to the gates, and freely pours forth tears at every word. I advance, and recognize a little Troy, with a copy of great Pergamus, and a dry brook that takes its named from Xanthus, and embrace the portals of a Scaean gate. No less, too, my Teucrians enjoy with me the friendly city. The king welcomed them amid broad colonnades; in the centre of the hall they poured libations of wine and held the bowls, while the feast was serve on gold.

“And now day after day has passed; the breezes call to the sails, and the canvas fills with the swelling South. With these words I approach the seer, and thus make quest: ‘O son of Troy, interpreter of the gods, who know the will of Phoebus, the tripod and laurel of the Clarian, the stars, and tongues of birds and omens of the flying wing, come, tell me – for every sign from heaven has uttered favourable words to me about my journey, and all the gods in their oracles have counseled me to make for Italy and explore lands remote; only Celaeno the Harpy prophesies a startling portent, horrible to tell of, and threatens baleful wrath and foul famine – what perils am I first to shun? And by what course may I surmount such suffering? Then Helenus, first sacrificing steers in due form, craves the grace of heaven and unbinds the fillets of his hallowed brow; with his own hand he leads me to your gates, Phoebus, thrilled with your full presence, and then with a priest’s inspired lips thus prophesies:

“’Goddess-born, since there is clear proof that under higher auspices you journey over the sea – for thus the king of the gods allots the destinies and rolls the wheel of change, and such is the circling course – a few things out of many I will unfold to you in speech, that so more safely you may traverse the seas of your sojourn, and find rest in Ausonia’s haven; for the Fates forbid Helenus to know more and Saturnian Juno stays her utterance. First of all, the Italy which now you deem so near, and whose harbours you are, unwitting one, prepared to enter as if they were close by, a distant path which is no path sunders widely. Firstly in the Trinacrian wave you must strain the oar, and traverse with your ships the salt Ausonian main, past the nether lakes and Aeaean Circe’s isle, before you can build your city in a land of safety. I will declare tokens to you; keep them stored in your mind. When, in your distress, by the waters of a secluded stream, you find a sow lying under the oaks on the shore, just delivered of a litter of thirty young, a white mother reclining on the ground, and white the young at her teats – there shall be the city’s site, there a sure rest from your toils. And fear not he gnawing of tables that awaits you; the Fates will find a way, and Apollo be present at your call. But these lands, and this nearest border of the Italian shore, that is washed by the tide of our own sea, avoid; in all the towns dwell evil Greeks! Here the Narycian Locri have built a city, and Lyctian Idomeneus has beset with soldiery the Sallentine plains; here is the famous town of Philoctetes, the Meliboean captain – tiny Petelia, strong within her wall. Moreover, when your ships have crossed the seas and anchored, and when you then raise altars and pay vows on the shore, veil your hair with the covering of a purple robe, that in the worship of the gods no hostile face may intrude amid the holy fires and mar the omens. Hold to this mode of sacrifice, you and your company; let your children’s children in purity stand fast.

“’But when, on departing thence, the wind has borne you to the Sicilian coast, and the barriers of narrow Pelorus open out, make for the land on the left and the seas on the left, long though the circuit be; shun the shore and waters on the right. These lands, they say, of old broke asunder, torn by force of mighty upheaval – such vast change can length of time effect – when the two countries were one unbroken whole. The sea came in force between, cut off with its waters the Hesperian from the Sicilian coast, and with narrow tideway washes fields and cities on severed shores. Scylla guards the right side; insatiate Charybdis the left; and at the bottom of her seething chasm thrice she sucks the vast waves into the abyss, and again in turn throws them upwards, lashing the stars with spray. But Scylla a cavern confines in dark recesses, from which she thrusts forth her mouths and draws ships on to her rocks. Above she is of human form, down the waist a fair-bosomed maiden; below, she is a sea dragon of monstrous frame, with dolphins’ tails joined to a belly of wolves. Better is it slowly to round the promontory of Trinacrian Pachynus and double back on a long course than once get sight of misshapen Scylla in her vast cavern, and of the rocks that echo with her sea-green hounds. Moreover, if Helenus has any foresight, if the seer may claim any faith, if Apollo fills his soul with truths, this one thing, Goddess-born, this one in lieu of all I will foretell, and again and again repeat the warning: mighty Juno’s power honour first with prayer; to Juno joyfully chant vows, and win over the mighty mistress with suppliant gifts. So at last you will leave Trinacria behind and be sped triumphantly to the bounds of Italy. And when, thither borne, you draw near to the town of Cumae, the haunted lakes, and Avernus with its rustling woods, you will see an inspired prophetess, who deep in a rocky cave sings the Fates and entrusts to leaves signs and symbols. Whatever verses the maid has traced on leaves she arranged in order and stores away in the cave. These remain unmoved in their places and do not quit their rank; but when at the turn of a hinge a light breeze has stirred them, and the open door has scattered the tender foliage, never thereafter does she care to catch them, as they flutter in the rocky cave, nor to recover their places and unite the verses; in inquirers depart no wiser than they came, and loathe the Sibyl’s seat. Here let no loss of time by delay be of such importance in your eyes – though comrades chide, though the voyage urgently calls your sails to the deep and you have the chance to swell their folds with favouring gales – that you do not visit the prophetess and with prayers plead that she herself chant the oracles, and graciously open her lips in speech. The nations of Italy, the wars to come, how you are to flee or face each toil, she will unfold to you; and, reverently besought, she will grant you a prosperous voyage. These are the warnings that you are permitted to hear from my voice. Go, then, and by your deeds exalt Troy in greatness unto heaven!’

