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The Aeneid of Virgil
Book Two
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ARGUMENT
AEneas' story.--The Greeks, baffled in battle, built a wooden horse,
in which their leaders took ambush. Their fleet sailed to Tenedos.
The Trojans, but for Capys and Laocoon, had dragged the horse
forthwith as a trophy into Troy (1-72). Sinon, a Greek, brought
before Priam, feigns righteous indignation against Greece. The
Trojans sympathise and believe his story of wrongs done him by
Ulysses (73-126). "When Greek plans of flight had often," says Sinon,
"been foiled by storms, oracles foretold that only a human sacrifice
could purchase their escape." Chosen for victim, Sinon had fled. He
solemnly declares the horse to be an offering to Pallas. "Destroy
it, and you are lost. Preserve it in your citadel, your revenge is
assured" (127-222). Treachery triumphs. Laocoon's cruel fate is
ascribed to his sacrilegious attack upon the horse, which is brought
with rejoicing into Troy, despite a last warning, from Cassandra
(223-288). While Troy sleeps, the fleet returns, and Sinon releases
the Greeks from the horse (289-315). Hector's wraith warns AEneas
in a dream to flee with the sacred vessels and images (316-351), and
Panthus brings news of Sinon's treachery. The city is in flames.
AEneas heads a forlorn hope of rescue (352-441). He and his followers
exchange armour with certain Greeks slain in the darkness. The ruse
succeeds until they are taken for enemies by their friends. The
Greeks rally. The Trojans scatter. At Priam's palace a last stand
is made, but Pyrrhus forces the great gates, and the defenders are
massacred (442-603). Priam's fate.--The sight of his headless corpse
draws AEneas' thoughts to his own father's danger. Hastening
homewards he espies Helen, and is pausing to take vengeance and her
life, when (604-711) Venus intervening opens his eyes to see the gods
aiding the Greeks (712-756). AEneas regains his home.
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Anchises
obstinately refuses to flee, until a halo is seen about the head of
Ascanius (757-828), whereupon he accepts the omen and yields. The
escape.--In a sudden panic Creusa is lost (829-900). AEneas, at peril
of his life, is seeking her throughout the city, when her wraith
appears and bids him away. "She is dead in Troytown: in Italy empire
awaits him." She vanishes: day dawns: and AEneas, with Anchises and
the surviving Trojans, flees to the hills (901-972).
I. All hushed intent, when from his lofty seat
Troy's sire began, "O queen, a tale too true,
Too sad for words, thou biddest me repeat;
How Ilion perished, and the Danaan crew
Her power and all her wailful realm o'erthrew:
The woes I saw, thrice piteous to behold,
And largely shared. What Myrmidon, or who
Of stern Ulysses' warriors can withhold
His tears, to tell such things, as thou would'st have re-told?
II. "And now already from the heaven's high steep
The dewy night wheels down, and sinking slow,
The stars are gently wooing us to sleep.
But, if thy longing be so great to know
The tale of Troy's last agony and woe,
The toils we suffered, though my heart doth ache,
And grief would fain the memory forego
Of scenes so sad, yet, Lady, for thy sake
I will begin,"--and thus the sire of Troy outspake;
III. "Broken by war, long baffled by the force
Of fate, as fortune and their hopes decline,
The Danaan leaders build a monstrous horse,
Huge as a hill, by Pallas' craft divine,
And cleft fir-timbers in the ribs entwine.
They feign it vowed for their return, so goes
The tale, and deep within the sides of pine
And caverns of the womb by stealth enclose
Armed men, a chosen band, drawn as the lots dispose.
IV. "In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle
Renowned and rich, while Priam held command,
Now a mere bay and roadstead fraught with guile.
Thus far they sailed, and on the lonely strand
Lay hid, while fondly to Mycenae's land
We thought the winds had borne them. Troy once more
Shakes off her ten years' sorrow. Open stand
The gates. With joy to the abandoned shore,
The places bare of foes, the Dorian lines we pour.
V. "Here camped the brave Dolopians, there was set
The tent of fierce Achilles; yonder lay
The fleet, and here the rival armies met
And mingled. Some with wonder and dismay
The maid Minerva's fatal gift survey.
Then first Thymaetes cries aloud, to go
And through the gates the monstrous horse convey
And lodge it in the citadel. E'en so
His fraud or Troy's dark fates were working for our woe.
VI. "But Capys and the rest, of sounder mind,
Urge us to tumble in the rolling tide
The doubtful gift, for treachery designed,
Or burn with fire, or pierce the hollow side,
And probe the caverns where the Danaans hide.
Thus while they waver and, perplext with doubt,
Urge diverse counsels, and in parts divide,
Lo, from the citadel, foremost of a rout,
Breathless Laocoon runs, and from afar cries out;
VII. "'Ah! wretched townsmen! do ye think the foe
Gone, or that guileless are their gifts? O blind
With madness! _Thus_ Ulysses do ye know?
Or Grecians in these timbers lurk confined,
Or 'tis some engine of assault, designed
To breach the walls, and lay our houses bare,
And storm the town. Some mischief lies behind.
Trust not the horse, ye Teucrians. Whatso'er
This means, I fear the Greeks, for all the gifts they bear.'
VIII. "So saying, his mighty spear, with all his force,
Full at the flank against the ribs he drave,
And pierced the bellying framework of the horse.
Quivering, it stood; the hollow chambers gave
A groan, that echoed from the womb's dark cave,
Then, but for folly or Fate's adverse power,
His word had made us with our trusty glaive
Lay bare the Argive ambush, and this hour
Should Ilion stand, and thou, O Priam's lofty tower!
IX. "Lo, now to Priam, with exulting cries,
The Dardan shepherds drag a youth unknown,
With hands fast pinioned, and in captive guise.
Caught on the way, by cunning of his own,
This end to compass, and betray the town.
