Book VI

Weeping he spake, and gave his fleet the rein,
And to Euboean Cumae’s shore at length
Glides smoothly in. They turn prows seaward; then
The anchors’ tooth ’gan grip the vessels fast;
The round sterns rim the beach. Outleaps amain
The war-host on Hesperia’s strand; some search
For seeds of fire hid deep in veins of flint;
Some scour the wild beasts’ tangled forest-lairs,
Or point to new-found streams. But good Aeneas
Makes for the hill-top, where aloft sits throned
Apollo, and a cavern vast, the far
Lone haunt of the dread Sibyl, into whom
The Delian bard his mighty mind and soul
Breathes, and unlocks the future. Even now
’Neath Trivia’s grove and golden roof they come.
Daedalus, flying from Minos’ realm, ’tis said.
Dared on swift wings to trust him to the sky.
Upon his Uncouth journey floated forth
Toward the chill Bears, and stood light-poised at last
On the Chalcidian hill. Here first to earth
Restored, he dedicated to thy name,
Phoebus, the oarage of his wings, and built
A giant temple. On the doors behold!
The murder of Androgeos; therewithal
The sons of Cecrops, bidden, alas! to pay
For yearly ransom, seven of their sons’ lives:
The urn stands, and the lots are drawn. Uptowers
From Ocean, fronting it, the Gnosian land:
Here her fell love of the bull, Pasiphae
Mated by cunning, and, that mongrel-birth.
The Minotaur, a twy-formed offspring, stands,
Record of monstrous passion; here was that
Laborious dwelling with the wandering maze.
Inextricable, but that Daedalus,
Pitying the princess’ mighty passion, solved
Himself the riddle of its winding paths.
Guiding blind footsteps with a thread. Thou too
In such a work hadst borne a mighty part.
Had grief allowed, O Icarus. Thy fall
Twice had he sought in gold to fashion, twice
The father’s hands dropped. Ay, and still their eyes
Had to the end perused it, were not now
Come from his quest Achates, and with him,
Priestess of Phoebus and of Trivia,
Deiphobe, the child of Glaucus, who
Thus hails the king: “Such shows a time like this
Demands not: better were it now to slay
Seven bullocks from the unbroken herd, and ewes
Picked duly of like number.” Having thus
Addressed Aeneas — nor were the heroes slack
To do her sacred bidding — the priestess
Summons the Teucrians into the high fane.
The mighty face of the Euboean rock
Is scooped into a cavern, whither lead
A hundred wide ways, and a hundred gates;
Ay, and therefrom as many voices rush.
The answers of the Sibyl. They had gained
The threshold, when the maid exclaims: “’Tis time
To ask the oracles; lo! the god, the god!”
Before the doors thus speaking, suddenly
Nor countenance, nor hue, nor braided locks
Stayed in one fashion: but her bosom heaves,
Her heart swells wild with frenzy; and more vast
She seems, nor mortal rings her voice, when now
Touched by the nearer breath of deity.

“So slack to vows and prayers,” she cries, “so slack,
Trojan Aeneas? for the mighty mouths
Of the awed temple will not ope till then.”
So spake she, and was mute. A shudder chill
Ran through the Teucrians’ hardy frames, the while
Their king from his heart’s deepest pours forth prayer.

“O Phoebus, who the heavy woes of Troy
Hast alway pitied, who erst the Dardan shaft
And hand of Paris didst guide against the bulk
Of the son of Aeacus, at thy bidding I
Pierced all those seas that roam round mighty shores,
The far-withdrawn Massylian tribes, and fields
That skirt their quicksands, till at length we grasp
The flying shores of Italy: thus far
Let Troy’s ill fate have followed her. Ye too
May justly spare the race of Pergamus,
Gods all and goddesses, to whom Ilium
And the vast Dardan fame was an offence.
And thou most holy seer, who dost foreknow
The future, grant — I do but ask the realm
Owed to my destiny — that Teucria’s sons
May rest in Latium with their wandering gods,
And storm-tossed deities of Troy. Then I
To Phoebus and to Trivia will set up
A shrine of solid marble, and holy days
In name of Phoebus. And thee too awaits
In our new realm a mighty sanctuary.
For there thine oracles and mystic dooms,
Spoke to my people, will I set, and choose
Men, and ordain them thine, O gracious one.
Only to leaves commit not thou thy strains.
Lest they fly scattered, sport of whirling winds;
Chant them with thine own lips, I pray.” He made
An end of speaking. But the seer, not yet
Patient of Phoebus, in the cavern storms
Immeasurably, if haply from her breast.
She may shake off the mighty god; but he
So much the rather plies her raving mouth,
Tames her wild heart, and moulds her to his might.
And now the temple’s hundred monster-gates
Ope of themselves, and through the air convey
The answers of the Sibyl: “O thou that hast
Outborne at length the sea’s vast perils, know
Yet worse on shore await thee. True, the sons
Of Dardanus to Lavinium’s realm shall come;
Of this care ease thy bosom; yet shall it not
Rejoice them of their coming. War, grim war,
And Tiber foaming high with blood, I see.
Simois and Xanthus, and a Dorian camp
There shalt thou lack not; yea for Latium
E’en now a new Achilles hath been found.
Himself too goddess-born. Nor anywhere
Shall Juno from the Teucrians hold her hand,
While, suppliant in thy need through Italy,
What race, what city, shalt thou leave unsued?
Once more is cause of all the Teucrians’ woe
An alien bride, once more a foreign bed.
Yield not to ills, but face them boldlier thou.
E’en as thy fortune suffers thee. The first
Pathway to safety, little as thou deem’st.
Shall from a Grecian town appear.” In such
Words from the shrine doth Cumae’s Sibyl chant
Her awful riddles, and echo through the cave,
In darkness shrouding truth; so shakes the reins
Apollo in her raving mouth, and plies
Deep in her breast the goad. Soon as had ebbed
Her frenzy, and the frantic lips were still,
The hero speaks — Aeneas: “No phase of toil
To me, O maid, strange or unlooked for comes.
