Book VIII

When Turnus from his citadel flung out
The flag of war, and hoarse the clarions blared,
When his bold steeds he roused, and clashed his arms,
Straight every heart is stirred; all Latium thrills,
Leagued in one wild uprising, and her sons
Rage madly. From all sides the warrior chiefs
Messapus, Ufens, and Mezentius
The god-despiser, call their musters in.
And strip the wide fields of their husbandmen.
Then to the city of great Diomede,
To sue for succour, Venulus is sent
With tidings of a Teucrian host afoot
In Latium; that Aeneas, to their shores
Fleet-wafted, with his vanquished household-gods
Invades them, claims to be their destined king;
That to the Dardan lord cleaves many a tribe,
And louder and more loud through Latium’s breadth
His name is rumoured: what he builds on these
Beginnings, to what outcome of the fray.
Should fortune follow at his back, aspires —
This must to Diomede more plain appear
Than to King Turnus, or the Latin king.
So sets the tide through Latium. But the prince,
Laomedon’s great son, beholding all.
Is rocked upon a mighty sea of cares;
Hither and thither his swift mind he parts.
Speeds it all ways, and sweeps the round of thought:
As when from water in a brazen vat
A flickering beam, shot by the mirrored sun
Or bright moon’s image, flits from side to side
O’er all things, and at last up-mounting strikes
The fretted ceiling of the roof on high.
’Twas night, and weary creatures, the world o’er.
Both bird and cattle-kind, deep slumber held;
When sire Aeneas on the bank beneath
Heaven’s chilly vault, and by the dolorous war
Heart-troubled, stretched him, and let sleep at last
Steal o’er his limbs. To him appeared the god
Of that fair spot, he of the pleasant stream.
Old Tiber, rising ’mid his poplar-leaves;
Veiled in a grey-green mantle of fine lawn.
With shadowy reeds about his locks, he thus
In words addressed him, and his grief allayed:

“O heaven-descended, thou who bring’st us back
Troy’s city from the foeman, and preserv’st
Her towers for ever, on Laurentum’s soil
And Latium’s fields long-looked for, here for thee
Waits a sure dwelling — draw not back — and sure
Penates: nor be scared by threats of war:
All the gods’ swelling anger has died out;
And now, lest these things to thine eyes appear
A dream’s vain figment, thou shalt find anon.
Under the holm-oaks on the margin laid,
A mighty sow, with thirty head of swine
New-littered, white, stretched out along the ground,
White young about her udders; sign whereby
Ascanius in thrice ten returning years
Shall Alba found, of glorious name: I chant
No doubtful doom. Now, mark, the present need
How to despatch and triumph o’er, in brief
I’ll teach thee. The Arcadians on this coast,
A race derived from Pallas, in the train
Of King Evander following, have a site
Chosen, and built a city on the hills,
From their sire Pallas Pallanteum called.
These with the Latins wage perpetual war;
These welcome to thy tents, and knit with bonds
Of friendship. I myself betwixt the banks
And straight up stream will lead thee, that thou may’st
The adverse current conquer, oar-impelled.
Up, goddess-born! and with first set of star
Do homage meet to Juno, and disarm
With suppliant vows her wrath, her threats; to me
Thou shalt pay conqueror’s tribute. Lo! ’tis I,
Whom grazing here the banks with brimming flood
And cleaving the rich cornland thou behold’st,
Blue Tiber, river best-beloved of heaven.
Here my majestic dwelling soars aloft,
The crown of mighty cities.” He had said;
Into his deep pool plunged the river-god,
Seeking the bottom. Night and slumber left
Aeneas: he rises, and the Orient beam
Marks of the sun in heaven, then from the flood
Takes duly in the hollow of his hands
Water, and holds it, and pours forth to heaven
Such words as these: “O nymphs, Laurentian nymphs.
Whence rivers have their being, and thou too,
O Father Tiber, with thy hallowed flood,
Take to your care Aeneas, and at length
From perils fend him. Whencesoe’er upsprings
The pool that holds thee, pitier of our woes,
Where’er thou leapest into glorious birth.
Ever with offering, evermore with gifts.
By me shalt thou be graced, the horned stream,
Lord of Hesperian waters. Only grant
Thy presence, and with nearer token seal
The heavenly utterance.” Thus he spake, and chose
From out his fleet twin biremes, fits their decks
With oarsmen, and equips with arms the crew.
But lo! a sudden portent strange to see!
White, of one colour with her milk-white young.
Along the wood, on the green bank lay stretched
A sow, conspicuous; which to thee, to thee,
O mightiest Juno, good Aeneas slays
In sacrifice, and at the altar sets.
With all her offspring. Through that livelong night
Tiber his swelling stream assuaged, and so,
With refluent effort halting, hushed his tide,
That, like still pool or quiet mere, he spread
A watery plain, whereon the oar might lack
All labour. So with favouring shout they speed
Upon the voyage begun: the tarred pine slides
Along the surface: wonder holds the waves.