Prepared for either venture, void of fear,
The crafty purpose of his mind to crown,
Or meet sure death. Around, from far and near,
The Trojans throng, and vie the captive youth to jeer.
X. "Mark now the Danaans' cunning; from one wrong
Learn all. As, scared the Phrygian ranks to see,
Confused, unarmed, amid the gazing throng,
He stood, 'Alas! what spot on earth or sea
Is left,' he cried, 'to shield a wretch like me,
Whom Dardans seek in punishment to kill,
And Greeks disown?'--Touched by his tearful plea,
We asked his race, what tidings, good or ill,
He brings, for hope, perchance, may cheer a captive still.
XI. "Then he, at length his show of fear laid by,
'Great King, all truly will I own, whate'er
The issue, nor my Argive race deny.
This first; if fortune, spiteful and unfair,
Hath made poor Sinon wretched, fortune ne'er
Shall make me false or faithless;--if the name
Of Palamedes thou hast chanced to hear,
Old Belus' progeny, if ever came
To thee or thine in talk the rumour of his fame,
XII. "'Whom, pure of guilt, on charges false and feigned,
Wroth that his sentence should the war prevent,
By perjured witnesses the Greeks arraigned,
And doomed to die, but now his death lament,
His kinsman, by a needy father sent,
With him in boyhood to the war I came,
And while in plenitude of power he went,
And high in princely counsels waxed his fame,
I too could boast of credit and a noble name.
XIII. "'But when, through sly Ulysses' envious hate,
He left the light,--alas! the tale ye know,--
Stricken, I mused indignant on his fate,
And dragged my days in solitude and woe,
Nor in my madness kept my purpose low,
But vowed, if e'er should happier chance invite,
And bring me home a conqueror, even so
My comrade's death with vengeance to requite.
My words aroused his wrath; thence evil's earliest blight;
XIV. "'Thenceforth Ulysses sought with slanderous tongue
To daunt me, scattering in the people's ear
Dark hints, and looked for partners of his wrong:
Nor rested, till with Calchas' aid, the seer--
But why the thankless story should ye hear?
Why stay your hand? If Grecians in your sight
Are all alike, ye know enough; take here
Your vengeance. Dearly will my death delight
Ulysses, well the deed will Atreus' sons requite.'
XV. "Then, all unknowing of Pelasgian art
And crimes so huge, the story we demand,
And falteringly the traitor plays his part.
'Oft, wearied by the war, the Danaans planned
To leave--and oh! had they but left--the land.
As oft, to daunt them, in the act to fly,
Storms lashed the deep, and Southern gales withstand,
And louder still, when towered the horse on high
With maple timbers, pealed the thunder through the sky.
XVI. "'In doubt, we bade Eurypylus explore
Apollo's oracle, and back he brought
The dismal news: _With blood, a maiden's gore,
Ye stilled the winds, when Trojan shores ye sought.
With blood again must your return be bought;
An Argive victim doth the God demand._
Full fast the rumour 'mong the people wrought;
Cold horror chills us, and aghast we stand;
Whom doth Apollo claim, whose death the Fates demand?
XVII. "'Then straight Ulysses, 'mid tumultuous cries,
Drags Calchas forth, and bids the seer unfold
The dark and doubtful meaning of the skies.
Many e'en then the schemer's crime foretold,
And, silent, saw my destiny unrolled.
Ten days the seer, as shrinking to reply
Or name a victim, did the doom withhold;
Then, forced by false Ulysses' clamorous cry,
Spake the concerted word, and sentenced me to die.
XVIII. "'All praised the sentence, pleased that one alone
Should suffer, glad that one poor wretch should bear
The doom that each had dreaded for his own.
The fatal day was come; the priests prepare
The salted meal, the fillets for my hair.
I fled, 'tis true, and saved my life by flight,
Bursting my bonds in frenzy of despair,
And hidden in a marish lay that night,
Waiting till they should sail, if sail, perchance, they might.
XIX. "'No hope have I my ancient fatherland,
Or darling boys, or long-lost sire to see,
Whom now perchance, the Danaans will demand,
Poor souls! for vengeance, and their death decree,
To purge my crime, in daring to be free.
O by the gods, who know the just and true,
By faith unstained,--if any such there be,--
With mercy deign such miseries to view;
Pity a soul that toils with evils all undue.'
XX. "So, moved at length to pity by his tears,
We spare him. Priam bids the cords unbind,
And thus with friendly words the captive cheers;
'Whoe'er thou art, henceforward blot from mind
The Greeks, and leave thy miseries behind.
Ours shalt thou be; but mark, and tell me now,
What means this monster, for what use designed?
Some warlike engine? or religious vow?
Who planned the steed, and why? Come, quick, the truth avow.'
XXI. "Then schooled in cunning and Pelasgian sleights,
His hands unshackled to the stars he spread;
'Ye powers inviolate, ever-burning lights!
Ye ruthless swords and altars, which I fled,
Ye sacred fillets, that adorned my head!
Freed is my oath, and I am free to lay
Their secrets bare, and wish the Danaans dead.
Thou, Troy, preserved, to Sinon faithful stay,
If true the tale I tell, if large the price I pay.
XXII. "'All hopes on Pallas, since the war begun,
All trust was stayed. But when Ulysses, fain
To weave new crimes, with Tydeus' impious son
Dragged the Palladium from her sacred fane,
And, on the citadel the warders slain,
Upon the virgin's image dared to lay
Red hands of slaughter, and her wreaths profane,
Hope ebbed and failed them from that fatal day,
The Danaans' strength grew weak, the goddess turned away.
XXIII. "'No dubious signs Tritonia's wrath declared.
Scarce stood her image in the camp, when bright
With flickering flames her staring eyeballs glared.
Salt sweat ran down her; thrice, a wondrous sight!
With shield and quivering spear she sprang upright.
"Back o'er the deep," cries Calchas; "nevermore
Shall Argives hope to quell the Trojan might,
Till, homeward borne, new omens ye implore,
And win the blessing back, which o'er the waves ye bore."