All things have I forecast, and in my mind
Traversed ere seen. One boon I beg-; since this
Is called the portal of the infernal-king,
And the dark pool of Acheron’s overflow.
Let me to my dear sire’s own presence pass;
Teach thou the way, and ope the sacred gates.
Him I through flames and thousand following darts
Rescued upon these shoulders, and bore safe
From midst the foemen: he, my wayfellow.
Endured with me all seas, all threats of sky
And ocean, weak of body, beyond the lot
And strength of age. Moreover he it was
Charged and implored me with this suppliant suit
Thy threshold to approach. Both son and sire
Pity, I pray thee, of thy grace; for thou
Canst all things, nor for naught hath Hecate
Made thee the mistress of Avernian groves.
If Orpheus could recall his loved one’s shade.
Armed but with Thracian harp, and tuneful strings.
If Pollux, dying in turn, redeemed his brother,
Trod and retrod the way so oft — why speak
Of mighty Theseus, of Alcides, why?
My lineage also is from Jove in heaven.”
So spake he praying, and clasped the altar; then
The seer brake silence: “Sprung from blood of gods,
Trojan Anchises’ son, easy the road
Down to Avernus: night and day the door
Of gloomy Dis stands open; but thy steps
Back to retrace, emerge to upper air, ‘
This is the task, the labour this. Some few.
Favoured and loved of Jupiter, or borne-
By their own glowing virtue to the sky.
Sons of the gods, attained it. All between
Is forest-clothed, and with black-gliding coil
Cocytus winds about it; But if thou
So yearn’st at heart, if such thy longing, twice
To stem the Stygian pool, twice view the gloom
Of Tartarus; and it please thee to give play
To a mad quest, hear what must first be done.
Hid in a tree’s dark shade there lurks a bough,
Gold both in leaf and limber twig, and called
Sacred to nether Juno. All the grove
Hides it, by obscure valleys closed in gloom.
But none may probe the vaults of earth, or ere
He pluck the gold-tressed sapling from the tree.
This to be brought as her peculiar gift
Fair Proserpine ordained. The first torn off.
Fails not a second, gold no less, whose spray
Sprouts of the selfsame ore. So with thine eyes
Search deep, and, duly finding, with thy hand
Pluck it, for freely at a touch ’twill yield.
If thou art called of fate: not, otherwise.
By any force wilt thou prevail to win,
Or with hard steel to tear it. Furthermore
The breathless corse of one that was thy friend
Still lies — alas! thou know’st not — and with death
Taints the whole, fleet, while on our threshold here
Thou hoverest, seeking counsel. Him first bear
To his own place, and hide in tomb, and bring
Black cattle in expiation, before all:
So shalt thou see at last the groves of Styx,
And realms unfooted by the living.” She
Spake, and was silent with closed lips.
Aeneas
With downcast eyes and gloomy brow strides on,
Quitting the cave, alone with his own heart
Revolving hidden issues. At his side
Goes true Achates, with like load of care
Planting his footsteps. Many a thought they wove
In varying converse — of what lifeless friend
The priestess spake, what corse for burial. So
At length arrived, on the dry beach they see
Misenus, snatched by an untimely death,
Misenus, son of Aeolus, than whom
None more renowned with clarion’s clang to rouse
Heroes, and fire the war-god with his blast.
Great Hector he had served, at Hector’s side.
Famous alike for trumpet and for spear,
Would join the fray: whom when Achilles quelled
And robbed of life, he, bravest of the brave.
Had ta’en Aeneas the Dardan fo”r his lord.
Following no meaner destiny. But then.
While with his hollow shell he thrills the main.
Madman, and challenges the gods to match
His music, Triton, if the tale be true.
Seized him, in jealousy, and under-sea
Plunged in a moment amid foaming rocks.
So all, around him, clamoured with loud cries,
And, foremost, good x’Aeneas. Then speedily
The Sibyl’s bidding they despatch with tears,
A funeral-altar toiling to upbuild
Of heaped boughs, and rear it to the sky.”
Into an ancient forest forth they fare.
The wild beasts’ lofty cover. Down go the pines,
Loud rings the ilex to the smiting axe.
And ash-trees and the splintering heart of oak
Are cleft with wedges: from the hills they roll
Huge mountain-ashes down, Aeneas, no less
Foremost amid such toil, cheers on his friends.
And girds him with like weapons. Then alone
With his sad heart he ponders, gazing o’er
The boundless forest, and thus prays aloud:

“If now that golden branch upon the tree
Might to our eyes in this vast grove appear!
Since all too truly spake the prophetess
Of thee, alas! Misenus.” Scarce had he
Uttered the word, when, as it happed, twin doves
Under his very eyes from heaven came flying.
And light on the green sod. The mighty chief,
His mother’s birds discerning, prays with joy:

“Oh! be my guides, if any path there be,
And steer your airy course into the grove.
Where the rich bough o’ershades the fertile ground.
And our perplexity forsake not thou,
O goddess-mother.” So saying, he stops to mark
What signs they bring, their course bend whitherward.
They, feeding, still fly forward just so far
As the pursuer’s eye might bear in sight.
Then, having gained Avernus’ poisonous jaws,
Swiftly they mount, and, gliding through clear air.
Perch both, and settle upon the wished-for tree.
Flashed through whose boughs the gold’s contrasting gleam.
As mistletoe, when winter chills the woods,
Bursts into new leaf, sown on alien tree.
And, saffron-berried, clips the tapering trunk,
Such was the seeming of that leafy gold
On the dark ilex; so in the light breeze
Rustled the foil, Aeneas instantly
Seizes and rives it from its lingering hold
With hungry clutch, and bears it ’neath the roof
Of the prophetic Sibyl.
Nor less meanwhile
The Teucrians on the shore Misenus wept,
Paying the last dues to the thankless dust.
First, rich with pine-brands, of hewn timber vast,
A pyre they raise, with dark leaves’ wreathe the sides.
Plant funeral-cypresses in front, above
Deck it with gleaming arms. Some set to heat
Water, and caldrons heaving on the flame,
And wash the death-cold body, and anoint,
And make loud moaning. Then the wept-for limbs
Upon the couch they lay, and over them
Cast purple robes, the well-known raiment: some,
Sad service, bowed them to the heavy bier.