“When the seer had thus spoken with friendly lips, he next gives commands that gifts of heavy gold and sawn ivory be brought to the ships, stows in the hulls massive silver and cauldrons of Dodona, a breastplate triple-woven with hooks of gold, and a brilliant pointed helm with crested plumes, the arms of Neoptolemus. There are gifts, too, for my father. He includes horses and includes guides … he fills up our crews, and also equips my comrades with arms.

“Meanwhile Anchises bade us fit the ships with sails, so that the favouring wind would meet no delay. Him the interpreter of Phoebus with deep respect addresses: ‘Anchises, deemed worthy of lofty wedlock with Venus, the gods’ charge, twice rescued from the fall of Pergamus, see! before you is the land of Ausonia! Make sail and seize it! And yet past this shore you must drift upon the sea; far away is that part of Ausonia which Apollo reveals. Go forth,’ he cries, ‘blest in your son’s love. Why do I continue further, and with speech delay the rising winds? Andromache, too, sad at the last parting, brings robes figured with inwoven gold, and for Ascanius a Phrygian scarf, nor does she fail in courtesy, but loads him with gifts from the loom, and thus speaks: ‘Take these last gifts of your kin, you sole surviving image of my Astyanax! Such was he in eyes, in hands and face; even now would his youth be ripening in equal years with yours!’ My tears welled up as I spoke to them my parting words: ‘Live and be happy, as should those whose destiny is now achieved; we are still summoned from fate to fate. Your rest is won. No seas have you to plough, nor have you to seek Ausonian fields that move for ever backward. You see a copy of Xanthus and a Troy, which your own hands have built, under happier omens, I pray, and better shielded from Greeks. If ever I enter the Tiber and Tiber’s neighbouring fields and look on the city walls granted to my race, hereafter of our sister cities and allied peoples, Hesperia allied to Epirus – who have the same Dardanus for ancestor and the same disastrous story – of these two shall make one Troy in spirit. May that duty await our children’s children!’

“Along the sea we speed, by the near Ceraunian cliffs, whence is the way to Italy and the shortest voyage over the waves. Meanwhile the sun sets and the hills lie dark in shade. Having allotted the oars, we fling ourselves down near the water on the bosom of the welcome land and refresh ourselves on the dry beach; sleep bedews our weary limbs. Not yet was Night, driven by the Hours, entering her mid course, when Palinurus springs, alert, from his couch, tries all the winds, and with eager ear catches the breeze; he marks all the stars gliding in the silent sky, Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, and the twin Bears, and he scans Orion, girt with golden armour. When he sees that all is calm in a cloudless sky, he gives a loud signal from the stern; we break up camp, venture on our way, and spread the wings of our sails. And now the stars were put to rout and Dawn was blushing, when far off we see dim hills and low-lying Italy. ‘Italy!’ cries Achates the foremost; Italy my comrades hail with joyful cry. Then father Anchises wreathed a great bowl, filled it with wine, and standing on the lofty stern called on the gods … ‘Oh gods, lords of the sea and earth and storms, carry us onward with easy wind, and blow with favouring breath!’ The longed-for breezes freshen, a haven opens as we now draw near, and a temple is seen on Minerva’s Height. My comrades furl the sails and shoreward turn the prows. There a harbour is bent bow-like by the eastern surge; its jutting reefs foam with the salt spray, itself lying hid; towering crags let down arms of twin walls, and the temple lies away from the shore. Here, as a first omen, four steeds I saw on the turf, grazing at large over the plain, as white as snow. Then father Anchises: ‘Tis war you bring, land of our reception; for war are horses armed, war these herds portend. But yet,’ he cries, ‘those same steeds at times are wont to come under the chariot and beneath the yoke to bear the bit in concord; there is hope also of peace!’ Then we pray to the holy power of Pallas, queen of clashing arms, who first welcomed our cheers, before the altar veil our heads in Phrygian robe, and, following the urgent charge which Helenus had given, duly offer to Argive Juno the prescribed sacrifice.