XXIV. "'So now to Argos are they gone, to gain
Fresh help from heaven, and hither by surprise
Shall come once more, remeasuring the main.
Thus Calchas warned them; by his words made wise
This steed, for stol'n Palladium, they devise,
To soothe the outrag'd goddess. Tall and great,
With huge oak-timbers mounting to the skies,
They build the monster, lest it pass the gate,
And like Palladium stand, the bulwark of the State.
XXV. "'"Once had your hands," said Calchas, "dared profane
Minerva's gift, dire plagues" (which Heaven forestall
Or turn on him) "should Priam's realm sustain;
But if by Trojan aid it scaled your wall,
Proud Asia then should Pelops' sons enthrall,
And children rue the folly of the sire."'
His arts gave credence, and forced tears withal
Snared us, whom Diomede, nor Achilles dire,
Nor thousand ships subdued, nor ten years' war could tire.
XXVI. "A greater yet and ghastlier sign remained
Our heedless hearts to terrify anew.
Laocoon, Neptune's priest, by lot ordained,
A stately bull before the altar slew,
When lo!--the tale I shudder to pursue,--
From Tenedos in silence, side by side,
Two monstrous serpents, horrible to view,
With coils enormous leaning on the tide,
Shoreward, with even stretch, the tranquil sea divide.
XXVII. "Their breasts erect they rear amid the deep,
Their blood-red crests above the surface shine,
Their hinder parts along the waters sweep,
Trailed in huge coils and many a tortuous twine;
Lashed into foam, behind them roars the brine;
Now, gliding onward to the beach, ere long
They gain the fields, and rolling bloodshot eyne
That blaze with fire, the monsters move along,
And lick their hissing jaws, and dart a flickering tongue.
XXVIII. "Pale at the sight we fly; unswerving, these
Glide on and seek Laocoon. First, entwined
In stringent folds, his two young sons they seize,
With cruel fangs their tortured limbs to grind.
Then, as with arms he comes to aid, they bind
In giant grasp the father. Twice, behold,
Around his waist the horrid volumes wind,
Twice round his neck their scaly backs are rolled,
High over all their heads and glittering crests unfold.
XXIX. "Both hands are labouring the fierce knots to pull;
Black gore and slime his sacred wreaths distain.
Loud are his moans, as when a wounded bull
Shakes from his neck the faltering axe and, fain
To fly the cruel altars, roars in pain.
But lo! the serpents to Tritonia's seat
Glide from their victim, till the shrine they gain,
And, coiled beside the goddess, at her feet,
Behind her sheltering shield with gathered orbs retreat.
XXX. "Fresh wonder seized us, and we shook with fear.
All say, that justly had Laocoon died,
And paid fit penalty, whose guilty spear
Profaned the steed and pierced the sacred side.
'On with the image to its home,' they cried,
'And pray the Goddess to avert our woe';
We breach the walls, and ope the town inside.
All set to work, and to the feet below
Fix wheels, and hempen ropes around the neck they throw.
XXXI. "Mounting the walls, the monster moves along,
Teeming with arms. Boys, maidens joy around
To touch the ropes, and raise the festive song.
Onward it came, smooth-sliding on the ground,
And, beetling, o'er the midmost city frowned.
O native land! O Ilion, now betrayed!
Blest home of deities, in war renowned!
Four times beside the very gate 'twas stayed;
Four times within the womb the armour clashed and brayed.
XXXII. "But heedless, blind with frenzy, one and all
Up to the sacred citadel we strain,
And there the ill-omened prodigy install.
E'en then--alas! to Trojan ears in vain--
Cassandra sang, and told in utterance plain
The coming doom. We, sunk in careless joy,
Poor souls! with festive garlands deck each fane,
And through the town in revelry employ
The day decreed our last, the dying hours of Troy!
XXXIII. "And now the heaven rolled round. From ocean rushed
The Night, and wrapt in shadow earth and air
And Myrmidonian wiles. In silence hushed,
The Trojans through the city here and there,
Outstretched in sleep, their weary limbs repair.
Meanwhile from neighbouring Tenedos once more,
Beneath the tranquil moonbeam's friendly care,
With ordered ships, along the deep sea-floor,
Back came the Argive host, and sought the well-known shore.
XXXIV. "Forth from the royal galley sprang the flame,
When Sinon, screened by partial Fate, withdrew
The bolts and barriers of the pinewood frame,
And from its inmost caverns, bared to view,
The fatal horse disgorged the Danaan crew.
With joy from out the hollow wood they bound;
First, dire Ulysses, with his captains two,
Thessander bold and Sthenelus renowned,
Down by a pendent rope come sliding to the ground.
XXXV. "Then Thoas comes; and Acamas, athirst
For blood; and Neoptolemus, the heir
Of mighty Peleus; and Machaon first;
And Menelaus; and himself is there,
Epeus, framer of the fatal snare.
Now, stealing forward, on the town they fall,
Buried in wine and sleep, the guards o'erbear,
And ope the gates; their comrades at the call
Pour in and, joining bands, all muster by the wall.
XXXVI. "'Twas now the time, when on tired mortals crept
First slumber, sweetest that celestials pour.
Methought I saw poor Hector, as I slept,
All bathed in tears and black with dust and gore,
Dragged by the chariot and his swoln feet sore
With piercing thongs. Ah me! how sad to view,
How changed from him, that Hector, whom of yore
Returning with Achilles' spoils we knew,
When on the ships of Greece his Phrygian fires he threw.
XXXVII. "Foul is his beard, his hair is stiff with gore,
And fresh the wounds, those many wounds, remain,
Which erst around his native walls he bore.
Then, weeping too, I seem in sorrowing strain
To hail the hero, with a voice of pain.
'O light of Troy, our refuge! why and how
This long delay? Whence comest thou again,
Long-looked-for Hector? How with aching brow,
Worn out by toil and death, do we behold thee now!