And, eyes averted, their ancestral wont.
Applied the torch and held. The heap’d gifts blaze —
Frankincense, viands, and bowls of streaming oil.
When sank the embers, and the flame was stilled,
The remnant of the thirsty dust they drench
With wine, and Corynaeus gathered up,
And in a brazen casket hid, the bones.
He with pure water too thrice paced the round
Of comrades, with the light dew sprinkling them
From bough of fruitful olive, and purified
The heroes, and spake out the latest words.
But good Aeneas, for tomb, a mighty mound
Heaps o’er the dead, and his own arms, both oar
And trumpet, ’neath a skyey mount, which now
From him is called Misenus, and preserves
From age to age his everlasting name.
This done, with speed he girds him to fulfil
The Sibyl’s bidding: a deep cave there was
With huge gape monstrous, jagged, and hemmed in
By the dark mere and forest’s gloom, o’er which
Nothing that flies could wing a scathless way,
Such breath from the black jaws outpouring sped
Into the vault of heaven (from whence the Greeks
Have called the place Avernus). And here first
The priestess ranges four black-bodied bulls.
Pours wine upon their brows, and ’twixt the horns
Plucking as first-fruit throws the topmost tuft
Into the sacred flames, calling aloud
On Hecate, queen both in heaven and hell.
Others set knives beneath them, and in bowls
Catch the warm blood, Aeneas a black-fleeced lamb
Unto the mother of the Eumenides
And her great sister with his own sword strikes,
A barren heifer, O Proserpine, to thee.
Then to the Stygian king inaugurates
Altars by night, and casts upon the fire
Whole carcasses of bulls, pouring fat oil
Upon the blazing entrails. But behold!
Hard upon dawn and sunrise, ’neath their feet
The ground ’gan rumble, and a-quaking fell
The forest-ridges, and through the gloom there seemed
Dogs howling, as the goddess drew anigh.

“Hence, hence, unhallowed ones! “the priestess shrieks;
“From the whole grove avaunt ye! and do thou
Rush on the road, Aeneas, pluck sword from sheath;
Now need’st thou all thy courage and a stout heart,”
Thus far she spake, and like a fury plunged
Into the cave’s mouth: he, no falterer, keeps
Pace with the steps of his advancing guide.
Gods of the spirit-realm, and voiceless shades,
And Chaos and Phlegethon, vast tracts of night’
And silence, grant me, what mine ear hath heard.
To utter, and, with your fiat, to unfold
Things whelmed in darkness and the under-world.
On strode they blindly through the gloom, beneath
The solitary night, through the void halls
And ghostly realms of Dis: as men may walk
The wood-way ’neath a coy moon’s grudging light.
When Jupiter with shade hath curtained heaven,
And black night of her colour robs the world.
Fronting the portal, even in Orcus’ jaws,
Grief and avenging Cares have made their bed;
And pale Diseases house, and dolorous Eld,
And Fear and Famine, counsellor of crime,
And loathly Want, shapes terrible to view,
And Death and Travail, and. Death’s own brother, Sleep,
And the soul’s guilty joys, and murderous War
Full on the threshold, and the iron cells
Of the Eumenides, and mad Discord, who
With blood-stained fillet wreathes her snaky locks.
Spreads in the midst her boughs and aged arms
An elm, huge, shadowy, where vain dreams, ’tis said,
Are wont to roost them, under every leaf
Close-clinging: and many a monster-form beside
Of various beasts — -Centaurs against the door
Are stalled, and twy-formed Scyllas, and Briareus,
He of the hundred hands, and Lerna’s brute
Horribly hissing, Chimaera armed with flames,
Gorgons and Harpies, and the shadowy shape
Three-bodied. Here, in a tremor of sudden fear,
Grasped at his sword Aeneas, and with bare edge
Opposed their coming, and, but for warning word
From his wise comrade that they were but thin
Unbodied lives, ’neath hollow shows of form
Flitting, upon them he would rush, and cleave
Shadows in twain with ineffectual sword.
Hence runs a road to the Tartarean waves
Of Acheron leading, where his eddying gulf.
Seething with mud and a wild whirlpool, boils.
Into Cocytus belching all his sand.
These floods and waters a grim ferryman
Guards, of fell squalor, Charon, on whose chin
Lies a thick grizzle, all untrimmed; his eyes
Are orbs of staring fire, and by a knot
Hangs from his shoulders a soil’d garb. Himself
Plies with a pole his craft, and tends the sails.
Freighting with dead the dusky barge; now old,
But with the age of godhead hale and green.-
Toward him the whole crowd rushing floods the bank;
Matrons and men, and great heroic frames
Done with life’s service, boys, unwedded girls.
Youths placed on pyre before their fathers’ eyes:
Countless as forest-leaves that fluttering fall
In the first chill of autumn, or as birds
Flock countless shoreward from the weltering deep.
When the chill year, now chasing over-sea,
Drives them to sunny lands. There stood they praying
Each to be first o’erferried, and stretched forth
Their hands with yearning for the further shore.
But the sour boatman takes now these, now those.
And others from the strand thrusts far aloof.
Aeneas, sore startled by the tumult, cries:

“Say, maid, what means this thronging to the stream?
What seek the spirits? or by what law quit these
The brink, skim those the leaden oar-swept tide?”
Briefly to him the aged priestess spake:

“Anchises’ son, sure offspring of the gods,
Cocytus’ deep pools and the Stygian marsh
Here thou discernest, by whose power the gods
Fear to swear falsely; helpless, tombless all
This crowd, which thou behold’st; yon ferryman
Is Charon; those that cross have found a grave.
But o’er the dread banks and hoarse-sounding flood
Waft them he may not, till their bones have rest.
A hundred years about these shores they flit
And wander, then at length, their ban removed.
The longed-for pools revisit.” Anchises’ son
Halted, and stayed his steps, revolving much,
And pitying from his heart their cruel fate.
