Book I

Of arms I sing, and of the man who first
From Trojan shores beneath the ban of fate
To Italy and coasts Lavinian came,
Much tossed about on land and ocean he
By violence of the gods above, to sate
Relentless Juno’s ever-rankling ire.
In war, too, much enduring, till what time
A city he might found him, and bear safe
His gods to Latium, whence the Latin race,
And Alba’s sires, and lofty-towering Rome.
Say, Muse, what outrage to her power the cause.
Or angered why, the Queen of Heaven constrained
A man, so marked for goodness, still to ply
The round of peril, bear the brunt of toil:
In heavenly breasts do such fierce passions dwell?
There was an ancient city, the abode
Of Tyrian settlers, Carthage, far to sea
Facing Italia and the Tiber-mouths,
Wealthy of substance, and in war’s pursuit
None fiercer, far beyond all lands, ’tis said.
To Juno dearest — Samos e’en less dear.
Here were her arms, her chariot here; that this
Should, fate consenting, a world-empire be,
E’en then the goddess aimed with fond desire.
Nathless she had heard that from the blood of Troy
A race was rearing, destined to o’erthrow
Her Tyrian towers; that issuing hence should come
A people of wide empire, lords of war.
To ravage Libya: such the round of fate.
Moved by this fear, Saturnia, and therewith
Still mindful of the former strife, which erst
At Troy for her dear Argos she had waged —
Nor were the quarrel’s causes and fierce pangs
Yet banished from her soul; in memory’s depth
Lie stored the doom of Paris, and the affront
Of her spurned beauty, and that loathed stock,
And the high prize of ravished Ganymede —
Fired with these thoughts besides, the Trojan few,
’Scaped from the Danai and Achilles fell,
Still must she keep upon wide ocean tossed
Aloof from Latium; and for many a year
They roamed, fate-driven, through all the circling seas:
So vast the toil to found the Roman race.
Scarce out of sight of the Sicilian land
To sea-ward they were sailing cheerily,
Tilting the salt foam with each brazen beak.
When Juno, nursing in her bosom’s depth
The undying wound, thus with her own soul spake:

“I to shrink foiled from my design, too weak
To ward the Teucrians’ king from Italy,
Because the fates forbid! Could Pallas then
Burn up the Argive galleys, and their crews
Drown in the deep, for one man’s mad offence,
Ajax, Oileus’ son? With her own hand
She, hurling from the clouds Jove’s nimble fire,
Scattered their barks, with winds upheaved the sea.
And him, his riven breast panting forth the flames.
Upwhirled and staked upon a pointed rock:
But I, who walk the queen of heaven, at once
Sister and spouse of Jove, with one weak race
These many years must war; and is there left
Still who to Juno’s godhead bows the knee,
Or lays a suppliant’s offering on her shrine?”
Such thoughts revolving in her fiery breast,
Lo! to the storm-clouds’ home, Aeolia, tracts
Teeming with furious gales, the goddess came.
Here in a vast cave Aeolus, their king,
The wrestling winds and roaring hurricanes
Bends to his sway and curbs with prison-chains;
They, with a mighty rumbling of the hill,
Growl chafing round their barriers; on the height.
Sceptre in hand, aloft sits Aeolus.
And sleeks their passions and allays their ire;
Else would they hale sea, land, and vaulted heaven
In their wild flight, and sweep them into space.
But with this fear the Sire omnipotent
Penned them in caverns dark, and o’er them piled
The bulk of lofty mountains, and a king
He gave them, who by settled bond should know
To grip the reins, or slacken, at his word.
Him Juno then with suppliant voice addressed:

“Aeolus, for to thee the Sire of gods
And king of men hath given to soothe the waves
Or lift them with his wind, a race to me
Hateful, now sailing o’er the Tuscan deep.
Bears Ilium and her conquered household gods
To Italy: strike wrath into the winds,
Sink and o’erwhelm their barks, or sunder far
And broadcast fling their bodies on the deep.
Twice seven fair nymphs of matchless mould have I,
Of whom Deiopea, fairest-formed.
In lasting wedlock will I knit with thee,
And dedicate her thine, that all her years
She for such service at thy side may spend.
And make thee father of a race as fair.’
Then answered Aeolus: ‘Thy task, O queen.
Is to search out thy pleasure, mine to do
Thy bidding: of thy grace is all I own
Of power, this sceptre, and consenting Jove;
Thou set’st me in the banquet-hall of heaven,
And mak’st me ruler of the clouds and storms.’
So having said, his spear he turned and thrust
Against the hollow mountain-side: the winds
As in compact array, where vent is given.
Rush forth and with tornado scour the world,
Swoop on the sea, and from its sunken bed
Upheave it whole in one wild onset, east,
South, and southwester with thick-coming squalls.
And roll huge billows to the shore. Anon
Rises the creak of cables, cry of men:
Clouds in a moment from the Trojans’ eyes
Snatch heaven and day; black night broods o’er the
Skies thunder; the air lightens, flash on flash;
No sign abroad but bodes them instant death.
Straight are Aeneas’ limbs with shuddering loosed;
He groans, and, stretching his clasped hands to
Thus cries aloud: ‘O thrice and four times blest
Who won to die beneath Troy’s lofty towers
Under their kinsmen’s eyes! O Tydeus’ son.