Wonder the unaccustomed grove, to see
The shields of warriors gleaming bright afar.
And the gay vessels gliding on the stream.
They with their rowing wear out night and day.
Pass the long bends, are roofed with divers trees,
And cleave green forests on the glassy flood.
The fiery sun to heaven’s mid cope had climbed,
When walls and citadel afar they spy.
And scattered house-roofs, which Rome’s power to-day
Has matched with heaven, then but the needy realm
Swayed by Evander. Shoreward speedily
They turn their prows, and to the town draw nigh.
Chanced on that day the Arcadian monarch paid
Due honour to Amphitryon’s mighty son
And the high gods, within a grove that faced
The city. His son Pallas, hard at hand.
With all the chiefs and simple senate, brought
Incense, and warm blood at the altar smoked.
Soon, as they saw the lofty ships glide in,
Thrid the dark woodland, and ply silent oars,
Scared at the sudden vision, all up-leap
And quit the board. But Pallas, undismayed,
Forbids break off the banquet, grasps a spear,
Speeds toward them, and from a far hillock cries:

“Warriors, what cause to try an unknown path
Constrains you? Whither fare ye? Of what race?
Sprung from what home? and bring ye peace or war?”
Then Sire Aeneas from the lofty stern
Speaks, in his hand a peaceful olive-branch
Out-stretching: “These are Trojans whom ye see;
Darts deadly but to Latins, who have spurned
And forced us into flight with wanton war.
We seek Evander: bear this message back.
And say the flower of Dardan chiefs are come
Craving an armed alliance.” At the sound
Of that great name Pallas stood thunderstruck:

“Whoe’er thou art, descend, and with my sire
Speak face to face, and enter the abode
Of hospitable hearth-gods”. So, with grasp
Of welcome, to the chiefs right hand he clave:
Forth through the grove they fare, and quit the stream.
Then courteously Aeneas hails the king:

“Best of the sons of Greece, to whom I pray —
So wills it Fortune — and come proffering boughs
With fillet decked, I feared not for that thou
A Danaan leader art, Arcadian-born,
And from the twin Atridae’s stem derived;
But my own worth, high auguries from heaven,
And our ancestral kinship, and thy fame
Spread through the world, have knit me to thy side,
And led me fain along the path of fate.
Dardanus, father of our Ilian town
And founder, to the Teucrians came of old,
Sprung from Electra the Atlantic, so
Greek legend saith; Electra was begot
Of mightiest Atlas, who up-shouldering bears
The orbs of heaven. Your sire is Mercury,
Whom Maia fair on chill Cyllene’s top
Conceived and bore; but Maia, if tales heard
Win credence, from the selfsame Atlas sprung.
Atlas, who holds aloft the starry heaven:
So branches from one blood the line of both.
On this relying, no embassage I planned.
No artful first approaches: me myself,
Yea mine own person, have I brought, and come
A suppliant to your doors. The selfsame race.
The Daunian, persecutes ourselves, as thee.
With cruel warfare; if they drive us forth,
’Twere all as one, think they, beneath their yoke
To thrust Hesperia wholly, and possess
Both seas that wash her shores, above, below.
Take and return our friendship; we have hearts
Valiant for war, high courage, and a youth
In action tried.”.Aeneas ceased. The king
Long since the speaker’s countenance and eyes
And his whole frame was scanning; then he makes
Brief answer: “Bravest of the sons of Troy,
Thus to receive, to recognise thee thus,
How fain am I! How I recall the words,
The voice, the features of thy sire, the great
Anchises! for I mind how Priam once.
Son of Laomedon, when he came to view
The realm of Hesione his sister, bound
For Salamis, passed thence and visited
Arcadia’s chill borders. In those days
The down of early manhood clothed my cheeks;
And I admired the Teucrian lords, admired
Laomedon’s great son, but high o’er all
Anchises towered. With youthful zeal I burned
To accost the hero, and clasp hand to hand.
Approaching, eagerly his steps I led
To Pheneus’ city. He, departing thence,
A glorious quiver gave me, Lycian shafts,
A gold-embroidered scarf, and bridles twain
All golden, which my Pallas owns to-day.
Therefore the hand ye seek is joined with yours
In treaty, and when first to-morrow’s dawn
Shall earth revisit, I will send you hence,
Glad of our succour, and with stores supply.
Meanwhile this yearly service, (since ye come
Hither as friends) which to defer were sin.
Keep with us, of your grace, and learn e’en now
To grow familiar at your comrades’ board.”
So saying, the viands and wine-cup, erst removed.
He bids set on afresh, with his own hand
Ranges the heroes on a grassy couch,
To a heap’d cushion of rough lion’s fell
Welcomes Aeneas, as most honoured guest.
And entertains him on a maple throne.
Then those appointed, with the altar-priest.
In emulous service bring roast flesh of steers,
Pile upon baskets Ceres’ hand-wrought boon.
And serve the wine-cup. There Aeneas feasts.