XXXVIII. "'But oh! what dire indignity hath marred
The calmness of thy features? Tell me, why
With ghastly wounds do I behold thee scarred?'
To such vain quest he cared not to reply,
But, heaving from his breast a deep-drawn sigh,
'Fly, Goddess-born! and get thee from the fire!
The foes,' he said, 'are on the ramparts. Fly!
All Troy is tumbling from her topmost spire.
No more can Priam's land, nor Priam's self require.
XXXIX. "'Could Troy be saved by mortal prowess, mine,
Yea, mine had saved her. To thy guardian care
She doth her Gods and ministries consign.
Take them, thy future destinies to share,
And seek for them another home elsewhere,
That mighty city, which for thee and thine
O'er traversed ocean shall the Fates prepare.'
He spake, and quickly snatched from Vesta's shrine
The deathless fire and wreaths and effigy divine.
XL. "Meanwhile a mingled murmur through the street
Rolls onward,--wails of anguish, shrieks of fear,
And though my father's mansion stood secrete,
Embowered in foliage, nearer and more near
Peals the dire clang of arms, and loud and clear,
Borne on fierce echoes that in tumult blend,
War-shout and wail come thickening on the ear.
I start from sleep, the parapet ascend,
And from the sloping roof with eager ears attend.
XLI. "Like as a fire, when Southern gusts are rude,
Falls on the standing harvest of the plain,
Or torrent, hurtling with a mountain flood,
Whelms field and oxens' toil and smiling grain,
And rolls whole forests headlong to the main,
While, weetless of the noise, on neighbouring height,
Tranced in mute wonder, stands the listening swain,
Then, then I see that Hector's words were right,
And all the Danaan wiles are naked to the light.
XLII. "And now, Deiphobus, thy halls of pride,
Bowed by the flames, come ruining through the air;
Next burn Ucalegon's, and far and wide
The broad Sigean reddens with the glare.
Then come the clamour and the trumpet's blare.
Madly I rush to arms; though vain the fight,
Yet burns my soul, in fury and despair,
To rally a handful and to hold the height:
Sweet seems a warrior's death and danger a delight.
XLIII. "Lo, Panthus, flying from the Grecian bands,
Panthus, the son of Othrys, Phoebus' seer,
Bearing the sacred vessels in his hands,
And vanquished home-gods, to the door draws near,
His grandchild clinging to his side in fear.
'Panthus,' I cry, 'how fares the fight? what tower
Still hold we?'--Sighing, he replies ''Tis here,
The final end of all the Dardan power,
The last, sad day has come, the inevitable hour.
XLIV. "'Troy was, and we were Trojans, now, alas!
No more, for perished is the Dardan fame.
Fierce Jove to Argos biddeth all to pass,
And Danaans rule a city wrapt in flame.
High in the citadel the monstrous frame
Pours forth an armed deluge to the day,
And Sinon, puffed with triumph, spreads the flame.
Part throng the gates, part block each narrow way;
Such hosts Mycenae sends, such thousands to the fray.
XLV. "'Athwart the streets stands ready the array
Of steel, and bare is every blade and bright.
Scarce the first warders of the gates essay
To stand and battle in the blinding night.'
So spake the son of Othrys, and forthright,
My spirit stirred with impulse from on high,
I rush to arms amid the flames and fight,
Where yells the war-fiend and the warrior's cry,
Mixt with the din of strife, mounts upward to the sky.
XLVI. "Here warlike Epytus, renowned in fight,
And valiant Rhipeus gather to our side,
And Hypanis and Dymas, matched in might,
Join with us, by the glimmering moon descried.
Here Mygdon's son, Coroebus, we espied,
Who came to Troy,--Cassandra's love to gain,
And now his troop with Priam's hosts allied;
Poor youth and heedless! whom in frenzied strain
His promised bride had warned, but warned, alas! in vain.
XLVII. "So when the bold and compact band I see,
'Brave hearts,' I cry, 'but brave, alas! in vain;
If firm your purpose holds to follow me
Who dare the worst, our present plight is plain.
Troy's guardian gods have left her; altar, fane,
All is deserted, every temple bare.
The town ye aid is burning. Forward, then,
To die and mingle in the tumult's blare.
Sole hope to vanquished men of safety is despair.'
XLVIII. "Then fury spurred their courage, and behold,
As ravening wolves, when darkness hides the day,
Stung with mad fire of famine uncontrolled,
Prowl from their dens, and leave the whelps to stay,
With jaws athirst and gaping for the prey.
So to sure death, amid the darkness there,
Where swords, and spears, and foemen bar the way,
Into the centre of the town we fare.
Night with her shadowy cone broods o'er the vaulted air.
XLIX. "Oh, who hath tears to match our grief withal?
What tongue that night of havoc can make known
An ancient city totters to her fall,
Time-honoured empress and of old renown;
And senseless corpses, through the city strown,
Choke house and temple. Nor hath vengeance found
None save the Trojans; there the victors groan,
And valour fires the vanquished. All around
Wailings, and wild affright and shapes of death abound.
L. "First of the Greeks approaches, with a crowd,
Androgeus; friends he deems us unaware,
And thus, with friendly summons, cries aloud:
'Haste, comrades, forward; from the fleet ye fare
With lagging steps but now, while yonder glare
Troy's towers, and others sack and share the spoils?'
Then straight--for doubtful was our answer there--
He knew him taken in the foemen's toils;
Shuddering, he checks his voice, and back his foot recoils.
LI. "As one who, in a tangled brake apart,
On some lithe snake, unheeded in the briar,
Hath trodden heavily, and with backward start
Flies, trembling at the head uplift in ire
And blue neck, swoln in many a glittering spire.
So slinks Androgeus, shuddering with dismay;
We, massed in onset, make the foe retire,
And slay them, wildered, weetless of the way.
Fortune, with favouring smile, assists our first essay.