Bravest of Danaan blood! to think that I
On Ilium’s plains was suffered not to fall.
Nor at thy hand pour forth my spirit, where
Fierce Hector by the son of Aeacus
Lies stricken low, where huge Sarpedon, where,
Caught down beneath his current, Simois rolls
Shields, helms, and bodies of the countless brave! ‘
Such words out-tossing, a loud blast from the north
Strikes him full-sail, and lifts the floods to heaven;
Crash go the oars, then swerves the prow; the waves
The waves her broadside: on rolls, heaped and sheer,
A watery mountain: on the wave-tops some
Hang poised; to some the sea deep-yawning shows
Bare ground amid the billows, surge with sand
Raving; three ships the south wind’s sudden clutch
Hurls upon hidden rocks — Italian folk
Name them the Altars rising ’mid the waves —
A vast ridge on the sea-top: three the east
Drives on to banks and shallows from the deep,
A piteous sight, and breaks them on the shoals,
And heaps the sand about them: one which bore
The Lycians and Orontes true of heart,
E’en as he gazes, a huge sea astern
Strikes from above: dashed headlong from on board
Down goes the helmsman: her, spun whirling thrice
Spun whirling thrice, the eddying gulf devours.
Scattered here there upon the weltering waste
Swimmers are seen, and heroes’ arms, and planks,
And Trojan wealth upon the water strewn.
Now the stout ship of Ilioneus, and now
Of brave Achates, that which bare on board
Abas, and that too of Aletes eld.
The storm hath quelled; with rib-joints loosened, all
Let in the watery foe, and gaping split
Meanwhile that ocean was one roaring mass,
And a storm launched, and all his water-floods
Wrung from their lowest deeps, was Neptune ware,
And sorely chafed he: o’er the deep he peered,
Above the billow lifting a calm brow:
Far scattered over all the main he sees
Aeneas’ fleet, he sees the Trojans whelmed
Beneath the waters and the fallen sky,
Nor from her brother’s heart were hid the wiles
And spite of Juno: to his side he bids
Eurus and Zephyr, and bespeaks them thus:

“Hold you such blind reliance on your birth?
So! dare ye now without my fiat, winds,
Mix earth and heaven, and mass these mountain-heights?
Whom I But best the uproared floods appease:
Not all so lightly shall ye answer me
Your trespasses hereafter. Speed betimes!
And say ye to your king, not his, but mine
The empire and fell trident of the sea
By lot assigned. He sways the savage rocks,
Of thee, O Eurus, and thy tribe the home:
Let Aeolus hold court and vaunt him there,
And rule close-barred the prison of the winds.”
So saying, and swifter than that word, he smoothes
The swelling waters, routs the banded clouds,
Brings back the sun. Cymothoe therewithal,
And Triton lends his shoulder to thrust off
From the sharp rock their vessels; he himself
Upheaves them with his trident, clears a way
Through the vast quicksands, and allays the flood.
And skims the wave-top lightly charioted.
And as when oft in some vast throng hath risen
A tumult, and the base herd waxeth mad,
And brands and stones, wrath-furnished weapons, fly.
Then, if some hero chance upon their sight.
Of weight for worth or exploit, they are hushed
And stand all ear to listen; with his words
He sways their passion, soothes their ruffled breasts;
So all at once the roar of ocean died,
What time, forth peering o’er the main, the sire
Borne on a cloudless heaven his coursers drove,
And flying gave his willing chariot way.
Toil-worn the children of Aeneas strive
To make what shores are nearest, and at length
To Libya’s coast they come. There is a spot
Deep in a cove’s recess: an isle there makes
A harbour with the barrier of its sides,
’Gainst which no deep-sea billow but is dashed,
And sundered far into sequestered creeks.
On either side huge cliffs, a towering pair,
Frown up to heaven; sheer down in shelter sleep
Broad waters, while, a scene of waving woods.
Black shaggy groves hang beetling from above.
Under the cliff’s face is a crag-hung cave;
Within, fresh springs and seats in the living rock
Nymph-haunted: the tired ships, to moor them here.
No cables need, nor hooked anchor’s fang.
Here, mustering seven from all his tale of ships,
Aeneas enters; yearning sore for land,
Outleap the Trojans, gain the wished-for beach.
And lay their brine-drenched limbs upon the shore.
Achates from a flint first struck the spark.
And nursed the fire in leaves, and, heaping round
Dry fuel, on tinder quickly caught the flame.
Then, sick of fate, their sea-marred corn they fetch,
And gear of the corn-goddess, and prepare
The rescued grain to parch, and pound with stone.
Meanwhile Aeneas scales a crag, to scan
In one wide survey all the sea, if aught
Of Antheus and the Phrygian biremes there
Wind-drifted he may spy, or Capys, or
Caicus’ arms upon the lofty stern.
Vessel in sight is none, on shore he sees
Three stags before him ranging; in their rear
The whole herd follow, and in long array
Wind feeding through the valleys. Then he stopped.
Seized in his clutch a bow and winged shafts —
Weapons which true Achates chanced to bear —
And first themselves the leaders, holding high
Their heads with branchy antlers, he lays low.