With him the Trojans, upon long bull’s chine
And sacrificial morsels. When at length
Hunger was ousted, lust of food appeased.
Spake King Evander: “These our solemn rites.
This wonted feast, this altar so divine.
No idle superstition, that knows not
The gods of old, hath ordered; as men saved
From deadly perils, O my Trojan guest.
These offerings pay we, and of right renew.
First look upon yon cliff-hung crag, and how
Huge blocks afar lie scattered, and void stands
The mountain-dwelling! Of down-tumbled rocks
How vast the havoc! Here was once a cave,
Deep-yawning inward, where, terrific shape,
Half-human Cacus dwelt, to the sun’s rays
Impenetrable; and evermore the ground
Reeked with fresh blood, and to its tyrannous doors
Hung nailed men’s faces, blanched with grim decay.
This monster’s sire was Vulcan; his the flames
Dark-issuing from his mouth, as on he strode
In bulk gigantic. To us also time
Brought in due course, at our desire, the aid
And advent of a god. For hard at hand
Alcides, mightiest of avengers, stood.
Now glorying in the slaughter and the spoils
Of triple Geryon, as this way he drove
His giant bulls, triumphant, while the kine
Filled vale and river-side. But Cacus now.
In a brute-frenzy, not to leave undared
Or unattempted aught of crime or guile.
Four bulls of peerless beauty stole from stall,
With heifers of surpassing mould to match.
These by the tail, no forward track to leave.
Into his cavern, with back-pointing steps.
He haled, and hid them in the gloomy rock:
No footprint led the seeker to the cave.
Meanwhile, when his full herds Amphitryon’s son
Would from their pasture shift, at point to go.
Bellowed the parting oxen; all the grove
O’erflows with their complaining, and the hills
Are clamorously forsaken. To that cry
One of the heifers from the cave’s vast depth
Lowed in response, and from her prison foiled
The hope of Cacus. In Alcides’ heart
Black-venomed wrath straight into fury blazed;
Seizing his arms and heavily knotted club,
Full speed he hies him up the skiey steep.
Then first our folk beheld Cacus afeard,
And trouble in his eyes: away he speeds
Swifter than Eurus, his feet wing’d with fear,
And seeks the cave: soon as, shut fast within,
He had burst the chains, and let the vast rock fall.
Which hung there by his father’s art and iron —.
Propped firm and barricaded thus the door,
Lo! he of Tiryns, in a frenzy of wrath.
Was close upon him, to this side and that
Turning his eyes, as each approach he scanned.
And gnashing with his teeth. Thrice he surveys.
Boiling with anger, Aventine’s whole hill.
Thrice tries in vain the rocky portal, thrice
Sinks wearied in the valley. A sharp peak
Stood there, with rocky sides up-rising sheer
Above the cave’s back, far as sight could soar,
Fit dwelling for foul birds to build in. This,
As headlong from the ridge it leftward leaned
Over the river, from the right he shook
Straining against it, and up-wrenched, and tore
Loose from its lowest roots, then suddenly
Launched forth; and, as he launched it, bellowed loud
The mighty welkin, and asunder leapt
The river banks, and the affrighted stream
Flowed backward. But the cave and ample hall
Of Cacus lay discovered, bare to view,
With its dark hollows yawning to their depth:
As if the rent earth should ope wide her mouth.
Unlock the infernal dwellings and disclose
The pale realm hated of the gods, whereby
The vasty gulf should from above be seen,
And the ghosts tremble, as floods in the light.
Him, then, quick-caught by the unlooked-for glare,
Pent in his rock-cage, uttering uncouth roars,
Alcides from above plies home with darts.
Calls every arm to aid him, and bombards
With boughs and mighty mill-stones. He, the while.
Escape none else remaining, from his jaws
Vomits a vast smoke, marvellous to tell.
Wraps in pitch darkness the whole den, and blots
All eyesight out, up-rolling from the abyss
One stifling night of blackness blent with fire.
This brooked not fierce Alcides: through the flames
With headlong bound he cast him, where the smoke
Was billowing densest, and the mighty cave
Boiled with black vapour. Cacus here he seized.
Still belching forth vain fires amid the gloom.
Locked limbs about him, and strangled as he clave,
Till his eyes started and his throat lacked blood.
Straight are the doors burst, the black den laid bare.
The stolen cattle and the theft forsworn
Shown to the eye of heaven; and by its feet
The hugh mis-shapen carcase is dragged forth.
Men’s souls cannot be sated, as they gaze
Upon the terrible eyes, face, bristling breast
Of the man-monster, and his fire-quench’d throat.
Hence sprang this high observance; and with joy
Have younger generations kept the day:
Potitius, the first founder, and the house
Pinarian, keeper of the sacred rites
Of Hercules, erected in the grove
This altar, which shall evermore be called
Mightiest, and mightiest evermore shall be.
Up, then, O warriors! such high deeds to grace
Garland your locks, hold forth the cup in hand,
Call on our common god, and with good will
Pour ye the wine.” He scarce had said, when lo!