LII. "Flushed with success and eager for the fray,
'Friends,' cries Coroebus, 'forward; let us go
Where Fortune newly smiling, points the way.
Take we the Danaans' bucklers; with a foe
Who asks, if craft or courage guide the blow?
Themselves shall arm us.'--Then he takes the crest,
The shield and dagger of Androgeus; so
Doth Rhipeus, so brave Dymas and the rest;
All in the new-won spoils their eager limbs invest.
LIII. "Thus we, elate, but not with Heaven our friend,
March on and mingle with the Greeks in fight,
And many a Danaan to the shades we send,
And many a battle in the blinding night
We join with those that meet us. Some in flight
Rush diverse to the ships and trusty tide;
Some, craven-hearted, in ignoble fright,
Make for the horse and, clambering up the side,
Deep in the treacherous womb, their well-known refuge, hide.
LIV. "Ah! vain to boast, if Heaven refuse to aid!
Dragged by her tresses from Minerva's fane,
Cassandra comes, the Priameian maid,
Stretching to heaven her burning eyes in vain,
Her eyes, for bonds her tender hands constrain.
That sight Coroebus brooked not. Stung with gall
And mad with rage, nor fearing to be slain,
He plunged amid their columns. One and all,
With weapons massed, press on and follow at his call.
LV. "Here first with missiles, from a temple's height
Hurled by our comrades, we are crushed and slain,
And piteous is the slaughter, at the sight
Of Argive helms for Argive foes mista'en.
Now too, with shouts of fury and disdain
To see the maiden rescued, here and there
The Danaans gathering round us, charge amain;
Fierce-hearted Ajax, the Atridan pair,
And all Thessalia's host our scanty band o'erbear.
LVI. "So, when the tempest bursting wakes the war,
The justling winds in conflict rave and roar,
South, West and East upon his orient car,
The lashed woods howl, and with his trident hoar
Nereus in foam upheaves the watery floor.
Those too, whom late we scattered through the town,
Tricked in the darkness, reappear once more.
At once the falsehood of our guise is known,
The shields, the lying arms, the speech of different tone.
LVII. "O'erwhelmed with odds, we perish; first of all,
Struck down by fierce Peneleus by the fane
Of warlike Pallas, doth Coroebus fall.
Next, Rhipeus dies, the justest, but in vain,
The noblest soul of all the Trojan train.
Heaven deemed him otherwise; then Dymas brave
And Hypanis by comrades' hands are slain.
Nor, Panthus, thee thy piety can save,
Nor e'en Apollo's wreath preserve thee from the grave.
LVIII. "Witness, ye ashes of our comrades dear,
Ye flames of Troy, that in your hour of woe
Nor darts I shunned, nor shock of Danaan spear.
If Fate my life had called me to forego,
This hand had earned it, forfeit to the foe.
Thence forced away, brave Iphitus, and I,
And Pelias,--Iphitus with age was slow,
And Pelias by Ulysses lamed--we fly
Where round the palace rings the war-shout's rallying cry.
LIX. "There raged a fight so fierce, as though no fight
Raged elsewhere, nor the city streamed with gore.
We see the War-God glorying in his might;
Up to the roof we see the Danaans pour;
Their shielded penthouse drives against the door.
Close cling their ladders to the walls; these, fain
To clutch the doorposts, climb from floor to floor,
Their right hands strive the battlements to gain,
Their left with lifted shield the arrowy storm sustain.
LX. "There, roof and pinnacle the Dardans tear--
Death standing near--and hurl them on the foe,
Last arms of need, the weapons of despair;
And gilded beams and rafters down they throw,
Ancestral ornaments of days ago.
These, stationed at the gates, with naked glaive,
Shoulder to shoulder, guard the pass below.
Hearts leap afresh the royal halls to save,
And cheer our vanquished friends and reinspire the brave.
LXI. "Behind the palace, unobserved and free,
There stood a door, a secret thoroughfare
Through Priam's halls. Here poor Andromache
While Priam's kingdom flourished and was fair,
To greet her husband's parents would repair
Alone, or carrying with tendance fain
To Hector's father Hector's son and heir.
By this I reached the roof-top, whence in vain
The luckless Teucrians hurled their unavailing rain.
LXII. "Sheer o'er the highest roof-top to the sky,
Skirting the parapet, a watch-tower rose,
Whence camp and fleet and city met the eye.
Here plying levers, where the flooring shows
Weak joists, we heave it over. Down it goes
With sudden crash upon the Danaan train,
Dealing wide ruin. But anon new foes
Come swarming up, while ever and again
Fast fall the showers of stones, and thick the javelins rain.
LXIII. "Just on the threshold of the porch, behold
Fierce Pyrrhus stands, in glittering brass bedight:
As when a snake, that through the winter's cold
Lay swoln and hidden in the ground from sight,
Gorged with rank herbs, forth issues to the light,
And sleek with shining youth and newly drest,
Wreathing its slippery volumes, towers upright
And, glorying, to the sunbeam rears its breast,
And darts a three-forked tongue, and points a flaming crest.
LXIV. "With him, Achilles' charioteer and squire,
Automedon, huge Periphas and all
The Scyrian youth rush up, and flaming fire
Hurl to the roof, and thunder at the wall.
He in the forefront, tallest of the tall,
Poleaxe in hand, unhinging at a stroke
The brazen portals, made the doorway fall,
And wide-mouthed as a window, through the oak,
A panelled plank hewn out, a yawning rent he broke.
LXV. "Bared stands the inmost palace, and behold,
The stately chambers and the courts appear
Of Priam and the Trojan Kings of old,
And warders at the door with shield and spear.
Moaning and tumult in the house we hear,
Wailings of misery, and shouts that smite
The golden stars, and women's shrieks of fear,
And trembling matrons, hurrying left and right,
Cling to and kiss the doors, made frantic by affright.
LXVI. "Strong as his father, Pyrrhus onward pushed,
Nor bars nor warders can his strength sustain.