And then the herd, and all the rout pell-mell
Plies with his arrows through the leafy brakes,
Nor stays his hand till seven huge frames on earth
He casts in triumph, to match the tale of ships.
Thence to the port he hies, gives all their share,
And next the wine, which on Trinacria’s shore
In casks Acestes had in bounty stowed —
A hero’s gift at parting — he metes out.
And soothes their sorrowing breasts with suchlike words:

“O comrades, for not all unlearned of ills,
Are we already — O schooled to worser woes
Than these, of these too heaven will grant an end.
E’en Scylla’s fury and deep-bellowing rocks
Have ye drawn nigh, and proved the Cyclop-crags:
Courage recall; dull fears forego; belike
This too with joy will be remembered yet.
Through shifting perils, by many a brink of death,
Toward Latium are we faring, where the fates
Portend us quiet resting-places: there
The realm of Troy must from her ashes rise:
Endure, and hoard yourselves for happier days.”
So spake his lips, while, sick with extreme woe,
Hope’s mask he wears, and chokes the anguish down.
They to the spoil, the feast that is to be.
Address them, flay the ribs, the flesh lay bare;
Part cleave it into pieces, and on spits
Still quivering-fresh impale them; other some
Set caldrons on the shore, and tend the fires.
Then with the food they summon back their strength,
And stretched upon the greensward take their fill
Of old wine and fat venison. When good cheer
Had banished hunger, and the board was cleared.
In endless talk for their lost mates they yearn,
’Twixt hope and fear uncertain whether still
Among the quick to deem them, or e’en now
Suffering the worst, and deaf to their last cry.
And chiefly good Aeneas, now the fate
Of keen Orontes, now of Amycus,
And inly, Lycus, thine untimely doom.
And for brave Gyas, brave Cloanthus, mourns.
And now they had ended, when from heights of air
Down-glancing on the sail-flown sea, and lands
With shores and widespread peoples stretched below,
Jupiter thus upon the cope of heaven
Made pause, and fixed his eyes on Libya’s realm.
Him then, such cares revolving in his breast.
Sadder than wont, her bright eyes brimmed with tears,
Venus bespake: “O thou who swayest the tides
Of men and gods with sovereign power eterne.
And scar’st them with thy bolt, what crime so dire
Can my Aeneas, what the sons of Troy
Have wrought to-thee-ward, that against them now,
By death so minished, the whole world stands barred.
And all for Italy? Surely that from these
Should one day issue with revolving years
The Romans, ay, from these the warrior-chiefs
Of Teucer’s blood requickened, born to rule
All-potent sea and land, thou promisedst:
What purpose, sire, has warped thee? I indeed
Hereby, with counter-fate requiting fate.
Oft solaced me for Troy’s sad overthrow;
But the same fortune, that pursued so long,
Still dogs them with disaster. Mighty king.
What end dost thou vouchsafe them of their toils?
Antenor, from the Achaean midst escaped.
Could thrid Illyria’s windings all unscathed,
Far inward to Liburnian realms, and pass
The well-springs of Timavus, whence the sea
Bursts through nine mouths ’mid thunder of the rocks.
And whelms his fields beneath the roaring main.
Yet here Patavium’s city founded he,
To be his Teucrian’s dwelling-place, and named
The nation, and hung high the arms of Troy;
Now rests he tranquil, lulled in calm repose:
But we, thine offspring, whom thy nod assigns
The height of heaven, our ships — O misery! — lost,
To slake one wrathful spirit are forsook.
And sundered far from the Italian coast.
Is this the good man’s guerdon? Dost thou so
Restore us to our empire.’ ‘‘
Upon her
Smiling with that regard, wherewith he clears
Tempestuous skies, the Sire of men and Z ‘
His daughter’s lips touched, and bespake her thus;
“Truce, Cytherea, to thy fears, and know
Unshaken stand thy children’s destinies:
Lavinium’s city and predestined walls
Thou shalt behold, and in thine arms up-bear
High-souled Aeneas to the stars of heaven;
Nor hath my purpose warped me. This, thy son—
For I, to ease thy gnawing care, will speak,
From fate’s dark roll her inmost secrets wring —
Shall wage a mighty war in Italy,
Crush the proud folk, and for his warriors found
A city and a system, till the third
Summer hath seen him lord in Latium,
Three winters o’er the vanquished Rutules sped.
But young Ascanius, newly now surnamed
Iulus— Ilus was he while enthroned
Stood Ilium’s State — shall compass in his reign
Thirty great cycles with revolving months.
And from Lavinium shift his empire’s seat,
Alba Longa’s ramparts rear with power:
Here now shall reign full thrice a hundred years
Great Hector’s line, till Ilia, royal maid
And priestess, shall twin offspring bear to Mars,
T-heir sire; then glorying in the tawny hide
Of the she-wolf, his nurse, shall Romulus
Take up the nation, build the war-god’s town.
And call them Romans after his own name.
For these nor goals of power, nor times I fix —
Grant them a boundless sway. Fierce Juno too,
Who now with terror scares earth, sea, and heaven.
Shall turn to kinder counsels, and with me
Cherish the Romans, masters of the world.
