|
Explorers, Scientists &
Inventors
Musicians, Painters &
Artists
Poets, Writers &
Philosophers
Native Americans & The Wild
West
First Ladies
Popes
Troublemakers
Historians
Archaeologists
Royal
Families
Tribes & Peoples
Assassinations in History
Who
got slain, almost slain, when, how,
why, and by whom?
Go to the
Assassination Archive
Online History Dictionary A - Z
Voyages in History
When did what
vessel arrive with whom onboard and where
did it sink if it didn't?
Go to the
Passage-Chart
The Divine Almanac
Who all roamed the heavens in
olden times? The Who's Who of
ancient gods.
Check out
the Divine Almanac
|
|
The Aeneid of Virgil
Book Six
|
|
ARGUMENT
Arrived at Cumae AEneas visits the Sibyl's shrine, and, after prayer
and sacrifice to Apollo, asks access to the nether-world to visit
his father (1-162). He must first pluck for Proserpine the golden
bough and bury a dead comrade (163-198). After the death and burial
of Misenus, AEneas finds and gathers the golden bough (199-261).
Preparation and Invocation (262-328). The start (329-333). The
"dreadful faces" that guard the outskirts of Hell. Charon's ferry
and the unburied dead (334-405). Palinurus approaches and entreats
burial. Passing by Charon and Cerberus, they see the phantoms of
suicides, of children, of lovers, and experience Dido's disdain
(406-559). From Greek and Trojan shades Deiphobus is singled out to
tell his story (560-644). The Sibyl hurries AEneas on past the
approach to Tartarus, describing by the way its rulers and its
horrors. Finally, they reach Elysium and gain entrance (645-757).
The search among the shades of the Blessed for Anchises, and the
meeting between father and son (758-828). Anchises explains the
mystery of the Transmigration of Souls, and the book closes with the
revelation to AEneas of the future greatness of Rome, whose heroes,
from the days of the kings to the times of Augustus, pass in
procession before him (829-1071). He is then dismissed through the
Ivory Gate, and sails on his way to Caieta (1072-1080).
I. Weeping he speaks, and gives his fleet the rein,
And glides at length to the Euboean strand
Of Cumae. There, with prows towards the main,
Safe-fastened by the biting anchors, stand
The vessels, and the round sterns line the land.
Forth on the shore, in eager haste to claim
Hesperia's welcome, leaps a youthful band.
These search the flint-stones for the seeds of flame,
Those point to new-found streams, or scour the woods for game.
|
II. But good AEneas seeks the castled height
And temple, to the great Apollo dear,
And the vast cave where, hidden far from sight
Within her sanctuary dark and drear,
Dwells the dread Sibyl, whom the Delian seer
Inspires with soul and wisdom to unfold
The things to come.--So now, approaching near
Through Trivia's grove, the temple they behold,
And entering, see the roof all glittering with gold.
III. Fame is, that Daedalus, adventuring forth
On rapid wings, from Minos' realms in flight,
Trusted the sky, and to the frosty North
Swam his strange way, till on the tower-girt height
Of Chalcis gently he essayed to light.
Here, touching first the wished-for land again,
To thee, great Phoebus, and thy guardian might,
He vowed, and bade as offerings to remain,
The oarage of his wings, and built a stately fane.
IV. Androgeos' death is graven on the gate;
There stand the sons of Cecrops, doomed each year
With seven victims to atone his fate.
The lots are drawn; the fatal urn is near.
Here, o'er the deep the Gnossian fields appear,
The bull--the cruel passion--the embrace
Stol'n from Pasiphae--all the tale is here;
The Minotaur, half human, beast in face,
Record of nameless lust, and token of disgrace.
V. There, toil-wrought house and labyrinthine grove,
With tangled maze, too intricate to tread,
But that, in pity for the queen's great love,
Its secret Daedalus revealed, and led
Her lover's blinded footsteps with a thread.