Down sinks the door, with ceaseless battery crushed.
Force wins a footing, and, the foremost slain,
In, like a deluge, pours the Danaan train.
So when the foaming river, uncontrolled,
Bursts through its banks and riots on the plain,
O'er dyke and dam the gathering deluge rolled,
From field to field sweeps on with cattle, flock and fold.
LXVII. "These eyes saw Pyrrhus, rioting in blood,
Saw on the threshold the Atridae twain,
Saw where among a hundred daughters, stood
Pale Hecuba, saw Priam's life-blood stain
The fires his hands had hallowed in the fane.
Those fifty bridal chambers I behold
(So fair the promise of a future reign)
And spoil-deckt pillars of barbaric gold,
A wreck; where fails the flame, its place the Danaans hold.
LXVIII. "Haply the fate of Priam thou would'st know.
Soon as he saw the captured city fall,
The palace-gates burst open, and the foe
Dealing wild riot in his inmost hall,
Up sprang the old man and, at danger's call,
Braced o'er his trembling shoulders in a breath
His rusty armour, took his belt withal,
And drew the useless falchion from its sheath,
And on their thronging spears rushed forth to meet his death.
LXIX. "Within the palace, open to the day,
There stood a massive altar. Overhead,
With drooping boughs, a venerable bay
Its shadowy foliage o'er the home-gods spread.
Here, with her hundred daughters, pale with dread,
Poor Hecuba and all her female train,
As doves, that from the low'ring storm have fled,
And cower for shelter from the pelting rain,
Crouch round the silent gods, and cling to them in vain.
LXX. "But when in youthful arms came Priam near,
'Ah, hapless lord!' she cries, 'what mad desire
Arms thee for battle? Why this sword and spear?
And whither art thou hurrying? Times so dire
Not such defenders nor such help require.
Not e'en, were Hector here, my Hector's aid
Could save us. Hither to this shrine retire,
And share our safety or our death.'--She said,
And to his hallowed seat the aged monarch led.
LXXI. "See, now, Polites, one of Priam's sons,
Scarce slipt from Pyrrhus' butchery, and lame,
Through foes, through darts, along the cloisters runs
And empty courtyards. At his heels, aflame
With rage, comes Pyrrhus. Lo, in act to aim,
Now, now, he clutches him,--a moment more,
E'en as before his parent's eyes he came,
The long spear reached him. Prostrate on the floor
Down falls the hapless youth, and welters in his gore.
LXXII. "Then Priam, though hemmed with death on every side,
Spared not his utterance, nor his wrath controlled;
'To thee, yea, thee, fierce miscreant,' he cried,
'May Heaven,--if Heaven with righteous eyes behold
So foul an outrage and a deed so bold,
Ne'er fail a fitting guerdon to ordain,
Nor worthy quittance for thy crime withhold,
Whose hand hath made me see my darling slain,
And dared with filial blood a father's eyes profane.
LXXIII. "'Not so Achilles, whom thy lying tongue
Would feign thy father; like a foeman brave,
He scorned a suppliant's rights and trust to wrong,
And sent me home in safety,--ay, and gave
My Hector's lifeless body to the grave.'
The old man spoke and, with a feeble throw,
At Pyrrhus with a harmless dart he drave.
The jarring metal blunts it, and below
The shield-boss, down it hangs, and foils the purposed blow.
LXXIV. "'Go then,' cries Pyrrhus, 'with thy tale of woe
To dead Pelides, and thy plaints outpour.
To him, my father, in the shades below,
These deeds of his degenerate son deplore;
Now die!'--So speaking, to the shrine he tore
The aged Priam, trembling with affright,
And feebly sliding in his son's warm gore.
The left hand twists his hoary locks; the right
Deep in his side drives home the falchion, bared and bright.
LXXV. "Such close had Priam's fortunes; so his days
Were finished, such the bitter end he found,
Now doomed by Fate with dying eyes to gaze
On Troy in flames and ruin all around,
And Pergamus laid level with the ground.
Lo, he to whom once Asia bowed the knee,
Proud lord of many peoples, far-renowned,
Now left to welter by the rolling sea,
A huge and headless trunk, a nameless corpse is he.
LXXVI. "Grim horror seized me, and aghast I stood.
Uprose the image of my father dear,
As there I see the monarch, bathed in blood,
Like him in prowess and in age his peer.
Uprose Creusa, desolate and drear,
Iulus' peril, and a plundered home.
I look around for comrades; none are near.
Some o'er the battlements leapt headlong, some
Sank fainting in the flames; the final hour was come.
LXXVII. "I stood alone, when lo, in Vesta's fane
I see Tyndarean Helen, crouching down.
Bright shone the blaze around me, as in vain
I tracked my comrades through the burning town.
There, mute, and, as the traitress deemed, unknown,
Dreading the Danaan's vengeance, and the sword
Of Trojans, wroth for Pergamus o'erthrown,
Dreading the anger of her injured lord,
Sat Troy's and Argos' fiend, twice hateful and abhorred.
LXXVIII. "Then, fired with passion and revenge, I burn
To quit Troy's downfall and exact the fee
Such crimes deserve. Sooth, then, shall _she_ return
To Sparta and Mycenae, ay, and see
Home, husband, sons and parents, safe and free,
With Ilian wives and Phrygians in her train,
A queen, in pride of triumph? Shall this be,
And Troy have blazed and Priam's self been slain,
And Trojan blood so oft have soaked the Dardan plain?
LXXIX. "Not so; though glory wait not on the act;
Though poor the praise, and barren be the gain,
Vengeance on feeble woman to exact,
Yet praised hereafter shall his name remain,
Who purges earth of such a monstrous stain.
Sweet is the passion of vindictive joy,
Sweet is the punishment, where just the pain,
Sweet the fierce ardour of revenge to cloy,
And slake with Dardan blood the funeral flames of Troy.