The toga’d nation. So hath heaven decreed.
A time shall come with gliding lustres, when
The house of Assaracus to her yoke shall bow
Phthia and famed Mycenae, and bear sway
O’er conquered Argos. From that glorious line
Of Troy descending, Caesar shall be born,
Destined to bound with ocean his domain.
As with the stars his glory, Julius,
A name bequeathed from great Iulus. Him,
Laden with eastern spoils, shalt thou one day
Hold safe in heaven: to him too prayers shall rise.
Then wars shall cease, the rugged times grow mild;
Hoar Faith, and Vesta, and Quirinus then
Yoked with his brother Remus, shall give laws;
Grim-knit with bolts of iron War’s temple-gates
Close-barred shall be, while hellish Rage within
High on a grisly pile of arms, his hands
Brass-bound behind him with a hundred knots.
Shall roar terrific from blood-boltered mouth.”
So saying, he sends down Maia’s son from heaven,
That Carthage her new towers and lands might ope
To greet the Teucrians, lest, unlearned of fate.
Dido repel them. Through the vast of air
His plumed oars he plies, on Libya’s strand
Has swift alighted; ay, e’en now he is
About his errand; the god wills, and lo!
Those haughty hearts the Punic folk put by;
Their queen in chief toward the Teucrian host
Now harbours gentle thoughts and kind desires.
But good Aeneas, all night long perplexed
With many a care, when first the genial boon
Of light was given, resolved to issue forth,
Search out the new land, and what shores he hath gained
By the wind’s grace, whether by man or beast —
So savage seem they — tenanted, then bear
Back to his friends the tidings of his quest.
In woody creek beneath a hollow rock
His fleet he hides, by trees and bristling shades
Closely embosomed, then himself strides forth,
Achates sole beside him, in his hand
Two javelins brandishing broad-tipped with iron.
Him, half the wood-way through, his mother met,
In face and garb a maiden, armed with gear
Of Spartan damsel, or like her of Thrace,
Harpalyce, what time she tires her steeds,
Outspeeding arrowy Hebrus in her flight.
For from her shoulders huntress-wise was slung
A shapely bow; her tresses she let trail
Upon the winds, bare-kneed, her flowing folds
Close gathered in a knot. Ere he could speak,
“Ho! “cried she, “youths, if ye have chanced to spy
One of my sisters, tell me where she strays.
With quiver and spotted lynx-skin girt, or else
Hard on the track of foaming boar, full cry.”
So Venus, and in answer Venus’ son:

“None of thy sisters have I seen or heard,
O — damsel must I name thee? for thy face
Nor mortal seems, nor human rings thy voice:
O goddess surely, or Phoebus’ sister thou.
Or of the blood of nymphs, whoe’er thou art,
Be kind, uplift the burden of our woe.
And deign to say what heaven bends over us.
Cast on what borders of the world: for here
Witless of country or of folk we roam,
By winds and mighty billows hither driven.
So on thine altars at our hand shall fall
Full many a victim.”
Then spake Venus: “Nay,
Not mine to claim such worship; Tyrian maids
Wont thus to wear the quiver, and bind their limbs
High with the purple buskin. Here thou seest
The Punic realm, a Tyrian people, this
Agenor’s city, but all the borderland
Libyan, a race untamable in war.
Dido, whom erst from Tyre a brother’s fear
Banished, now reigns their empress; ’tis a long
And tangled tale of outrage, but the main
Threads I will trace. Sychaeus was her spouse.
In all Phoenicia lord of widest lands:
Fondly, poor heart, she loved him, by her sire
A virgin given, and in first bridal yoked.
But reigned o’er Tyre a monster-king of crime,
Pygmalion, her brother, and there came
Fury between them. At the household shrine,
Impious and blinded by the lust of gold,
With stealthy stroke at unawares he slays
Sychaeus, all reckless of his sister’s love.
Long he concealed the deed, by many a base
Dissimulation with illusive hope
Fooling the love-sick bride. But in her sleep
Uprose the form of her unburied lord.
That, lifting a face pale in wondrous wise.
Laid bare the ruthless altar, and therewith
His steel-pierc’d bosom, and unveiled to view
All the dark horror of the household crime.
Then from her home at swiftest speed to hie
He bids her, and for aid upon the way
Unlocks old treasures in the earth concealed,
Store known to none of silver and of gold.
Scared at the tale, Dido her flight prepares
And friends to fly with: round her throng whom fierce
Hate for the tyrant, or keen terror, filled;
Chance-proffered ships they seize, and lade with gold:
Pygmalion’s treasures from his gripe are borne
O’er seas, a woman piloting the way.
So to the place they came, where now thou spyest
The lofty walls and rising citadel
Of new-built Carthage, and of land they bought —
Called Byrsa from their bargaining — so much
As with a bull’s hide they might compass round.
But who are ye, sirs, from what shores arrived.
Or on what journey bound?” So questioned, he
With accents from his deepest heart-springs drawn,
Sighing, replied:

“Goddess, should I recount
From their first source, and wert thou free to hear.
Our sorrows’ sad recital, eve would first
Put day to sleep, and shut the gates of heaven.
From ancient Troy, if haply through thine ears
Troy’s name has entered, borne o’er many a main.