About his locks the twy-hued poplars twine,
Shade dear to Hercules, festooned and hung,
And his right hand the sacred beaker clasped.
Then on the board right quickly one and all
Make glad libation, and the gods adore.
Evening meanwhile adown Olympus’ slope
Draws nearer; and the priests, Potitius first.
Marched, as was wont, skin-clad and carrying fire.
They spread the board afresh, new dainties bring
For the new feast, and heap the altars high
With groaning chargers. Then come forth to sing
The Salii round the altar-glow, brow-bound
With sprays of poplar; here a band of youths.
Of elders there, commemorate in song
The fame and feats of Hercules; how first
With grip of hand he strangled the twin snakes.
The monsters of his step-mother, anon
Dashed peerless cities to the ground in war,
Troy and Oechalia: how hard toil on toil.
As King Eurystheus’ vassal, he endured,
By cruel Juno’s doom. “Unconquerable,
Thou dost the cloud-begotten and twy-formed
Hylaeus slay and Pholus with thy might,
Thou too the Cretan monster, and the vast
Lion that dwelt beneath the Nemean rock.
Trembled at thee the Stygian lake, at thee
Hell’s warder, couched above his mumbled bones
In the blood-boultered cave: no bodily shape
E’er daunted thee, no, not Typhoeus’ self.
Up-towering armed; nor round thee, shiftless caught.
Reared Lerna’s worm its multitudinous head.
Hail, very child of Jove, to the high gods
An added glory! with propitious foot
To us and thine own rites draw kindly nigh.”
Such themes in song they celebrate, and crown
All with the cave of Cacus, and himself
Out-panting blasts of fire. To their loud din
The whole grove echoes and the hills resound.
Then, sacrifice done duly, one and all
Turn city-ward. The king, o’ercrept with age,
Moved onward, keeping ever at his side
Aeneas and his son, with various talk
Lightening the way. Aeneas on all around
Casts quick admiring eyes; spot after spot
Enthralls him; and with rapture he enquires
And learns the legends of the men of old.
Then, founder of Rome’s fortress on the height.
Spake King Evander: “In these woodlands once
Dwelt native Fauns and nymphs, a race of men
From tree-stocks sprung and stubborn hearts of oak.
Who had no rule, no art of life, nor knew
To yoke the steer, heap wealth, or husband it.
But fed on branches and rough hunting-fare.
Then from Olympus’ height first Saturn came,
Flying the arms of Jove, from his lost realm
An exile. He the untutored race, broadcast
Among the mountain-tops, together brought.
And learned them laws, and chose for the land’s name
Latium, since there safe-hidden he had lain.
Under his sceptre were the golden years
Men tell of, in such peace he ruled the folk;
Till a worse age and duller-hued crept in
Little by little, and wild rage of war,
And lust of having. Then the Ausonian host
And tribes Sicanian came; and many a time
The land of Saturn cast her name away;
Then kings arose, and with his monstrous bulk
Fierce Thybris, from whom we of Italy
Have since called Tiber’s river, when Albula
Lost its true olden name. Myself, from home
Outcast and exile, to the utmost bounds
Of ocean questing, the resistless might
Of Fortune and inevitable Fate
Here planted, by my mother’s dread behest,
The nymph Carmentis, driven, and by the word
And warrant of Apollo’s voice divine.”
He said, and passing thence the altar shows
And gate Carmental, name by Rome of yore
In honour of the nymph Carmentis given.
That prophetess of sooth, who first foretold
The future greatness of the Aeneadae
And Pallanteum’s glory. Next he shows
A vast grove which brave Romulus made serve
For Sanctuary, and ’neath the chill rock’s depth
Lupercal, by Parrhasian custom called
Of Pan Lycaean. And he shows the grove
Of sacred Argiletum, and invokes
The spot to witness, and recounts the death
Of his guest Argus. Hence he leads them on
To the Tarpeian Rock, the Capitol,
Gay-golden now, but whilom bristling rough
With woodland thickets. Its dread awe made quake
E’en then the fearful rustics; ay, e’en then
They shuddered at the forest and the rock.

“This grove,” said he, “this hill with leafy crown
Is a god’s dwelling, but what god’s, unknown.
Arcadia’s folk believe they oft have seen
Jove’s very hand the darkening aegis shake.
And summon up the storm-cloud. Here again
Two cities seest thou with dismantled walls.
Relics and records of the men of old:
One fort Sire Janus, and one Saturn, built —
This called Saturnia, that Janiculum.”
So parleying they drew nigh the roof where dwelt
Thrifty Evander, and saw cattle stray
Lowing within Rome’s Forum and superb
Carinae. When to his abode they came,
“These doors,” said he, “Alcides’ conquering feet
Once entered; him this palace hath contained.
Dare to spurn riches, O my guest, and shape
Thyself, too, worthy godship, and approach
All undisdainful of our humble hoard.”