LXXX. "So mused I, blind with anger, when in light
Apparent, never so refulgent seen,
My mother dawned irradiate on the night,
Confessed a Goddess, such her form, and mien
And starry stature of celestial sheen.
With her right hand she grasped me from above,
And thus with roseate lips: 'O son, what mean
These transports? Say, what bitter grief doth move
Thy soul to rage untamed? Where vanished is thy love?
LXXXI. "'Wilt thou not see, if yet thy sire survive,
Worn out with age, amid the war's alarms?
And if thy wife Creusa be alive,
And young Ascanius? for around thee swarms
The foe, and but for my protecting arms,
Fierce sword or flame had swept them all away.
Not oft-blamed Paris, nor the hateful charms
Of Helen; Heaven, unpitying Heaven to-day
Hath razed the Trojan towers and reft the Dardan sway.
LXXXII. "'Look now, for I will clear the mists that shroud
Thy mortal gaze, and from the visual ray
Purge the gross covering of this circling cloud.
Thou heed, and fear not, whatsoe'er I say,
Nor scorn thy mother's counsels to obey.
Here, where thou seest the riven piles o'erthrown,
Mixt dust and smoke, rock torn from rock away,
Great Neptune's trident shakes the bulwarks down,
And from its lowest base uproots the trembling town.
LXXXIII. "'Here, girt with steel, the foremost in the fight,
Fierce Juno stands, the Scaean gates before,
And, mad with fury and malignant spite,
Calls up her federate forces from the shore.
See, on the citadel, all grim with gore,
Red-robed, and with the Gorgon shield aglow,
Tritonian Pallas bids the conflict roar.
E'en Jove with strength reanimates the foe,
And stirs the powers of heaven to work the Dardan's woe.
LXXXIV. "'Haste, son, and fly; the fruitless toil give o'er.
I will not leave thee, but assist thy flight,
And set thee safely at thy father's door.'
She spake, and vanished in the gloom of night.
Dread shapes and forms terrific loomed in sight,
And hostile deities, whose faces frowned
Destruction. Then, amid the lurid light,
I see Troy sinking in the flames around,
And mighty Neptune's walls laid level with the ground.
LXXXV. "So, when an aged ash on mountain tall
Stout woodmen strive, with many a rival blow,
To rend from earth; awhile it threats to fall,
With quivering locks and nodding head; now slow
It sinks and, with a dying groan lies low,
And spreads its ruin on the mountain side.
Down from the citadel I haste below,
Through foe, through fire, the goddess for my guide.
Harmless the darts give way, the sloping flames divide.
LXXXVI. "But when Anchises' ancient home I gain,
My father,--he, whom first, with loving care,
I sought and, heedful of my mother, fain
In safety to the neighbouring hills would bear,
Disdains Troy's ashes to outlive and wear
His days in banishment: 'Fly ye, who may,
Whom age hath chilled not, nor the years impair.
For me, had Heaven decreed a longer day,
Heaven too had spared these walls, nor left my home a prey.
LXXXVII. "'Enough and more, to live when Ilion fell,
And once to see Troy captured. Leave me, pray,
And bid me, as a shrouded corpse, farewell.
For death--this hand will find for me the way,
Or foes who spoil will pity me and slay.
Light is the loss of sepulchre or pyre,
Loathed have I lived and useless, since the day
When man's great monarch and the God's dread sire
Breathed his avenging blast and scathed me with his fire.'
LXXXVIII. "So spake he, on his purpose firmly bent.
We--wife, child, family and I--with prayer
And tears entreat the father to relent,
Nor doom us all the common wreck to share,
And urge the ruin that the Fates prepare.
He heeds not--stirs not. Then again I fly
To arms--to arms, in frenzy of despair,
And long in utter misery to die.
What other choice was left, what other chance to try?
LXXXIX. "'What, _I_ to leave thee helpless, and to flee?
O father! could'st thou fancy it? Could e'er
A parent speak of such a crime to me?
If Heaven of such a city naught should spare,
And thou be pleased that thou and thine should share
The common wreck, that way to death is plain.
Wide stands the door; soon Pyrrhus will be there,
Red with the blood of Priam; he hath slain
The son before his sire, the father in the fane.
XC. "'Dost thou for _this_, dear mother, me through fire
And foemen safely to my home restore;
To see Creusa, and my son and sire
Each foully butchered in the other's gore,
And Danaans dealing slaughter at the door?
Arms--bring me arms! Troy's dying moments call
The vanquished. Give me to the Greeks. Once more
Let me revive the battle; ne'er shall all
Die unrevenged this day, nor tamely meet their fall.'
XCI. "Once more I girt me with the sword and shield,
And forth had soon into the battle hied,
When lo, Creusa at the doorway kneeled,
And reached Iulus to his sire and cried:
'If death thou seekest, take me at thy side
Thy death to share, but if, expert in strife,
Thou hop'st in arms, here guard us and abide.
To whom dost thou expose Iulus' life,
Thy father's, yea, and mine, once called, alas! thy wife.'
XCII. "So wailed Creusa, and in wild despair
Filled all the palace with her sobs and cries,
When lo! a portent, wondrous to declare.
For while, 'twixt sorrowing parents' hands and eyes,
Stood young Iulus, wildered with surprise,
Up from the summit of his fair, young head
A tuft was seen of flickering flame to rise.
Gently and harmless to the touch it spread
Around his tender brows, and on his temples fed.
XCIII. "In haste we strive to quench the flame divine,
Shaking the tresses of his burning hair.
But gladly sire Anchises hails the sign,
And gazing upward through the starlit air,
His hands and voice together lifts in prayer:
'O Jove omnipotent, dread power benign,
If aught our piety deserve, if e'er
A suppliant move thee, hearken and incline
This once, and aid us now and ratify thy sign.'
XCIV. "Scarce spake the sire when lo, to leftward crashed
A peal of thunder, and amid the night
A sky-dropt star athwart the darkness flashed,
Trailing its torchfire with a stream of light.