The wind’s whim drave us to the Libyan shores.
Men call me good Aeneas; in this fleet
Snatched from the foe my household gods I bring.
In fame extolled above the stars. My goal
Is Italy, my country, and a race
Sprung from high Jove. With twice ten ships I climbed
The Phrygian main, by fate’s clear promise led.
My goddess-mother pointing me the way;
Scarce seven remain, by winds and waters riven.
Myself the while, a beggar and unknown,
Range here the Libyan waste, an outcast banned
From Europe and from Asia.” His sad plaint
Venus could bear no longer, but broke in
Thus on his grief’s mid utterance:

“Whosoe’er
Thou art, not all unloved, methinks, of heaven
Draw’st thou the breath of life, who thus hast reached
Our Tyrian city: but go forward still,
And hence to the queen’s palace win thy way;
For news I bring thee of thy friends’ return.
Thy fleet in harbour, by the shifting gales
To shelter driven; or idly and for naught
My parents schooled me in prophetic lore.
See yonder swans twice six in jubilant line,
Which from the skiey region with his swoop
Jove’s bird was routing o’er the plains of heaven:
Now in long train they seem some lighting-ground
To choose, or, chosen, scan it from above:
As these, returned, with hurtling pinions play,
Wheel in one flock through heaven, and utter songs,
So, of thy ships and friends aboard them, some
Are safe in port, and some with swelling sails
Now make the harbour: only do thou still
Go forward, follow where the pathway leads.”
She spake, and turning shone with rosy neck;
Her head’s ambrosial locks breathed scent divine;
And, as her robe flowed downward to her feet.
She stepped no doubtful goddess. When he knew
His mother, her fleeting form he thus pursued,
Crying, “Ah! cruel thou too, wherefore mock
Thy son so oft with semblances untrue?
Why may I never clasp thy hand in mine,
Or hear unfeigned accents and reply?”
So chiding, toward the town he wends his way.
But Venus with a dark haze hedged them in,
As on they strode, and a thick mantling mist
Miraculous shed over them, that none
Might see, or touch, or compass them delay,
Or ask their cause of coming. She herself
Aloft to Paphos hies, her loved abode
Blithe to revisit, where her temple stands,
And with Sabsean incense ever smoke
A hundred altars, fragrant with fresh flowers.
Meanwhile, where points the track, they speed their
And now the hill they climb, that o’er the town
Hangs huge, and frowns above the opposing towers,
Aeneas marvels at the mighty mass.
Mere huts of yore, he marvels at the gates,
The busy din and paving of the ways.
The Tyrians in hot haste are building walls.
Rearing a citadel, and uprolling rocks
By toil of hand; some choose a dwelling-site,
And with a trench surround it: they appoint
An awful senate, laws, and magistrates.
Here these are digging harbours, yonder those
Lay deep foundations for a theatre,
And hew gigantic columns from the rocks,
Lofty adornments of a stage to be.
Such toil in early summer as keeps the bees
Busy in sunshine amid flowery fields,
When forth they lead the ripe youth of their race.
Or pack the amber-dripping honey, and stretch
Their cells to bursting with the nectar sweet,
Or ease returning labourers of their load.
Or form a band, and from their precincts drive
The drones, a lazy herd: how glows the work!
How sweet the honey smells of perfumed thyme!
O happy ye, whose walls already rise.
Exclaims Aeneas, toward the city-roofs
Upgazing, and so enters through their midst,
Hedged in with darkness, marvellous to tell
And mingles with the folk, unseen of all.
Within the city’s midst a grove there stood
Bounteous of shade, where first the Punic host,
’Scaped from the brunt of whirlwind and of wave,
Dug forth, as queenly Juno had foreshown,
The symbol of a fiery horse’s head:
For so, said she, their race should ever prove
Peerless in war and with abundance blest.
Sidonian Dido here a mighty fane
To Juno’s praise was rearing, rich with gifts
And with the indwelling goddess: see! of brass
High on ascending steps the threshold lay.
And clenched with brass the lintels, of brass too
The doors on creaking hinges. In this grove
A strange sight met him, that first soothed his fear;
Here first Aeneas dared for safety hope.
And in his broken fortunes firmlier trust.
For ’neath the mighty fane while he surveys
Point after point, still waiting for the queen,
And marvels to behold what fortune crowns
The city, and her craftsmen’s emulous hands
And toil of labour, there set forth he sees
The battlefields of Ilium, and the war
By fame now bruited over the whole world,
Priam and Atreus’ sons, and, bane of both,
Achilles. With arrested steps he cries
Weeping, “What place, Achates, or what clime
But with the story of our grief o’erflows?
See Priam! e’en here too honour hath its meed.
And there are tears for what befalls, and hearts
Touched by the chances of mortality.
Fear naught, and thou shalt find this fame will bring
Some safety with it.” He spake, and feasts his soul
Upon the empty picture, sighing sore,
His face all bathed with griefs abundant flow.
For, as they fought round Pergamus, behold!
Here fled the Greeks, Troy’s bravest at their heels,
The Phrygians here, Achilles in his car
With crested helm pursuing. Nor far aloof
With tears he knew the snowy-canvassed tents
Of Rhesus, which, in the first sleep betrayed,
Red Tydeus’ son was deluging with blood,
Who campward now drives off the fiery steeds.