He spake, and ’neath the roof-tree’s narrow slope
Led great Aeneas, and set him on a couch
Of strewn leaves, and a Libyan she-bear’s fell.
Night falls, and clasps the earth with dusky wings.
But Venus, mother-like, with no vain fear
Scared, and disturbed by the Laurentians’ threats
And rude up-rising, thus to Vulcan speaks.
And in her golden nuptial bower begins.
Breathing the love-tones of immortal lips:

“While Argive kings were ravaging with war
Troy’s doomed towers, and ramparts soon to sink
In hostile flames, no succour I, nor arms
Craved of thine art or power; nor, dearest lord.
Thee or thy travail would I tax for naught.
Deep though my debt to Priam’s sons, and oft
As my tears mourned Aeneas’ sore distress.
Now, by Jove’s sovereign word, his foot stands firm
Upon the Rutule shore: I therefore now
Come suing, and of the godhead I adore
Crave boon of arms, a mother for her son.
Thee Nereus’ daughter, thee Tithonus’ bride.
Could with their tears unbend. See what a league
Of nations, see what cities with closed gates
Now whet the sword, to uproot me and mine.”
The goddess ceased, and with the soft embrace
Of snowy arms about his body wound
Fondled him, as he faltered. Quick he caught
The wonted fire; the old heat pierced his heart.
Ran through his melting frame: as oftentimes
A fiery rift, burst by the thunder-clap,
Runs quivering down the cloud, with flash of light.
This saw his spouse, and at her guile rejoiced
In conscious beauty. Then thus spake the Sire,
Enthralled by love immortal: “Wherefore seek
Afar for pretexts? Whither then hath fled
Thy faith in me, my goddess? Nay, had’st thou
So yearned of yore, e’en then I had not sinned
To arm the Teucrians; nor the Almighty Sire,
Nor Fate forbad it, that for ten years yet
Troy-towers should stand, and Priam’s life endure.
And now, if war thou hast in hand to wage.
If such thy purpose, lo! what pains so-e’er
My craft can offer, what from ore of iron
Or molt’n electrum may be wrought, so far
As fire and air may stead thee — cease to pray.
Mistrustful of thy power.” So saying, he gave
The embrace he longed for, on her bosom sank.
And wooed calm slumber to o’er-glide his limbs.
Soon as the first repose had banished sleep,
Hard on the half-way course of driven night.
What time a woman, forced to eke out life
With distaff and Minerva’s slender toil.
Stirs up the embers of her slumbering fire,
To labour adding night, and by the glare
Plies hard her handmaids o’er the tedious task.
That she may keep her husband’s couch from stain
And rear her infant sons, not otherwise.
Nor than that hour more slothful, from soft bed
Rose to his anvil-work the lord of fire.
There is an isle hard by Sicania’s coast
That rises, and Aeolian Lipare,
With smoking rocks precipitous, wherebeneath
Thunders a cave, and Aetna’s vaults, scooped out
By Cyclopean forges; the strong strokes
Of anvils to the ear bring echoing groans;
Hisses the steel ore through its hollow depths,
And from its furnaces pants fire — the home
Of Vulcan, and Vulcania the land’s name.
Then hither from heaven’s height the lord of fire
Descends. In their vast cave the Cyclops-brood
Were forging iron, Brontes and Steropes,
And naked-limbed Pyracmon. By their hands
Shaped, and e’en now part-burnished, was a bolt
Such as the Sire from heaven’s wide cope to earth
Hurls many a time; part yet unfinished lay.
Three shafts of writhen shower, of watery cloud
Three, had they fused together, three of red
Flame and of winged south-wind, and were now
Mingling terrific flashes with the work.
And din, and dread, and wrath’s pursuing fires.
Elsewhere a chariot and swift-flying wheels
For Mars were they despatching, wherewithal
He rouseth men and cities, and eagerly
With serpent-scales of gold were burnishing
The terrible aegis, stormy Pallas’ arm.
Snakes intertwined, and on the goddess’ breast
The Gorgon’s self, throat-severed, and with eyes
Rolling. “Away with all! “he cried. “Take hence,
Aetnean Cyclopes, your unfinished tasks.
And hither hark ye: armour must be made
For a bold warrior. Now is need of strength.
Now of deft hands, and all your master-skill:
Spurn loitering! “There he ceased: they swiftly all
Bent to the task, like share to each assigned.
Flows brass in torrents, and flows ore of gold;
Melts in huge furnace the wound-working steel.
A mighty shield they shape, sole to withstand
All weapons of the Latins, welding it
Orb upon orb clenched sevenfold. Some, the while,
Working the windy bellows, in and out
Let the blasts drive; some dip i’ the water-trough
The sputtering brass: groans with their anvils’ weight
The cave-floor. They alternately in time
With giant strength uplift their arms, and turn
The massy metal with the forceps’ grip.
While on Aeolian shores the Lemnian sire
Speeds on the work, Evander the kind dawn
And matin-songs of birds beneath the eaves
Rouse from his lowly dwelling. The old man
Rises, and with a tunic clothes his limbs.