There, too, had sorrow not the wish denied,
Thy name and fame, poor Icarus, were read.
Twice in the gold to carve thy fate he tried,
And twice the father's hands dropped faltering to his side.
VI. So they in gazing had the time beguiled,
But now, returning from his quest, comes near Achates, with Deiphobe, the child
Of Glaucus, Phoebus' and Diana's seer.
"Not this," she cries, "the time for tarrying here
For shows like these. Go, hither bring with speed
Seven ewes, the choicest, and with each a steer
Unyoked, in honour of the God to bleed."
So to the Chief she spake, and straight his followers heed.
VII. Into the lofty temple now with speed,--
A huge cave hollowed in the mountain's side,--
The priestess calls the Teucrians. Thither lead
A hundred doors, a hundred entries wide,
A hundred voices from the rock inside
Peal forth, the Sibyl answering. So they
Had reached the threshold, when the maiden cried,
"Now 'tis the time to seek the fates and pray;
Behold, behold the God!" and standing there, straightway,
VIII. Her colour and her features change; loose streams
Her hair disordered, and her heart distrest
Swells with wild frenzy. Larger now she seems,
Her voice not mortal, as her heaving breast
Pants, with the approaching Deity possest.
"Pray, Trojan," peals her warning utterance, "pray!
Cease not, AEneas, nor withhold thy quest,
Nor stint thy vows. While dumbly ye delay,
Ne'er shall its yawning doors the spell-bound house display."
IX. She ceased: at once an icy chill ran through
The sturdy Trojans. From his inmost heart
Thus prayed the King: "O Phoebus, wont to view
With pity Troy's sore travail; thou, whose art
True to Achilles aimed the Dardan dart,
How oft, thou guiding, have I tracked the main
Round mighty lands, to earth's remotest part
Massylian tribes and Libya's sandy plain:
Scarce now the flying shores of Italy we gain.
X. "Enough, thus far Troy's destinies to bear,
Ye, too, at length, your anger may abate
And deign the race of Pergamus to spare,
O Gods and Goddesses, who viewed with hate
Troy and the glories of the Dardan state.
And thou, dread mistress of prophetic lore,
Grant us--I ask but what is due by Fate,
Our promised realms--that on the Latian shore
Troy's sons and wandering gods may find a home once more.
XI. "To Phoebus then and Trivia's sacred name,
Thy patron powers, a temple will I rear
Of solid marble, and due rites proclaim
And festal days, for votaries each year
The name of guardian Phoebus to revere.
Thee, too, hereafter in our realms await
Shrines of the stateliest, for thy name is dear.
There safe shall rest the mystic words of Fate,
And chosen priests shall guard the oracles of state.
XII. "Only to leaves commit not, priestess kind,
Thy verse, lest fragments of the mystic scroll
Fly, tost abroad, the playthings of the wind.
Thyself in song the oracle unroll."
He ceased; the seer, impatient of control,
Strives, like a frenzied Bacchant, in her cell,
To shake the mighty deity from her soul.
So much the more, her raging heart to quell,
He tires the foaming mouth, and shapes her to his spell.
XIII. Then yawned the hundred gates, and every door,
Self-opening suddenly, revealed the fane,
And through the air the Sibyl's answer bore:
"O freed from Ocean's perils, but in vain,
Worse evils yet upon the land remain.
Doubt not; Troy's sons shall reach Lavinium's shore,
And rule in Latium; so the Fates ordain.
Yet shall they rue their coming. Woes in store,
Wars, savage wars, I see, and Tiber foam with gore.
XIV. "A Xanthus there and Simois shall be seen,
And Doric tents; Achilles, goddess-born,
Shall rise anew, nor Jove's relentless Queen
Shall cease to vex the Teucrians night and morn.
Then oft shalt thou, sore straitened and forlorn,
All towns and tribes of Italy implore
To grant thee shelter from the foemen's scorn.
An alien bride, a foreign bed once more
Shall bring the old, old woes, the ancient feud restore.