Or e’er on Trojan pastures they have browsed,
Or drank of Xanthus. Elsewhere was portrayed.
His arms in flight flung from him, Troilus:
Poor boy! for with Achilles overmatched,
Dragged by his steeds to the void car he clings.
Thrown backward, and yet grasping still the reins:
Neck, see! and hair are trailed along the ground,
And his reversed spear scribbles in the dust.
Meanwhile the Trojan women to the shrine
Of unregardful Pallas passed along
Bearing the peplus, all their tresses loosed,
As suppliant mourners with hand-bruised breasts;
On earth the goddess with averted gaze
Her eyes was fixing. There Achilles too
Had thrice dragged Hector round the walls of Troy,
And now was bartering his dead corse for gold.
Then from the bottom of his heart he heaved
A mighty groan, when he beheld the spoils.
The chariot, nay, the body of his friend.
And Priam outstretching his defenceless hands.
Himself too there among the Achaean chiefs
He recognised, and dusky Memnon’s arms
And eastern warriors. With their mooned shields
Penthesilea like a fury leads
The Amazonian ranks, and blazes forth
Amid her thousands, one protruding breast
Looped with a golden girdle — warrior-queen,
Who dares the shock of battle, maid with men.
Now while Aeneas the Dardan at this sight
Marvels, beholding, while amazed he stands
In one fixed gaze immovable, the queen.
Dido, in matchless beauty to the fane.
Thronged with a mighty company, has come.
As by Eurotas’ banks, or on the heights
Of Cynthus, when Diana plies the dance —
A thousand Oreads upon either side
Massed in her train — she on her shoulder bears
A quiver, and as she treads o’ertops them all —
A secret rapture thrills Latona’s breast —
Such Dido seemed, so moved she through their midst
Rejoicing, busied with her realm to be.
Then in the sacred portals and beneath
The mid vault of the temple, hedged with arms.
Propped high upon a throne, her seat she took.
There laws and judgments gave she to her folk.
Now meting forth their tasks in equal shares,
Now doling them by lot: when suddenly
’Mid a great throng Aeneas sees approach
Antheus, Sergestus, and Cloanthus brave,
And other Teucrians whom the black typhoon
Had scattered o’er the main, or swept afar
To alien shores. Achates and his chief.
Thrilled and bewildered betwixt joy and fear,
Yearn eagerly to clasp their hands, but still.
By the strange fact confounded, make no sign,
And from their cloudy covering watch to learn
The heroes’ fortunes, on what shore their fleet
They are leaving, with what hope arrived, for lo!
From all the ships came envoys craving grace,
And with loud clamour making for the shrine.
So when they had entered and gat leave to speak,
Their eldest, Ilioneus, thus took the word
With heart unruffled: “O queen, whom Jove assigns
To found a virgin city, and curb in
Unbending nations with the reins of law.
We Trojans, tempest-driven from sea to sea,
In bitter case implore thee, from our ships
Ward off the unutterable doom of fire:
Spare us, a pious race, and on our plight
Look with no distant eyes. We have not come
To harry with the sword your Libyan homes.
Or seize the spoil, and drive it to the shore:
Such lawlessness we like not, nor so prone
Are conquered men to insolence. There is
A spot, by Greeks Hesperia named, a land
Of old renown, mighty in arms, in soil
Prolific, where the Oenotrian heroes dwelt,
Now by a later race named Italy,
If rumour lie not, from their leader’s name.
Thither our course we held, when, big with storm,
Orion, rising with a sudden sea,
Drave us on hidden shoals, and scattered us
Far athwart billows of o’ertoppling brine
And pathless rocks, before the headstrong south:
Hither we few have floated to your shores.
What race of men is this? What land allows
Custom so cruel? The welcome of the shore
Denied, they dare us at sword’s point set foot
Upon the utmost margin of their land.
If men and mortal arms ye hold so light,
Yet look for gods mindful of right and wrong.
Aeneas was our king, none juster, none
More famed for goodness, or for feats of war.
If fate still spare that hero, if he still
Feeds on the air of heaven, nor yet is laid
In cruel darkness, naught have we to fear;
No, nor wouldst thou repent thee to have been
His challenger in kindness. Cities too
And arms to aid in Sicily have we,
And Prince Acestes, sprung from Trojan blood.
Let us but haul our battered fleet ashore,
Fit planks in the forest, and trim oars, that if
Vouchsafed us still to make for Italy,
Comrades and king restored, with hearts elate
To Italy and Latium we may go;
But if cut off our safety, and if thee.
Best father of the Teucrians, Libya’s deep
Holds in its keeping, and no hope is now
Left in Iulus, we at least may seek
Sicania’s strait from whence we sailed, the homes
There waiting, and Acestes for our king.”
So Ilioneus; and instant with one mouth
Clamoured assent the sons of Dardanus.
Then briefly Dido speaks with drooping eyes.