And binds Tyrrhenian sandals round his feet;
Then, fast to side and shoulder buckling on
A Tegean sword, flings back the panther’s hide
Low-drooping on his left: and therewithal
Twain watch-dogs from the lofty threshold go
Before him, and their master’s steps attend.
Toward the secluded chamber of his guest
Aeneas fared the hero, of their talk
Mindful, and his own promised boon. Nor less
Meanwhile Aeneas was astir betimes;
Beside him strode Achates, by the king
Pallas his son. Encountering they clasp hands.
Then, seated in the palace-midst, at length
Enjoy free converse. First the king began:

“O mightiest leader of the Teucrian host,
Who living, ne’er will I confess the realm
And power of Troy defeated, scant enow.
To match a name so famous, are our means
Of warlike aid; on one side hems us in
The Tuscan river, on one the Rutule foe
Presses, and thunders round our wall in arms;
But mighty tribes, a camp with kingdoms rich
With thee to knit I purpose — safety shown
By chance unlocked for. At the call of Fate
Hither thou wendest. Not far distant lies
A peopled city, reared of ancient stone,
Agylla, where the war-famed Lydian race
Once had their home upon the Etruscan heights.
Full many a year it flourished, and then passed
’Neath the proud sceptre and fierce iron sway
Of King Mezentius. Why the tale repeat —
His impious butcheries and mad tiger-deeds?
Hoard them, ye gods, on his own head to fall,
And on his children’s! Nay, he would e’en link
Dead corpses to the quick, hand locked to hand,
And mouth to mouth — grim torment — and so steeped
In the rank moisture of that vile embrace
By lingering death destroy them. But at length.
Sick of his frantic raging, his own folk
Hie them to arms, close king and palace round.
Cut down the guards, and at the roof fling fire.
He, ’mid the carnage, safe to Rutule soil
Flies, and finds shelter with the friendly host
Of Turnus. All Etruria hereupon
Hath risen in righteous fury, and reclaims
Her king for vengeance. Of these thousands I
Will make thee chief, Aeneas: for their ships
O’er all the shore throng clamouring, and bid march
To battle, whom their aged seer restrains.
Thus chanting doom: ‘Maeonia’s chosen hearts,
Prime flower and pith of a brave race of old.
Whom righteous anger hurls upon the foe.
Fired with just wrath against Mezentius, none
Italian-born so proud a race may tame;
Choose outland leaders’. Then the Etruscan host.
By the gods’ warning scared, on yonder plain
Reposed them. Tarchon to myself hath sent
Envoys, with crown and sceptre of the realm.
The signs of empire to my charge commits.
Bids join the camp, assume the Etruscan sway.
But me the numbing frost of time-worn eld,
And strength past exploit, grudge the high command.
My son I had urged, but that his mother’s blood
Blent him a Sabine and half native here.
Thou who in years and lineage both alike
Of Fate art favoured, whom the heavens demand.
Go forth, most valiant leader of the sons
Of Troy and Italy. Ay, and with thee
Pallas, my comfort and life’s hope, I’ll send;
Thy scholar, let him learn to brook the field
And the stern work of war, thy deeds behold.
And thee from youth’s first opening years admire.
Arcadian horse two hundred, our picked strength
Of manhood, I will give him, and the like
Pallas in his own name shall give to thee.”
Scarce had he said: Aeneas, Anchises’ son.
And true Achates, with eyes earthward bent,
On many a peril mournfully ’gan muse.
But that the Cytheraean from clear skies
Gave signal: for, unlooked for, out of heaven
Came quivering flash and thunder-peal, and all
Seemed sudden to reel round them, and anon
A Tyrrhene trumpet-clang through heaven to blare.
Upward they glance; again and yet again
Crashed the vast din; then, canopied in cloud
Amid a stormless region of clear air,
Lo! the red gleam and thunderous shock of arms.
Others stood heart-amazed, but in that sound
Troy’s hero knew his heavenly mother’s pledge.
Then, “Seek not, O my host, seek not,” he cried,
“What fate the portent bodes; ’tis I am called
From heaven. This sign the goddess who me bare
Foretold, should war assail us, she would send.
And wafted through the air from Vulcan bring
Armour to aid me. What vast carnage now
Hangs o’er the doomed Laurentines! What a price,
O Turnus, shalt thou pay me! ’Neath thy tide
How many shields, helms, bodies of the brave
Wilt roll, O father Tiber! Let them call
Their armies out, and snap the cords of peace!”
So saying, he gat him from his lofty seat,
And first with fire to Hercules awakes
The slumbering altars, and with joy draws nigh
The Lar of yesterday, and hearth-gods small.
Alike Evander and Troy’s youth alike
Slay duly chosen victims. To the ships
Then hies the hero, and reseeks the crews.
And of their number culls the flower of war
To follow him afield; the remnant left
Ride on the downward stream, and idly float
With favouring current, to return and tell
Ascanius of their fortunes and his sire.