“At once, soon as our vows are paid in full, we point seaward the horns of our sail-clad yards, and leave the homes of the Greek-born race and the fields we distrust. Next is descried the bay of Tarentum, a town of Hercules, if the tale be true; while over against it rise the Ladinian goddess [Hera], the towers of Caulon and shipwrecking Scylaeceum. Then in the distance out of the waves appears Trinacrian Aetna, and from afar we hear the loud moaning of the main, the beating of the rocks, and recurrent crash of waves upon the shore; the shoals dash up and the sands mingle with the surge. Then father Anchises: ‘Surely here is that Charybdis; these are the crags, these the dreaded rocks that Helenus foretold. To the rescue, comrades, and rise together over the oars!’ Even as bidden they do, and first Palinurus swung the groaning prow to the waves leftward; leftward all our force plied with oars and wind. We mount up to heaven on the arched billow and again, with the receding wave, sink down to the depths of hell. Thrice amid the rocky caverns the cliffs uttered a cry; thrice we saw the showered spray and the dripping stars. Meanwhile, at sundown he wind failed our weary band and, in ignorance of the way, we drift up to the Cyclopes’ coast.

“There lies a harbour, safe from the winds’ approach and spacious in itself, but near at hand Aetna thunders with terrifying crashes, and now hurls forth to the sky a black cloud, smoking with pitch-black eddy and glowing ashes, and uplifts balls of flame and licks the stars – now violently vomits forth rocks, the mountain’s top uptorn entrails, and whirls molten stone skyward with a roar, and boils up from its lowest depths. The story runs that Enceladus’ form, scathed by the thunderbolt, is weighed down by that mass, and mighty Aetna, piled above, from its burst furnaces breathes forth flame; and ever as he turns his weary side all Trinacria moans and trembles, veiling the sky in smoke. All that night we hide in the woods, enduring monstrous horrors, and see not from what cause comes the sound. For neither did the stars show their fires, nor was heaven bright with sunlight, but mists darkened the sky and the dead of night held fast the moon in cloud.

“And now the next day was rising with the earliest morning star, and Dawn had scattered from the sky the dewy shades, when on a sudden out of the woods comes forth the strange shape of an unknown man, outworn with uttermost hunger, and of piteous guise, and towards the beach stretches suppliant hands. We gaze at him. Ghastly in his squalor, with unshorn beard, and garb fastened with thorns, he was yet in all else a Greek, and had one been sent to Troy in his country’s arms. When far off he saw the Dardan dress and the Trojan weapons, affrighted at the sight he stopped awhile and checked his steps; then rushed headlong to the shore with tears and prayers: ‘by the stars I beseech you, by the gods above and this lightsome air we breathe, take me, Trojans, carry me away to any lands whatever; that will be enough. I know that I am one from the Danaan ships, and own that I warred against the gods of Ilium. For that, if my guilt hath done so much wrong, strew me piecemeal over the waves or plunge me in the vast sea. If I die, it will be a boon to have died at the hands of men!’ He ceased, and clung to our knees, clasping them and groveling there. We urge him to tell who he is, of what blood born, and then what fortune pursues him. My father Anchises himself, with little delay, gives the youth his hand and comforts his heart with the present pledge. At last he lays aside his fear and speaks thus:

“’I come from the land of Ithaca, a companion of luckless Ulysses, Achaemenides by name, and, since my father Adamastus was poor – and would to heaven my luck had continued thus! – I set out for Troy. Here my comrades, when running away from the grim gateway, thoughtlessly left me in the Cyclops’ vast cave. It is a house of gore and bloodstained feasts, dark and huge within. The master, gigantic, strikes the stars on high – O gods, take such a pest away from earth! – in aspect forbidding, in speech to be accosted by none. He feeds on the flesh of wretched men and their dark blood. I myself saw when he seized in his huge hand two of our company and, as he lounged in the midst of the cave, smashed them on the rock, and the spattered courts swam with gore; I watched while he devoured their limbs, all dripping with black blood-clots, and the warm joints quivered beneath his teeth. But not unpunished! Ulysses did not stand for this, nor did the man of Ithaca forget who he was at this dreadful time. For when, gorged with the feast and drowned in wine, the monster rested his drooping neck, and lay in endless length throughout the cave, in his sleep vomiting gore and morsels mixed with blood and wine, we prayed to the great gods, then, with our parts allotted, pour round him on every side, and with pointed weapon pierce the one huge eye that lay deep-set beneath his savage brow, like an Argive shield or the lamp of Phoebus. And so at last we gladly avenged our dead comrades. But flee, hapless ones, flee and cut your cables from the shore! … For in shape and size like Polyphemus, as he pens his fleecy flocks in the rocky cave and drains their udders, a hundred other monstrous Cyclopes dwell all along these curved shores and roam the high mountains. For the third time now the moon’s horns are filling with light since I began to drag out my life in the woods among the lonely lairs and haunts of wild beasts, viewing form a rock the huge Cyclopes and trembling at their cries and tramping feet. A sorry living, berries and stony cornels, the boughs supply; and plants feed me with their uptorn roots. Scanning all the view, I saw this fleet drawing to shore. To it, prove what it might, I surrendered myself. It is enough to have escaped that accursed brood! Take away this life of mine – it is better so – by any death whatever!’

“Scarce had he spoken when on the mountaintop we saw the giant himself, the shepherd Polyphemus, moving his mighty bulk among his flocks and seeking the well-known shore – a monster awful, hideous, huge, and eyeless. In his hand a lopped pine guides and steadies his steps. His fleecy sheep attend him – his sole joy they, sole solace of his woe! … As soon as he touched the deep waves and reached the sea, he washed therein the oozing blood from his eye’s socket, gnashing his teeth and groaning, then strides through the open sea; nor has the wave yet wetted his towering sides. Desperately we speed our flight far from there, taking on board a suppliant so deserving, and silently cut the cable; then, bending forward, sweep the seas silently with eager oars. He heard, and turned his steps towards the sound of the splash. But when no power is given him to lay hands on us, and he cannot in his pursuit keep up with the Ionian rollers, he raises a mighty roar, at which the sea and all its waves shuddered and the land of Italy was terrified far within, and Aetna bellowed in its winding caverns. But the race of Cyclopes, roused from the woods and high mountains, rush to the harbour and throng the shores. We see them, standing impotent with glaring eye, the Aetnean brotherhood, their heads towering to the sky, a grim conclave: even as when on a mountaintop lofty oaks or cone-clad cypresses stand in mass, a high forest of Jove or grove of Diana. In headlong speed, sharp fear drives us to fling out our sheets for any course between Scylla and Charybdis – a passage which on either side is but a hair’s breadth removed from death. It is resolved to sail back again, when the North Wind comes blowing from the narrow strait of Pelorus. Past Pantagia’s mouth with its living rock I voyage – past he Megarian bay and low-lying Tapsus. Such wee the coasts pointed out by Achaemenides, comrade of the luckless Ulysses, as he retraced his former wanderings.

“Stretched in front of a Sicanian bay lies an island, over against wave-beated Plemyrium; men of old called it Ortygia. Hither, so runs the tale, Alpheus, river of Elis, forced a secret course beneath the sea, and now at your fountain, Arethusa, mingles with Sicilian waves. As bidden, we worship the great gods o the land, and thence I passed the wondrous rich soil of marshy Helorus. Next we skirt the high reefs and jutting rocks of Pachynus; and far off Camerina – Fate forbade that she ever be disturbed – is seen with the Geloan plains, and Gela, named after its impetuous river. Then steep Acragas, once the breeder of noble steeds, shows in the distance her mighty walls; and, with favourable winds granted by the gods, I leave you behind, palm-girt Selinus, and skirt the shoals of Lilybaeum, perilous with blind rocks. Next the harbour of Drepanum and its joyless shore receive me. Here I, who have been driven by so many ocean-storms, lose, alas! my father Anchises, solace of every care and chance; here, best of fathers, you leave me in my weariness, snatched, alas! from such mighty perils all for naught. Nor did the seer Helenus, though he warned me of many horrors, nor grim Celaeno fortell me this grief. This was my last trial, this the goal of my long voyaging; departing thence, the god drove me to your shores.”

Thus father Aeneas, before an eager throne, alone recounted the dooms ordained of heaven, and taught the story of his wanderings. At last he ceased, and, here ending, took his rest.