There — woful forms, and lacking death’s last due —
Leucaspis, and Orontes there, he spies,
Chief of the Lycian fleet, whom both, from Troy
Borne over squally seas, the South o’erwhelmed,
Winding in watery shroud both craft and crew.
Lo! there the helmsman Palinurus went,
Who late, star-gazing on their Libyan voyage.
Pitched from the stern had fallen ’mid the sea.
Him, when at length the sorrowing face he knew
Through the thick gloom, he first addressed: “What god,
O Palinurus, snatched.thee from our sight.
And in mid ocean plunged thee? Tell me who:
For, ne’er till then found faithless, in this one
Presage Apollo fooled my mind, who sang
That scathless over sea thou shouldst arrive
Ausonia’s bounds. Is this his promised word?”
But he: “Nor Phoebus, tripod failed thee aught,
My chief, Anchises’ son, nor any god
Plunged me in ocean: for behold! while I
Clave to the tiller, as my charge was, and steered.
Hurled headlong, I tore off, with mighty force.
And dragged it with me. By the rough waves I swear
No terror seized me for myself so much
As for thy ship, lest now, of tackle shorn.
Dashed from beneath her master, she should fail
Amid such mounting billows. Three wintry nights
Over the boundless. ocean-plains the South
With fury drave me: scarce, the fourth dawn, high
On a wave’s crest I sighted Italy.
By inches I swam shoreward; safety now
Was in my grasp; had not the savage folk.
As heavy with soaked weed my fingers’ clutch
Caught at the rugged mountain-heads, with sword
Assailed, and for a prize misdeemed, me. Now
The wave holds, and winds toss me on the beach.
But by the pleasant light and air of heaven,
And by thy sire, I pray thee, by thy hopes
In young Iulus, pluck me from these ills,
O thou unconquered! Either, for thou canst.
Cast earth on me, reseeking Velia’s port,
Or, if there be a way, if any way
Thy goddess-mother show thee — for not all
Unwarranted of heaven, methinks, wouldst thou
Stem these vast waters, and the Stygian mere —
Grant to my tears thy hand, and bear me o’er
The billows with thee, that at least in death
I may find quiet resting.” Thus he spake,
And thus the prophetess began: “From whence,
O Palinurus, sprang this wild desire?
Shalt thou unburied view the Stygian waves,
And the stern river of the Eumenides,
Or tread the bank unbidden? Cease to hope
That heaven’s fix’d doom can be unbent by prayer:
But, thy hard lot to solace, hear and heed:
For lo! the border townsfolk far and near,
Goaded by heavenly portents, shall appease
Thy dust, and build a tomb, and to the tomb
Pay yearly offerings; and the place shall bear
The name of Palinurus evermore.”
These words allayed his pain, and drove the grief
Awhile from his sad bosom; and he takes
Joy in the land that is to bear his name.
So they pursue the path, and near the stream.
But at that point, when from the Stygian wave
The boatman saw them through the silent wood
Moving, and striding toward the bank, he thus
Accosts them, and upbraids withal: “Whoe’er
Thou art, that to our river comest in arms.
Stand, and say why thou comest, and check thy step.
This is the place of shades, sleep, slumberous Night;
The quick on Stygian barge I may not bear.
Nor was it to my joy that erst I took
And sped Alcides on the watery way,
Nor Theseus and Peirithous, albeit
Both god-begotten and of unconquered strength.
He the Tartarean warder sought to enchain
Before the king’s own throne, and cowering dragged;
These from the bride-chamber of Dis essayed
His queen to ravish.” Whereunto replied
Briefly the priestess of Amphrysus: “Here
Is no such trickery: cease to storm: these arms
Mean not offence: let the huge gatekeeper
With ceaseless baying scare the bloodless ghosts;
Guard Proserpine her uncle’s doors from stain:
Lo! here, renowned for goodness as for arms,
Trojan Aeneas to the nether shades
Of Erebus descends, to seek his sire.
If thee such goodness moves not to behold,
At least this bough — the bough which lay within
Her robe disclosing — canst thou not ignore.”
Then ebbed the swelling tide of his heart’s wrath,
Nor further spake he. At the awful gift
Wondering, the doom-wand, hid from sight so long,
He turns the dark-blue barge, and nears the shore.
Then other spirits, which on the long thwarts sat.
Thrust forth, he clears the benches, and on board
Takes vast Aeneas; groaned beneath his weight
The seamy craft, and through its chinks let in
The marsh-wave freely. Safe across the stream
Both prince and priestess he unships at last
On grey-green sedges and unsightly mire!
These are the realms huge Cerberus makes ring
With his three-throated baying — a monstrous bulk
Stretched in the cave’s mouth fronting them. To him,
Seeing his neck now bristling with its snakes,
A bait the priestess throws, with honey drugged
And medicated meal. His triple maw
With ravenous hunger opening, from her hand
He caught it, and, his monster-length relaxed.
Lies prone, spread huge o’er all the cavern-floor.
The warder sunk in sleep, Aeneas takes
The entrance, and swift quits the water’s rim,
Renavigable never.
Forthwith are heard
Voices of mighty wailing, and the cry
Of infant souls upon the threshold’s brink,
Whom, dowerless of sweet life, torn from the breast,
A dark day quelled, and plunged in bitter death.
Next them were those by false charge doomed to die:
Not that their places without lot or judge
Art dealt them: Minos, as inquisitor.
Handles the urn, the silent council calls,
And learns the story of their lives and crimes.
And next have place the unhappy souls, who wrought
Their own end, guiltless, and flung life away.
Loathing the sunlight. Ah! how fain were these
Now in the upper air to bide both want
And hardship! Fate forbids: the unlovely swamp
Binds with its sullen wave, and pens them fast”
Styx, with her ninefold barrier poured between.
Not far from hence, on every side outstretched)
Are shown the Mourning Fields: such name they bear.
Here, whom fell love with cruel wasting gnawed,
Close walks conceal, and myrtle-groves embower:
Their pangs e’en death removes not. There he sees
Phaedra, and Procris, Eriphyle sad.
Showing the wounds her ruthless son had dealt,
Evadne, and Pasiphae, and with these
Laodamia, and once man, now maid,
Caeneus by fate to his old shape restored.