To Teucria’s sons for Tyrrhene borders bound
Chargers are given; a steed of choice they lead
Forth for Aeneas, in tawny lion’s skin
Housed wholly, that gleamed out with claws of gold.
Noised through the little town swift rumour flies
That to the palace of the Tyrrhene king
Horsemen are speeding. Mothers then for fear
Their vows redouble; more close on peril treads
Panic, and larger looms the shape of war.
Then to his son’s right hand, at point to go,
Fast clings Evander, and insatiate weeps.

“Ah! would but Jupiter,” he cries, “give back
The years departed, and the man I was
When close beneath Praeneste I mowed down
The foremost ranks, kindled the heaped shields
Victorious, and to nether darkness hurled
With this right hand King Erulus! to him,
Her son, Feronia at his birth had given —
Fearful to tell — a triple life to live,
Thrice to bear arms, thrice o’er to be in death
Down-stricken: yet him of all his lives that day
This right hand robbed, and stripped of arms to match.
Ne’er from thy dear embrace had I been torn.
As now, my son; nor on this neighbour-head
With armed insult had Mezentius dealt
Carnage so cruel, nor of so many sons
Bereaved my city. But O, ye powers above.
And Jupiter, prime potentate of heaven,
Pity, I you beseech, Arcadia’s king,
And hear a father’s prayer: ‘If your dread wills.
If Fate, keep whole my Pallas, if life be
Once more to see and meet him, then for life
I beg, all burdens can with patience bear.
But, if some dire mischance thou threatenest, now.
Now, Fortune, let me snap life’s cruel thread,
While sorrow masks her meaning, while hope hangs
Uncertain of the future, while I hold
Thee, boy beloved, my late and lone delight.
Clasped thus, nor heavier tidings wound mine ear.”
Such final farewell words the sire outpoured,
Then swooned, and by his serfs was borne within.
Now had the horse-troop through the open gates
Issued: Aeneas at their head with true
Achates came; then other lords of Troy.
Pallas himself midmost the column rode.
With scarf and inwrought arms conspicuous seen:
As when the dawn-star, washed in ocean’s wave.
Dearer to Venus than all stellar fires,
Up-lifts in heaven his sacred head and melts
The darkness. Mothers on the ramparts stand
Trembling, and following with their eyes afar
The dust-cloud, and the squadrons bright with brass.
They through the brushwood, where the journey’s end
Lay nearest, move in arms: a shout goes up.
And in formed column, hark! the four-foot tramp
Of galloping horse-hoofs shakes the crumbling plain.
There is a vast grove near cold Caere’s stream.
Wide-worshipped with ancestral awe; a cirque
Of hollow hills enfolds it, with black pine
Girdling the forest. ’Twas dedicate, folk tell,
Both grove and feast-day, to Silvanus, god
Of field and flock, by the Pelasgians old,
Who erst within the Italian borders dwelt.
Not far from hence, camped in a sheltered spot,
Were Tarchon and the Etruscans; all their host
From the high hill-top might be seen outspread
Along the tented fields. Hither repair
Aeneas and his chosen warrior train.
And for tired limbs and horses find repose.
But Venus, the white goddess, gifts in hand,
Now through the clouds of heaven drew near, and when
Her son she spied in the lone vale afar.
By the cool stream sequestered, with such words
Hailing, she flashed her presence on his sight:

“Lo! by my lord’s skill perfected, I bring
The promised boon, that thou not shrink, my son,
Or proud Laurentians or keen Turnus’ self
To bid to battle”. Cytherea spake.
And sought her son’s embrace: the gleaming arms
Beneath a fronting oak she set. He, glad
Of the divine gift and deep honour done.
Gazes insatiate, and from point to point
Lets his eyes wander, and admires, and turns
’Twixt hand and arm the terrible crested helm
Out-darting fires, and the death-dealing sword.
And stiff brass-tempered corslet, blood-red, huge:
As when a dark blue cloud from the sun’s rays
Takes fire, and gleams afar; then the smooth greaves —
Electrum and twice smelted gold — the spear
And inexpressive fabric of the shield.
There had the Fire-lord, skilled in prophet-lore.
Nor witless of the future, wrought the tale
Of Italy, the triumph-roll of Rome,
There all the kindred of the race to be.
Sprung from Ascanius, and the wars they waged,
One after one; thereon too he had wrought
The parent-wolf in the green cave of Mars
Lying outstretched; around her teats the twins
Hung playing, and to their mother set their lips
Undaunted; she, with shapely neck bent back,
Fondles by turns, and moulds them with her tongue.
Nor far from hence he had portrayed withal
Rome, and the Sabine maidens’ lawless rape
In the thronged seats at the great Circus-games,
And a new war up-starting, as the sons
Of’ Romulus with aged Tatius closed
And his stern Cures. Next, the strife allayed,
Lo! these two kings were standing armed before
Jove’s altar, cup in hand, as each with each
They knit firm treaty o’er a slaughtered swine.