XV. "Yield not to evils, but the bolder thou
Persist, defiant of misfortune's frown,
And take the path thy Destinies allow.
Hope, where unlooked for, comes thy toils to crown,
Thy road to safety from a Grecian town."
So sang the Sibyl from her echoing fane,
And, wrapping truth in mystery, made known
The dark enigmas of her frenzied strain.
So Phoebus plied the goad, and shook the maddening rein.
XVI. Soon ceased the fit, the foaming lips were still.
"O maiden," said AEneas, "me no more
Can danger startle, nor strange shape of ill.
All have I seen and throughly conned before.
One boon I beg,--since yonder are the door
Of Pluto, and the gloomy lakes, they tell,
Fed by o'erflowing Acheron,--once more
To see the father whom I loved so well.
Teach me the way, and ope the sacred gates of hell.
XVII. "Him on these shoulders, in the days ago,
A thousand darts behind us, did I bear
Safe through the thickest of the flames and foe.
He, partner of my travels, loved to share
The threats of ocean and the storms of air,
Though weak, yet strong beyond the lot of age.
'Twas he who bade me, with prevailing prayer,
Approach thee humbly, and thy care engage,
Pity the sire and son, and Trojan hearts assuage.
XVIII. "For thou can'st all, nor Hecate for naught
Hath set thee o'er Avernus' groves to reign.
If Orpheus from the shades his bride up-brought,
Trusting his Thracian harp and sounding strain,
If Pollux could from Pluto's drear domain
His brother by alternate death reclaim,
And tread the road to Hades o'er again
Oft and so oft--why great Alcides name?
Why Theseus? I, as they, Jove's ancestry can claim."
XIX. So prayed AEneas, clinging to the shrine,
When thus the prophetess: "O Trojan Knight,
Born of Anchises, and of seed divine,
Down to Avernus the descent is light,
The gate of Dis stands open day and night.
But upward thence thy journey to retrace,
There lies the labour; 'tis a task of might,
By few achieved, and those of heavenly race,
Whom shining worth extolled or Jove hath deigned to grace.
XX. "Thick woods and shades the middle space invest,
And black Cocytus girds the drear abode.
Yet, if such passion hath thy soul possessed,
If so thou longest to indulge thy mood,
And madly twice to cross the Stygian flood,
And visit twice black Tartarus, mark the way
Sacred to nether Juno, in a wood,
With golden stem and foliage, lurks a spray,
And trees and darksome dales surrounding shroud the day.
XXI. "Yet none the shades can visit, till he tear
That golden growth, the gift of Pluto's queen,
And show the passport she decreed to bear.
One plucked, another in its place is seen,
As bright and burgeoning with golden green.
Search then aloft, and when thou see'st the spray,
Reach forth and pluck it; willingly, I ween,
If Fate shall call thee, 'twill thy touch obey;
Else steel nor strength of arm shall rend the prize away.
XXII. "Mark yet--alas! thou know'st not--yonder lies
Thy friend's dead body, and pollutes the shore.
While thou the Fates art asking to advise,
And lingering here, a suppliant, at our door.
Nay, first thy comrade to his home restore,
And build a tomb, and bring black cattle; they
The stain shall expiate; so the Stygian shore
Shalt thou behold, and tread the sunless way,
Which living feet ne'er trod, and mounted to the day."
XXIII. She ended. From the cave AEneas went,
With down-dropt eyes and melancholy mien,
Inly revolving many a dark event.
Trusty Achates at his side is seen,
Moody alike, each measured step between
In musing converse framing phantasies,
What lifeless comrade could the priestess mean?
Whom to be buried? When before their eyes,
Stretched on the barren beach the dead Misenus lies,
XXIV. Dead with dishonour, in unseemly plight,
Misenus, son of AEolus, whom beside
None better knew with brazen blast to light
The flames of war, and wake the warrior's pride.