And, among these, Phoenician Dido roamed.
Fresh from her wound, within the mighty grove:
Whom when the Trojan hero stood anigh.
And knew, though dim through darkness — as a man
Sees when the month is young, or thinks he sees,
The moon through clouds arising — the tears fell.
And with sweet words of love he greeted her:

“Unhappy Dido, was the tale then true,
Brought to mine ears, that thou wert quenched in death.
And with the sword hadst sought the end of all?
Alas! was I thy doomsman? By the stars
I swear, and by the gods above, and by
Whate’er is sacred in the under-world.
Right loth, O queen, was I to quit thy shore.
But heaven’s decrees, which now to walk the shades.
Tracts rough with squalor, and abysmal night,
Compel, then drave me with their high.behests:
Nor could I think that I should bring thee dole
So deep by my departure: stay thy step:
Withdraw not from my gaze: whom fliest thou? — this
Of all my greetings doomed to be the last!”
Aeneas with such words ’mid welling tears
Her fiery soul, fierce-glancing, sought to soothe’
She held her looks aloof, eyes fixed on earth,
And at his proffered speech changed face no more.
Than hard flint stood she, or Marpesian rock.
At length she whirled away, and frowning sought
The green gloom, where Sychaeus her first lord
Echoes her grief, and gives her love for love.
Nathless Aeneas, stunned by her sad fate,
Follows with pitying tears her steps afar.
From hence he girds him to the appointed path.
And now the utmost fields they gain, where those
War-famous dwell apart. Here Tydeus, here
Parthenopaeus meets him, famed in arms.
And the pale spectre of Adrastus; here.
Much wept by those on earth, and fallen in war.
The Dardan chiefs, whom all in long array
He groaned beholding — Glaucus, Medon, there,
Thersilochus, Antenor’s children three,
And Polyphetes, Ceres’ priest, and, yet
Grasping the car, Idaeus, yet his arms.
Thronging, the souls press round him, right and left;
Nor does one look suffice them: still they love
To linger, pace beside him, and inquire
His cause of coming. But the Danaan lords.
And Agamemnon’s cohorts, when they spied
The hero’s armour gleaming through the shade,
Quake with vast fear: some, turning, fled, as erst
They sought the ships; some lift a meagre voice:
The would-be war-cry mocks their gaping mouths.
Ay, and the son of Priam here he saw,
Deiphobus — sore mangled all his frame.
Face and both hands rent cruelly, his ears
From the maimed temples shorn, and nostrils lopped
With shameful butchery. Nay, scarce knew he him,
Cowering and cloaking his rough chastisement,
Then in the oft-heard accents hailed him first:

“Deiphobus, thou warrior dread, and sprung
From Teucer’s lofty line, who listed, say.
To wreak such cruel vengeance, or who thus
Had power upon thee? To mine ears it came
On that last night of all, that, wearied out
With endless slaughter of Pelasgians, thou
Hadst on an heap of mingled carnage fallen.
Then I myself on the Rhoetean shore
Upreared an empty tomb, and with loud voice
Thrice called upon thy spirit: thy name and arms
Still mark the spot: thee, friend, I could not see
Nor lay, ere parting, in our native earth.”
Whereto the son of Priam: “In naught hast thou
Failed me, O friend, but to Deiphobus
And to the dead man’s shade hast quitted all.
But fate and the pernicious guilt of that
Laconian woman plunged me in this woe:
These tokens are by her bequeathed. For how
That latest night in treacherous joys we spent
Thou knowest, must e’en remember all too well.
When o’er the lofty citadel of Troy
Leapt at a bound the doom-fraught horse, and bare
Armed soldiery within its labouring womb,
She feigned a solemn dance, and, leading round
The Phrygian dames with Bacchic revelling-cries.
Held in their midst herself a mighty torch.
And called the Danai from the fortress-height.
Then I with trouble spent, weighed down with sleep,
Was holden of our ill-starred bridal bower.
Lying with deep sweet slumber overwhelmed,
Deep as the calm of death. My peerless wife
Meanwhile all arms from out the palace moves —
The true sword first from ’neath my pillow filched —
Calls Menelaus in, throws wide the door,
Hoping forsooth that to her lover this
Would prove a mighty boon, and so be quenched
The fame of old offences. Why delay?
They burst into my chamber: joins their crew,
Prompter of crimes, the son of Aeolus.
Ye gods, like measure to the Greeks repay.
If with pure lips revenge I claim. But come,
Tell me in turn what chance brings hither thee,
A living man: by ocean-wanderings led,
Or at the best of heaven? What fortune, say,
Spurs thee to seek the sad, unsunned abodes,
Regions of Chaos? “In this interchange
Of talk, Aurora in her rosy car
Had crossed the mid pole on her path through heaven;
And haply all the allotted time they thus
Had wasted, but the Sibyl at his side
Spake a brief warning word: “Night comes apace,
Aeneas, and we with weeping wear the hours.
This is the spot where splits the road in twain:
The right leads to the giant walls of Dis,
Our way to Elysium: but the left wreaks wrath
On sinners, and to guilty Tartarus sends.”
Deiphobus made answer: “Be not wroth,
Great priestess; I will hence, fill up the tale,
To darkness get me back. Our glory, go,
Go, entertain a happier fate.” Thus far
He spake, and, speaking, turned his steps away.
Aeneas looks swiftly back, and ’neath a rock
Sees leftward a wide fort, with triple wall
Girded: and round it a fierce torrent goes
Of billowy fire, Tartarean Phlegethon,
Who hurls the rocks in thunder: full in front
A vast gate, columns of solid adamant!
So that no might of man, nay, not the hosts
Of heaven avail to shatter it in war.
An iron tower stands skyward, where enthroned.
Girt with a gory robe, Tisiphone
Guards sleeplessly the threshold, night and day.
Hence groans are heard, and sound of cruel stripes
And clank of iron, and trailing chains, Aeneas
Stopped, and stood rooted, by the din dismayed.

“What shapes of crime are here, O maiden, say;
With what pains visited? What cry so swells
To heaven? “Then thus the prophetess began:
“Famed Teucrian leader, no pure foot may tread
The accursed floor: but Hecate herself.