“Cast fear adrift, and shut the doors on doubt,
Teucrians: the hard conditions of the time,
And raw youth of my kingdom to this push
Compel me, and to guard my frontiers round,
Aeneas and the race that call him sire
Who can there be that knows not, and Troy’s town
Heroes and heroisms, and all her war’s
Vast conflagration? Not so dull the hearts
We bear in Punic bosoms, nor so far
Out of the sun’s track in his charioting
Our Tyrian town. The great Hesperian land
And Saturn’s realm, or Eryx and the tract
That bows to king Acestes — choose ye which;
Safeguarded I will speed you on your way,
With stores to boot. Or would ye in this realm
Sit down beside me? yours the town I build:
Haul up your ships: Trojan and Tyrian
Without distinction shall be held by me.
And would that by the selfsame tempest driven
Your king himself Aeneas had been here!
For my part, I will send through all my coasts
Sure scouts, and bid them traverse Libya’s land
From end to end, if haply cast ashore
Forest or city holds him wandering.”
Fired by these words long since Achates bold
And Sire Aeneas burned to break their cloud.
Achates first gat utterance: “Goddess-born,
Say now what purpose rises in thy heart?
Thou seest all safe, comrades and fleet restored,
One only lacking, whom our own eyes saw
Gulfed in mid-ocean: with thy mother’s words
Else all thing tally.” Scarcely had he spoke,
When suddenly the cloud that wrapped them round
Sunders, and melts into the open heaven.
Forth stood Aeneas in the clear sunlight
Resplendent, face and shoulders like a god:
For she who bare him on her son had breathed
A glory of hair, and ruddy light of youth.
And on his eyes glad lustre — such a grace
As artist’s hand to ivory lends, or like
Silver or Parian chased with yellow gold.
Then to the queen, by all unlooked for, thus
Sudden he speaks: “I, whom ye seek, am here,
Trojan Aeneas, snatched from Libyan waves.
Thou, who alone the unutterable woes
Of Troy hast pitied, and dost impart to us —
Sole remnant by the Danai left, fordone
With all mischances both of land and sea.
Beggared of all — a city and a home.
Dido, to yield thee worthy thanks stands not
Within our means, nor theirs who else survive
Of Dardan blood, scattered the wide world o’er.
May heaven, if any powers regard the good.
If justice and the self-approving mind
Weigh aught in the world, return thee guerdon due!
What age so blest as to have borne thee? What
Parents so noble as to call thee child?
While rivers still shall run into the sea,
While shadows sweep the mountain-sides, while heaven
Shall feed the stars, thy glory, name, and praise,
What land soe’er me summon, shall remain.”
So saying, his right hand he reached forth to greet
Friend Ilioneus, Serestus with his left.
Then others, bold Gyas and Cloanthus bold.
Astounded by the hero’s presence first.
Then at his vast misfortune, thus outspake
Sidonian Dido:” “Through such mighty perils,
O goddess-born, what fate pursues, what force
To barbarous shores impels thee? Art thou that
Aeneas, whom kindly Venus by the wave
Of Phrygian Simois to the Dardan bare,
Anchises? I myself remember well
When Teucer, from his own home ousted, came
To Sidon, seeking a new realm to win
By Belus’ aid: my father Belus then
Was harrying Cyprus, whose rich soil he swayed
With conquering sceptre. From that time to this
Troy’s chequered fortune hath been known to me.
And thine own name, and the Pelasgian kings.
Even he, their foeman, with high praise would laud
The Teucrians, from the Teucrians’ ancient stock
Claim to be sprung. Then enter, sirs, our house.
Me too like fortune, tossed from toil to toil.
Suffers at length to make this land my home:
Not all unlessoned in disaster!
Learn to befriend the wretched.” With such words
She to her palace leads Aeneas in,
And for the temples of the gods proclaims
Due honour. For his comrades therewithal
Down to the beach she sends a score of bulls,
A hundred bristling backs of burly swine,
Fat lambs a hundred, with their dams to boot,
Glad gifts for the glad day. Meanwhile, within.
The palace is set forth in all the pomp
Of royal splendour, and amidst the hall
A feast are they preparing — coverlets
Wrought deftly of proud purple, on the boards
Ponderous silver, and, embossed in gold,
The brave deeds of her sires, an endless-long
Array of exploits traced from chief to chief
Down from the earliest dawning of her race.
Aeneas, for a father’s love forbade
His mind to rest, sends forward to the ships
Achates, bidding him with speed acquaint
Ascanius, and conduct him to the town —
Upon Ascanius a fond father’s heart
Is wholly set — and presents he bids bring
Snatched from the wreck of Ilium, a long robe
Stiff with embroidered gold-work, and a veil
Purfled with yellow-flowered acanthus, worn
By Argive Helen, and from Mycenae brought.
Then, when to Troy she sailed, a bride forbid —
Her mother Leda’s marvellous gift; therewith
A sceptre which erewhile had known the grasp
Of Priam’s eldest daughter Ilione,
A pearl-strung necklet, and a double crown
Of gems and gold. Upon this errand sped.
Achates now was hastening to the ships.
But Cytherea in her breast revolves
New wiles and new devices, that, for sweet
Ascanius, Cupid, changed in face and form,
May come, and with his gifts inflame the queen
To frenzy, and wrap all her frame in fire.