Once Hector's co-mate, proud at Hector's side
To wind the clarion and the sword to wield.
When, stricken by Achilles, Hector died,
AEneas then he followed to the field,
Loth to a meaner lord his fealty to yield.
XXV. Now while a challenge to the gods he blew,
And made the waves his hollow shell resound,
Him Triton, jealous--if the tale be true--
Caught unaware, and in the surges drowned
Among the rocks.--There now the corpse they found.
Loud groaned AEneas, and a mournful cry
Rose from the Trojans, as they gazed around.
Then, filled with tears, the Sibyl's task they ply,
And rear a wood-built pile and altar to the sky.
XXVI. Into a grove of aged trees they go,
The wild-beasts' lair. The holm-oak rings amain,
Smit with the axe, the pitchy pine falls low,
Sharp wedges cleave the beechen core in twain,
The mountain ash comes rolling to the plain.
Foremost himself, accoutred as the rest,
AEneas cheered them, toiling with his train;
Then, musing sadly, and with pensive breast,
Gazed on the boundless grove, and thus his prayer addressed:
XXVII. "O in this grove could I behold the tree
With golden bough; since true, alas, too true, Misenus, hath the priestess sung of thee!"
He spake, when, lighting on the sward, down flew
Two doves. With joy his mother's birds he knew,
"Lead on, blest guides, along the air," he prayed,
"If way there be, the precious bough to view,
Whose golden leaves the teeming soil o'ershade;
O mother, solve my doubts, nor stint the needed aid."
XXVIII. So saying, he stays his footsteps, fain to heed
What signs they give, and whitherward their flight.
Awhile they fly, awhile they stop to feed,
Then, fluttering, keep within the range of sight,
Till, coming where Avernus, dark as night,
Gapes, with rank vapours from its depths uprolled,
Aloft they soar, and through the liquid height
Dart to the tree, where, wondrous to behold,
The varying green sets forth the glitter of the gold.
XXIX. As in the woods, in winter's cold, is seen,
Sown on an alien tree, the mistletoe
To bloom afresh with foliage newly green,
And round the tapering boles its arms to throw,
Laden with yellow fruitage, even so
The oak's dark boughs the golden leaves display,
So the foil rustles in the breezes low.
Quickly AEneas plucks the lingering spray,
And to the Sibyl bears the welcome gift away.
XXX. Nor less the dead Misenus they deplore,
And honours to the thankless dust assign.
A stately pyre they build upon the shore,
Rich with oak-timbers and the resinous pine,
And sombre foliage in the sides entwine.
In front, the cypress marks the fatal soil,
Above, they leave the warrior's arms to shine.
These heat the water, till the caldrons boil,
And wash the stiffened limbs, and fill the wounds with oil.
XXXI. Loud is the wailing; then with many a tear
They lay him on the bed, and o'er him throw
His purple robes. These lift the massive bier;
Those, as of yore--sad ministry of woe--
With eyes averted, hold the torch below.
Oil, spice and viands, in promiscuous heap,
They pour and pile upon the fire; and now,
The embers crumbling and the flames asleep,
With draughts of ruddy wine the thirsty ash they steep.
XXXII. And Cornyaeus in a brazen urn
Enshrined the bones, upgathered in a caul,
And bearing round pure water, thrice in turn
From olive branch the lustral dew lets fall,
And, sprinkling, speaks the latest words of all.
A lofty mound AEneas hastes to frame,
Crowned with his oar and trumpet, 'neath a tall
And airy cliff, which still Misenus' name
Preserves, and ages keep his everlasting fame.
XXXIII. This done, AEneas hastens to obey
The Sibyl's hest.--There was a monstrous cave,
Rough, shingly, yawning wide-mouthed to the day,
Sheltered from access by the lake's dark wave
And shadowing forests, gloomy as the grave.
O'er that dread space no flying thing could ply
Its wings unjeopardied (whence Grecians gave
The name "Aornos"), such a stench on high
Rose from the poisonous jaws, and filled the vaulted sky.