What time she set me o’er the Avernian groves,
Taught me the punishments of heaven, and led
Through all its precincts. Here — an iron reign —
Rules Gnosian Rhadamanthus, of dark crimes
Both punisher and judge, from guilty lips
Extorting whatso’ any upon earth,
Exulting in the empty cheat, hath left
Of sins inexpiate till the hour of death.
Straightway Tisiphone, armed with vengeful scourge,
Swinges and spurns the guilty, in her left
Brandishing snakes, and summoning the ranks
Of her fell sisters. Then the awful gates
Open at last upon harsh-grinding hinge.
Seest thou what warder sits before the door?
What grim shape guards the threshold? But within.
Monster of fifty throats black-yawning, keeps
Ward a yet fiercer Hydra. Therewithal
Lo! Tartarus self, that opes sheer down, and strikes
Into the nether darkness, twice so far,
As to Olympus’ skyey top and heaven
The eye scans upward. Here that ancient brood
Of earth, the Titan children, where the bolt
Felled them, lie wallowing in the deep abyss.
Here too beheld I, bodies of vast bulk,
The twin sons-of Aloeus, who essayed
With rude hands to tear ope the mighty heaven,
And hurl Jove downward from his throne on high.
Ay, and I saw Salmoneus suffering still
The cruel doom that fell while aping yet
Jove’s fire and thunders of Olympus: he.
Drawn by four horses, and with waving torch,
Through the Greek tribes and ’midst of Elis town
In triumph rode and claimed the rank of gods,
Madman! the clouds’ incomparable bolt
With brass to mock and tramp of hoofed steeds!
But through thick clouds the Sire Omnipotent
Let loose a shaft — no brand or smoky glare
Of pine-torch he — that with its mighty wind
Down drave him headlong: there too Tityos,
Nursling of Earth, all-mother, might be seen.
Whose bulk o’er nine whole acres stretched, the while
A crook-beak’d monstrous vulture, gnawing still
The imperishable liver and entrails rife
With anguish, digs for dainties, housing deep
Within his bosom, and no respite gives
To the requickened fibres. Why tell o’er
The Lapithae, Ixion, Peirithous,
On whom a black crag, ever like to slip,
Frowns and seems falling? the high festal couch
Shines golden-propped; the feast before their eyes
Is spread with royal splendour; hard at hand
The eldest of the Furies, couched, forbids
Their fingers touch the board, and up she starts
With torch high-lifted and loud-thundering mouth.
Those who their brethren loathed while life endured
Or smote a parent, or for client knit”
The mesh of fraud, or over treasures found
Brooded alone, nor meted to their kin —
The mightiest number these — or who were slain
For loves adulterous, or to rebel arms
Clave, and feared not with masters to break faith.
Prisoned, await their doom. Seek not to learn
What doom, what phase or fate, hath whelmed them. Some
Roll a vast stone, or racked on wheel-spokes hang;
Sits hapless Theseus and for aye will sit;
And Phlegyas, wretchedest of men, warns all,
And with loud voice bears witness through the shades;
Be taught, learn justice, and spurn not the gods.’
One sold for gold his country, on her neck
Planted a mighty tyrant, for a bribe
Made laws and unmade; one his daughter’s bed
Assailed,’ banned nuptials; all some monstrous guilt
Have dared, and of their daring reaped the joy.
Not though a hundred tongues, a hundred mouths
Were mine, a voice of iron, would these avail
To sum in gross and single all the crimes,
No, nor their penalties rehearse by name.”
So Phoebus’ aged priestess, and anon:

“Up! seize the path, fulfil the attempted task,
Speed we our steps,” she cried; “I see the walls
Reared by the Cyclops’ forges, and the gate.
With arch confronting, where they bid us lay
The appointed tribute.” She had said, and through
Dim ways they, striding side by side, snatch up
The intervening space, and near the doors,
Aeneas then takes the entrance, on his limbs
Sprinkles fresh water, and makes fast the bough
Full in the gateway. This at last performed,
The goddess’ dues accomplished, they arrived
The happy region and green pleasaunces
Of the blest woodlands, the abode of joy.
An ampler ether with purpureal light
Clothes here the plain; another sun than ours.
And other stars they know. Some ply their limbs
Upon the grassy wrestling-ground, and strive
In sport, and grapple on the tawny sand;
Some, footing, beat the dance, and chaunt the lay.
Here too the Thracian priest, with trailing robe,
Makes eloquent the seven divided notes
To match their measures, and, with fingers now,
And now with comb of ivory, strikes them. Here
Are Teucer’s ancient stock, a glorious line,
The high-souled heroes born in happier years,
Ilus, Assaracus, and Dardanus,
Founder of Troy. He marvels to behold
Their arms and ghostly chariots from afar.
The spears stand fixed in earth; their steeds, unyoked,
Roam grazing o’er the plain. What pride had each.
Alive, in arms and chariot, or what pains
To pasture his sleek steeds, the same no less
Attends them still, now hid beneath the earth.
Lo! some he sees to right hand and to left
Feasting along the greensward, or in choir
Chaunting a joyous paean, ’mid a grove
Of perfumed bay, whence risen Eridanus
Rolls wide through forests of the upper world
Here is the band of those who suffered wounds,
Fighting for country, or, while life remained.
Were priests and pure, or holy bards that spake
Things worthy Phoebus, or who sweetened life
With new-found arts, earning by service wrought
Of some to be remembered — these are all
With snow-white fillet bound about the brow.
Whom, pouring round, the Sibyl thus addressed,
Musaeus before all, for midmost he
Of that vast multitude their upward gaze
O’ertops with towering shoulders ‘Happy shades,
And thou, of bards the best, what region, say.
What haunt, now holds Anchises? for his sake
Have we come hither, and crossed the mighty floods
Of Erebus.” To her the hero thus
Brief answer made: “No fixed abode is here;
In shadowy groves we dwell, and make our home
The slope of banks, or freshet-quickened mead;
But, tends your heart’s wish thither, mount this ridge:
Soon will I set you on an easy track.”