Ay, for in sooth she fears the treacherous house
And double-spoken Tyrians: Juno’s hate
Sears her, and trouble at nightfall returns.
Thus, therefore, she bespeaks her winged Love:

“Son, my sole strength and mighty power, O son,
Who laughest e’en at the Typhoian bolts
Of the great Father, to thy feet I fly,
And suppliant sue thy godhead. How Aeneas.
Thy brother, is buffeted from shore to shore
Over the main by Juno’s rancorous spite —
These things are known to thee, and with our grief
Oft hast thou grieved. Phoenician Dido now
Holds and enchains him with her flattering words;
And much I fear where Juno’s welcome tends;
She will not idle where such hopes are hinged.
So to prevent with guile and gird with fire
The queen I purpose, that no power may change.
But strong love for Aeneas fix her mine.
Next how to achieve it hearken my device:
The royal boy, my chiefest care, e’en now
To the Sidonian town sets forth to go
At his loved father’s bidding — in his hand
Gifts that escaped Troy’s burning and the sea.
Him will I hide upon Cythera’s height.
Or on Idalium in my sacred seat.
Lulled in deep slumber, that he may not know
Nor intervene to mar my stratagems.
Then for one night — no more — feign thou his form.
And don the well-known features, boy for boy.
That when with rapture at the royal board.
The wine-god brimming, Dido to her breast
Shall take thee and embrace, and on thy lips
Imprint sweet kisses, with the subtle fire
Thy breath may poison her at unawares.”
Obedient then to his dear mother’s words,
Love doffed his wings, and with lulus’ gait
Walked gaily forth. Meantime Ascanius,
While gentle slumber o’er his frame she pours,
Venus, to her immortal bosom clasped,
Bears upward to Idalia’s wooded heights.
Where soft amaracus enfolds with flowers.
And fans him with the breath of odorous shade.
And now, all joy. Achates for his guide,
Cupid the royal gifts obediently
Came bearing for the Tyrians. Entering,
He sees the queen set in their midst, reclined
Upon a gold couch proudly canopied.
Now Sire Aeneas, now the Trojan men
Gather, and stretch them on strewn purple. Slaves
Pour water on their hands, and proffer bread
From baskets, and bring towels with shorn pile.
Within are fifty handmaids, charged in course
To heap continuous store, and magnify
With fire the hearth-gods; and a hundred more,
With men as many and of like age, to load
The boards with viands, and set the winecups on.
The Tyrians too, throughout the festive hall
Gathered in crowds, are bidden to recline
On broidered couches. At Aeneas’ gifts
They marvel, marvel at Iulus too —
The god-light in his face, the well-feigned words —
And at the robe, and veil embroidered-fair
With yellow-flowered acanthus. Most of all.
Ill-starred, and destined to the coming bane.
The fair Phoenician cannot gloat her fill,
But feeds the flame with gazing, by the boy
Ravished no less than by the gifts. But he.
When he had clasped Aeneas, and hung close
About his neck, sating the hungry love
Of his pretended sire, moves toward the queen.
She with her eyes, and she with all her heart
Cleaves to him, and fondles at her breast anon —
Dido, all witless of how great a god
Is her poor bosom’s burden. He the while.
His Acidalian mother heeding well.
Slowly begins to blot Sychaeus out,
And with a living passion to forestall
A heart long stagnant and to love unused.
When the first hush upon the banquet fell.
The board removed, they set on mighty bowls.
And crown the winecups. Loud the rafters ring.
As through the wide hall rolls the roar of tongues;
Down from the gilded roof hang lamps ablaze,
And flambeaux flaring put the night to rout.
And now a cup heavy with gems and gold
The queen bade bring, and filled it with pure wine.
As Belus used, and all from Belus sprung;
Then through the hall fell silence: “Jupiter,
Of hospitable laws, men say, the giver,
To Tyrians and to travellers from Troy
Grant that this day propitious be, and that
Our children’s children may remember it.
Let Bacchus, source of jollity, be near,
And bounteous Juno; and, ye Tyrians too,
Grace ye our gathering with goodwill.” She spake
And on the table poured the votive wine,
And, having made libation, with lip’s edge
Herself first touched it, then to Bitias
Passed with a merry taunt; he, nothing loth,
Drank of the foaming goblet, and dived deep
Into the brimming gold; then other lords
In turn. lopas of the flowing hair
Makes the hall echo with his gilded lyre,
Once taught of mightiest Atlas: and his song
Is of the wandering moon, the toiling sun,
Whence human kind and cattle, whence rain and fire;
Arcturus, and the showery Hyades,
And the twin Bears; why winter suns so haste
To dip themselves in Ocean, or what check
Retards the lingering nights. With shout on shout
Applaud the Tyrians, and the sons of Troy
Make answer: therewithal in varied talk
Unhappy Dido still spun out the night,
Drinking deep draughts of love; and much she asked
Of Priam, much of Hector, with what arms
Aurora’s son came girded to the fray.
How fair the steeds of Diomede, or how vast
Achilles. “Nay, but, O my guest,” said she,
“Come, tell us from the first the Danaan plots.
Thy comrades’ woes, and thine own wanderings:
For lo! the seventh returning summer now
Bears thee a wanderer over land and wave.”