Hard by, the four-horse cars swift-driven had torn
Mettus in twain — thou should’st have kept thine oath,
O Alban! — through the brake the liar’s limbs
Tullus is haling; the splashed thorns drip blood.
Here too Porsenna, bidding them take back
The banished Tarquin, with a mighty siege
Hemmed in the city, while Aeneas’ sons
Rushed on the sword for freedom. You might see
Wrath’s semblance, ay, and menace in his face.
That Codes should so dare break down the bridge,
And Cloelia, with snapped fetters, swim the flood.
There on the top of the Tarpeian hold,
Manlius, before the temple standing guard,
Held the high Capitol, the royal roof
New-bristling with the thatch of Romulus.
And here, in gilded colonnades, the goose
Fluttered in silver, shrieking that the Gauls
Were at the gate; and lo! the Gauls were near
Among the brushwood, hard upon the height,
Shielded by darkness and night’s cloudy boon.
Of gold their locks, and golden their attire;
They glitter in striped cloaks, their milk-white necks
Circled with gold; two Alpine javelins each
They brandish, and long bucklers guard their limbs.
And here the dancing Salii he had forged.
And bare Luperci, the wool-tufted caps.
And shields that fell from heaven: and through the streets
Chaste matrons the high pomp on cushioned cars
Were leading. Far from hence hereto he adds
The halls Tartarean, lofty doors of Dis,
And dooms of sin, and, on the sheer rock poised,
Thee, Catiline, by Fury-faces scared.
And in sequestered seats the good — to them
Cato dispensing justice. Thereamidst
Rolled wide the semblance of the swelling main
Golden, but with hoar billows foamed the blue;
And dolphins of bright silver, circling round.
Swept ocean with their tails, and cleft the tide.
And fleets of brass i’ the centre could be seen.
The battle-lines of Actium; you might mark
Leucate all a-glow with war’s array.
And billows gleaming gold. Here to the strife
Caesar Augustus leading forth the host
Of Italy, with fathers and with folk,
The hearth-gods and the mighty gods of heaven,
Stands on the lofty stern; from his bright brows
Shoot two-fold fires, and his ancestral star
Dawns overhead. Elsewhere Agrippa towers,
Leading the line with winds and gods to aid;
Bright gleam his temples — proud device of war —
Beaked with the naval crown. Antonius here
With host barbaric and with motley arms,
Triumphant from the peoples of the dawn
And the Red Sea, brings Aegypt in his train,
The Orient’s strength, and utmost Bactria,
Followed, O shame! by his Egyptian bride.
Lo! all rush on together; the whole deep foams,
With in-drawn oars and triple beaks up-torn.
Sea-ward they press; thou’dst deem the Cyclades
Up-rooted swam the main, or mountains tall
Crashed against mountains, with such monstrous weight
The warriors mass them on the tower-crowned poops.
Hurled from the hand are showers of flaming tow
And wing’d steel missiles: with new carnage blush
The fields of Neptune. In their midst the queen
With native timbrel cheers her ranks, nor sees
As yet the twin snakes threatening from the rear.
Barking Anubis and strange-bodied gods
Of every kindred, against Neptune ranged
And Venus and Minerva, poise their darts.
Storms Mavors in the battle’s midst, embossed
In iron, with the fell Furies from on high;
And, in rent robe rejoicing, Discord stalks,
Bellona at her heels with blood-stained scourge.
Actian Apollo saw, and from above
His bow was bending: at whose terror all
Aegypt and Ind, with Arabs, every man,
And all the sons of Saba, turned aback.
The queen herself to gales that heard her cry
Seemed spreading canvas, and now, now in act
To slip the loosened sheet. The lord of fire
Had fashioned her pale-faced with coming death
Amid the fray, borne on by wave and wind;
And opposite, in all his mighty bulk
Mourns Nilus, and throws open fold on fold.
With wide-spread vesture welcoming the rout
To his blue lap and watery fastnesses.
But Caesar, here in triple triumph borne
Within Rome’s ramparts, to Italia’s gods
Was dedicating through the city’s breadth
Three hundred mighty fanes, his deathless vow;
With gladness, games, and shouting the streets rang.
In all the fanes were matron-bands, in all
Were blazing altars; at each altar-foot
Slain bullocks strewed the ground. The hero’s self
On fire-bright Phoebus’ snowy threshold throned.
Tells o’er, and hangs above those haughty gates.
The gifts of nations. In long pomp wind on
The vanquished peoples, manifold of speech,
As in the fashion of their garb and gear.
Here Mulciber the nomad race had formed.
And ungirt Africans, the Leleges
And Cares, and Gelonian arrow-men;
There went Euphrates now with humbler wave,
And, utmost of mankind, the Morini,
The horned Rhine, and Dahae unsubdued,
And proud Araxes chafing to be bridged.
Such marvels sees he traced on Vulcan’s shield.
His mother’s gift, and glorying in the signs
Of things he knows not, high on shoulder heaves
The fame and fortunes of his sons to be.