He spake and strode before, and from the height
Shows them the shining levels; then they quit
The mountain-summits.
Sire Anchises now
Deep in a green dell lay with busy thought
The souls there pent surveying, thence to pass
Up to the light of heaven, and, as it chanced,
Was telling o’er the tale of all his kin.
The well-loved offspring of his seed to be.
Their fates, their fortunes, characters, and deeds.
But when advancing towards him o’er the sward
He saw Aeneas, both eager palms he stretched.
And his cheeks ran with tears, and from his lips
This utterance fell: “And art thou come at last,
And has the love long looked for by thy sire
Conquered the toilsome road? May I behold
Thy face, my son, and hear the well-known voice
And answer? So indeed with pondering heart
I deemed that it would be, counting the days;
Nor did my longing cheat me. O’er what lands
And what vast seas art borne to my embrace,
Tossed by what perils, O my son! What fears
Had I lest Libya’s realm should prove thy bane!”
But he: “It was thy mournful shade, my sire.
Ay thine, so oft appearing, drave me toward
These portals. Our ships ride the Tuscan main.
Give, father, give me thy right hand to clasp,
Nor from my arms withdraw thee.” Thus he spake.
Bathing his face, the while, with floods of tears.
Thrice, as he stood, his arms he sought to cast
About his neck; and thrice the baffled hands
Closed upon nothing, and a form that fled,
Like to light breezes, one with winged sleep.
Meanwhile Aeneas within the vale’s recess
Spies a sequestered grove, wood-whispering brakes,
And therewith Lethe-river, that flows by
The dwellings of repose. Here, round about,
Nations and peoples without number flew;
Even as in cloudless summer, when the bees
Settling on meadow-flowers, now this, now that.
Stream o’er the milk-white lilies, all the plain
Hums with their buzzing. At the sudden sight
Aeneas starts, and witless asks the cause.
And what those floods afar, and who be they
That throng the banks in multitude so vast.
Then Sire Anchises: “Souls, to whom are owed
By fate new bodies, they by Lethe’s stream
Drink heedless draughts of long forgetfulness.
These to tell o’er and show thee face to face
Long have I yearned, and count my seed to be,
That thou the rather may’st my joy partake
In Italy new-found.” “And must we deem.
Some spirits, sire, soar heavenward hence aloft.
And to their sluggish bodies back return?
Holds them so fond a longing for the light.
Unhappy souls? “”I will e’en tell thee, son,”
Replies Anchises, “nor prolong thy doubt,”
And all in order point by point reveals.

“Know first that heaven, the earth, the watery plains.
The moon’s bright orb, and Titan’s starry sphere —
These doth a spirit inly feed; a mind,
Its limbs pervading, stirs the whole mass through.
And with the vast frame mingles. Hence arise
Mankind, and beastkind, winged life, and what
The sea bears monstrous ’neath his marble floor.
Of fiery vigour, heavenly source, those germs,
Save as impaired by flesh corruptible,
Dulled with frames earthy, and limbs prone to death.
Hence they desire, and fear, and grieve, and joy.
Nor light of heaven can they discern, shut fast
In the blind darkness of their prison-house.
Nay, nor when life with its last beam departs.
Doth every ill, or all the body’s plagues,
Ah! hapless, leave them wholly; many a blot
Must, long ingrained there, cling in wondrous wise.
Therefore, by sorrow schooled, of their old ills
They pay the punishment: some hang exposed
To the void winds; some have the dye of guilt
Purged in vast whirlpool, or burnt out with fire.
Each his own weird we suffer — and then are sent
To range Elysium, and, some few, possess
Those happy fields — suffer, till lapse of time,
Now run full circle, shall eradicate
Each inbred blemish, and leave naught behind
But sense aethereal and pure spirit-fire.
These, having whirled a thousand years away.
Are in a vast throng summoned all by God
To Lethe’s stream, that, memory lost, they may
Heaven’s vault revisit, and a wish beget
Into the body to return once more.”
Anchises ceased, and drawing thence his son
And eke the Sibyl into the mid press
And murmuring throng, takes stand upon a mound
Whence in long line he might peruse them all,
Full face, and learn their features, as they came.

“Come now, the Dardan offspring, and their fame
Hereafter following, from Italian stock
What seed awaits thee, spirits of renown.
Heirs of our name, I will unfold in words,
Thy fortunes teach thee. Yonder, whom thou seest,
A youth, and leaning on a headless spear.
Nearest to light hath drawn a place; he first
From the mixed strain of Italy shall rise
Into the air of heaven, an Alban name,
Silvius, thy youngest offspring, whom, late-born.
Child of old age, thy wife Lavinia
Shall in the forest rear to be a king
And sire of kings, from whom our race shall rule
In Alba Longa. Procas next to him.
Glory of Trojan race, and Capys too,
And Numitor, and, second of thy name,
Silvius Aeneas, excellent alike
In goodness and in arms, if ever he
Come to his Alban kingdom. Lo! what men!
What might, see, in their bearing! and their brows
With civic oak o’ershadowed! These for thee
Nomentum, Gabii, and Fidenae’s town,
These towered Collatium on the hills shall rear,
Pometia, and the fort of Inuus,
Bola, and Cora. Those shall then be names,
Now nameless lands. Ay, and the son of Mars
Shall Join him to his grandsire — Romulus,
Reared by his mother Ilia from thy blood,
Assaracus. Seest how the twin plumes stand
Upon his crest, and how his sire e’en now
By his own token marks him for a god?
Lo! ’neath his auspices yon glorious Rome
Shall bound, my son, her empire with the world.
Her pride with heaven, and with encircling wall
Clasp to her single heart the sevenfold hills,
Blest in a breed of heroes: even as when
The Berecyntian mother in her car
Rides through the Phrygian cities, turret-crowned.
Glad in her brood of godhead, as she clasps
A hundred children’s children, dwellers all
In heaven, and tenants of the heights above.
Both eyes turn hither now, this race behold.
Thine own, the Romans. Here is Caesar, here
The whole line of Iulus, that shall pass
One day beneath the mighty pole of heaven.