We mark the dazzling meteor in its flight
Glide o'er the roof, till, vanished from our eyes,
It hides in Ida's forest, shining bright
And furrowing out a pathway through the skies,
And round us far and wide the sulphurous fumes arise.
XCV. "Up rose my sire, submissive to the sign,
And briefly to the Gods addressed his prayer,
And bowed adoring to the star divine.
'Now, now,' he cries, 'no tarrying; wheresoe'er
Ye point the path, I follow and am there.
Gods of my fathers! O preserve to-day
My home, preserve my grandchild; for your care
Is Troy, and yours this omen. I obey;
Lead on, my son, I yield and follow on thy way.'
XCVI. "He spake, and nearer through the city came
The roar, the crackle and the fiery glow
Of conflagration, rolling floods of flame.
'Quick, father, mount my shoulders; let us go.
That toil shall never tire me. Come whatso
The Fates shall bring us, both alike shall share
One common welfare or one common woe.
Let young Iulus at my side repair;
Keep thou, my wife, aloof, and follow as we fare.
XCVII. "'Ye too, my servants, hearken my commands.
Outside the city is a mound, where, dear
To Ceres once, but now deserted, stands
A temple, and an aged cypress near,
For ages hallowed with religious fear,
There meet we. Father, in thy charge remain
Troy's gods; for me, red-handed with the smear
Of blood, and fresh from slaughter, 'twere profane
To touch them, ere the stream hath cleansed me of the stain.'
XCVIII. "So saying, my neck and shoulders I incline,
And round them fling a lion's tawny hide,
Then lift the load. His little hand in mine,
Iulus totters at his father's side;
Behind me comes Creusa. On we stride
Through shadowy ways; and I who rushing spear
And thronging foes but lately had defied,
Now fear each sound, each whisper of the air,
Trembling for him I lead, and for the charge I bear.
XCIX. "And now I neared the gates, and thought my flight
Achieved, when suddenly a noise we hear
Of trampling feet, and, peering through the night,
My father cries, 'Fly, son, the Greeks are near;
They come, I see the glint of shield and spear,
Fierce foes in front and flashing arms behind.'
Then trembling seized me and, amidst my fear,
What power I know not, but some power unkind
Confused my wandering wits, and robbed me of my mind.
C. "For while, the byways following, I left
The beaten track, ah! woe and well away!
My wife Creusa lost me;--whether reft
By Fate, or faint or wandering astray,
I know not, nor have seen her since that day,
Nor sought, nor missed her, till in Ceres' fane
We met at length, and mustered our array.
There she alone was wanting of our train,
And husband, son and friends all looked for her in vain!
CI. "Whom then did I upbraid not, wild with woe,
Of gods or men? What sadder sight elsewhere
Had Troy, now whelmed in utter wreck, to show?
Troy's gods commending to my comrades' care,
With old Anchises and my infant heir,
I hide them in a winding vale from view,
Then, sheathed again in shining arms, prepare
Once more to scour the city through and through,
Resolved to brave all risks, all ventures to renew.
CII. "I reach the ramparts and the shadowy gates
Whence first I issued, backward through the night
My studied steps retracing. Horror waits
Around; the very silence breeds affright.
Then homeward turn, if haply in her flight,
If, haply, thither she had strayed; but ere
I came, behold, the Danaans, loud in fight,
Swarmed through the halls; roof-high the fiery glare,
Fanned by the wind, mounts up; the loud blast roars in air.
CIII. "Again to Priam's palace, and again
Up to the citadel I speed my way.
Armed, in the vacant courts, by Juno's fane,
Phoenix and curst Ulysses watched the prey.
There, torn from many a burning temple, lay
Troy's wealth; the tripods of the Gods were there,
Piled in huge heaps, and raiment snatched away,
And golden bowls, and dames with streaming hair
And tender boys stand round, and tremble with despair.
CIV. "I shout, and through the darkness shout again,
Rousing the streets, and call and call anew
'Creusa,' and 'Creusa,' but in vain.
From house to house in frenzy as I flew,
A melancholy spectre rose in view,
Creusa's very image; ay, 'twas there,
But larger than the living form I knew.
Aghast I stood, tongue-tied, with stiffening hair.
Then she addressed me thus, and comforted my care.
CV. "'What boots this idle passion? Why so fain
Sweet husband, thus to sorrow and repine?
Naught happens here but as the Gods ordain.
It may not be, nor doth the Lord divine
Of high Olympus nor the Fates design
That thou should'st take Creusa. Seas remain
To plough, long years of exile must be thine,
Ere thou at length Hesperia's land shalt gain,
Where Lydian Tiber glides through many a peopled plain.
CVI. "'Wide rule and happy days await thee there,
And royal marriage shall thy portion be.
Weep not for lov'd Creusa, weep not; ne'er
To Grecian women shall I bow the knee,
Never in Argos see captivity,
I, who my lineage from the Dardans tell,
Allied to Venus. Now, by Fate's decree,
Here with the mother of the Gods I dwell.
Farewell, and guard in love our common child. Farewell!'
CVII. "So spake she, and with weeping eyes I yearned
To answer, wondering at the words she said,
When lo, the shadowy spirit, as I turned,
Dissolved in air, and in a moment fled.
Thrice round the neck with longing I essayed
To clasp the phantom in a wild delight;
Thrice, vainly clasped, the visionary shade
Mocked me embracing, and was lost to sight,
Swift as a winged wind or slumber of the night.
CVIII. "Back to my friends I hasten. There, behold, Matrons and men, a miserable
band, Gathered for exile. From each side they shoaled,
Resolved and ready over sea and land My steps to follow,
where the Fates command. Now over Ida shone the day-star
bright; Greeks swarmed at every entrance; help at hand
Seemed none. I yield, and, hurrying from the fight, Take up
my helpless sire, and climb the mountain height."
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