This, this the man so oft foretold to thee,
Caesar Augustus, a god’s son, who shall
The golden age rebuild through Latian fields
Once ruled by Saturn, and push far his sway
O’er Garamantians and the tribes of Ind,
A land that lies beyond the stars, beyond
The year’s path and the sun’s, where, prop of heaven.
Atlas upon his shoulder turns the pole.
Studded with burning constellations. See!
Even now, against his coming, Caspian realms
At the gods’ omens shudder; ay, and plains
Maeotic and the mouths of sevenfold Nile
Quake and are troubled. Not Alcides even
Traversed so much of earth, I trow, albeit
The brazen-footed hind he pierced, and stilled
The Erymanthian groves, and with his bow
Affrighted Lerna; nor who steers his car
With reins of vine-leaf, Liber, as he guides
From Nysa’s lofty crest his tiger-team.
And still by prowess to spread wide our power
Doubt we, and doth fear hinder us to tread
Ausonia’s land? But who is he afar
With olive-boughs conspicuous, in his hand
Vessels of sacrifice? I recognise
The locks and hoar beard of the Roman king.
Who shall the rising city base on law,
From lowly Cures and a land of need
Launched on a mighty empire. Next in turn
Comes Tullus, who shall break his country’s peace.
And stir ease-sunken warriors to the fray,
And ranks disused to triumphs; and hard on him
Ancus, o’erboastful, and too much e’en now
Caught by the breath of the vain multitude.
Wouldst see the Tarquin kings too, the proud soul
Of Brutus the avenger, and the rods
Of power retrieved? He first, with consul’s sway,
Shall the stern axes wield, and his own sons,
New strife upstirring, for fair freedom’s sake,
Bid to their-doom, unhappy one! Howe’er
Censured in after time, his country’s love
And boundless thirst for honour shall prevail.
The Decii and the Drusi too behold
Far off, Torquatus cruel with his axe,
Camillus bringing home the standards. Those
Whom yonder glittering in like arms thou seest,
Of one heart now and while in darkness penned,
Let but their eyes attain the light, alas!
Each against each, what wars will they provoke,
What stricken fields and carnage! From the Alps
Heaped barriers and Monoecus’ citadel
The sire descending, while his daughter’s lord
Confronts him with the armies of the East!
Make not a home within your hearts, my sons,
For strifes so cruel, nor the broad thews, she bred.
Bend at your country’s bosom. And thou first
Forbear, who from Olympus dost derive.
Fling from thine hand the weapons, O my blood!
He yonder to the Capitol on high
Shall drive his victor chariot, triumphing
O’er Corinth, for Achaean slaughter famed.
He Argos and Mycenae shall uproot.
City of Agamemnon, and the heir
Of Aeacus himself, from war-renowned
Achilles sprung, his ancestors of Troy
Avenging and Minerva’s outraged shrine.
Who thee, great Cato, would to silence leave.
Or thee, O Cossus? who the Gracchan clan,
Or the two Scipios, thunderbolts of war.
The bane of Libya, or Fabricius
Puissant in poverty, or Serranus, thee.
Sowing amid the furrow? I am spent.
And whither whirl ye me, O Fabii?
Thou art that Maximus, our mightiest, who
Alone by loitering dost the State restore.
Others the breathing brass shall softlier mould,
I doubt not, draw the lineaments of life
From marble, at.the bar plead better, trace
With rod the courses of the sky, or tell
The rise of stars: remember, Roman, thou
To rule the nations as their master: these
Thine arts shall be, to engraft the law of peace,
Forbear the conquered, and war down the proud.”
So Sire Anchises in their wondering ears
Spake, and yet further: “How Marcellus strides,
Look you, conspicuous with the splendid spoils,
Triumphant, and o’ertowering all men! he
Shall stay Rome’s empire, when invasion’s-storm
Beats fiercely, ride the Carthaginian down,
Ay, and the rebel Gaul, and dedicate
To Sire Quirinus the thrice-taken spoils.”
And here Aeneas, for at his side he saw
A youth of peerless form in radiant arms
Pacing, but with unjoyful brow, and glance
Dejected: “Who is he, my sire, who thus
Attends the hero as he steps? A son,
Or later offspring of his mighty race?
What buzzing crowds about them! his own mould
How mighty! but black night around his head
With harsh gloom hovers.” Sire Anchises then
With brimming tears began: “Seek not, my son,
To know thy kin’s vast sorrow; him to earth
Fate shall but show, nor grant a longer stay.
Too potent in your eyes, O gods, had seemed
The Roman stock, were such gifts given to keep.
What wail of heroes shall that field of Mars
Waft to his mighty city! what funeral-train
Shalt thou behold, O Tiber, as thy stream
Flows by the new-made tomb! No boy e’er bred
Of Ilian race shall to such height of hope
Uplift his Latian sires, nor e’er the soil
Of Romulus so boast her of a son.
Mourn for his goodness, for his old-world faith,
His hand in war unconquered! Man to man,
None could have grappled him unscathed, on foot
Strode he against the foeman, or with spur
Goaded the red flanks of his foaming steed.
O boy, our sorrow, if any way thou couldst
Burst the harsh bonds that doom thee, thou shalt be
Marcellus. ‘Bring me lilies with full hands.
The bright flowers let me strew, these gifts at least
Heap o’er his shade, and the vain tribute pay.”
So here and there, through the whole realm of mist,
In its broad fields they roam, surveying all.
And when Anchises had from end to end
Guided his’ son; and fired his soul with love
Of future fame, thereafter he makes known
What wars must next be waged, and teaches him
Of tribes Laurentian, and Latinus’ town.
And how to shun or suffer every toil.
There are twin gates of Sleep, whereof the one
Of horn is rumoured, and real spirits thereby
Win easy outlet; and one finished fair
Of gleaming ivory, but false dreams are thence
Sent by the Manes to the world above.
There with these words Anchises, following forth
His son and eke the Sibyl, sees them pass
Out at the ivory gate; the hero speeds
Fleetward, returning to his friends, then steers
Straight for Caieta’s port along the shore;
The prows drop anchor; the sterns press the beach.