XXXIV. Here four black oxen, as the maid divine
Commands them, forth to sacrifice are led.
Over their brows she pours the sacred wine,
Then plucks the hairs that sprouted on the head
And burns them, as the first-fruits to the dead,
Calling aloud on Hecate, whose reign
In Heaven and Erebus is owned with dread.
These stab the victims in the throat, and drain
In bowls the steaming blood that gushes from the slain.
XXXV. A black-fleeced lamb AEneas slays, to please
The Furies' mother and her sister dread,
A barren cow to Proserpine decrees.
Then to the Stygian monarch of the dead
The midnight altars he began to spread.
The bulls' whole bodies on the flames he laid,
And fat oil on the broiling entrails shed,
When lo! as Morn her opening beams displayed,
Loud rumblings shook the ground, the wooded hill-tops swayed,
XXXVI. And hell-dogs baying through the gloom, proclaimed
The Goddess near. "Back, back, unhallowed crew,
And quit the grove!" the prophetess exclaimed,
"Thou, bare thy blade, and take the road in view.
Now, Trojan, for a stalwart heart and true;
Firmness and steadiness!" No more she cried,
But back into the open cave withdrew,
Fired with new frenzy. He, with fearless stride,
Treads on the Sibyl's heels, rejoicing in his guide.
XXXVII. O silent Shades, and ye, the powers of Hell,
Chaos and Phlegethon, wide realms of night,
What ear hath heard, permit the tongue to tell,
High matter, veiled in darkness, to indite.--
On through the gloomy shade, in darkling plight,
Through Pluto's solitary halls they stray,
As travellers, whom the Moon's unkindly light
Baffles in woods, when, on a lonely way,
Jove shrouds the heavens, and night has turned the world to grey.
XXXVIII. Before the threshold, in the jaws of Hell,
Grief spreads her pillow, with remorseful Care.
There sad Old Age and pale Diseases dwell,
And misconceiving Famine, Want and Fear,
Terrific shapes, and Death and Toil appear.
Death's kinsman, Sleep, and Joys of sinful kind,
And deadly War crouch opposite, and here
The Furies' iron chamber, Discord blind
And Strife, her viperous locks with gory fillets twined.
XXXIX. High in the midst a giant elm doth fling
The shadows of its aged arms. There dwell
False Dreams and, nestling, to the foliage cling,
And monstrous shapes, too numerous to tell,
Keep covert, stabled in the porch of Hell.
The beast of Lerna, hissing in his ire,
Huge Centaurs, two-formed Scyllas, fierce and fell,
Briareus hundred-handed, Gorgons dire,
Harpies, the triple Shade, Chimaera fenced with fire.
XL. At once AEneas, stirred by sudden fear,
Clutches his sword, and points the naked blade
To affront them. Then, but that the Heaven-taught seer
Warned him that each was but an empty shade,
A shapeless soul, vain onset he had made,
And slashed the shadows. So he checked his hand,
And past the gateway in the gloom they strayed
Through Tartarus to Acheron's dark strand,
Where thick the whirlpool boils, and voids the seething sand
XLI. Into the deep Cocytus. Charon there,
Grim ferryman, stands sentry. Mean his guise,
His chin a wilderness of hoary hair,
And like a flaming furnace stare his eyes.
Hung in a loop around his shoulders lies
A filthy gaberdine. He trims the sail,
And, pole in hand, across the water plies
His steel-grey shallop with the corpses pale,
Old, but a god's old age has left him green and hale.
XLII. There shoreward rushed a multitude, the shades
Of noble heroes, numbered with the dead,
Boys, husbands, mothers and unwedded maids,
Sons on the pile before their parents spread,
As leaves in number, which the trees have shed
When Autumn's frosts begin to chill the air,
Or birds, that from the wintry blasts have fled
And over seas to sunnier shores repair.
So thick the foremost stand, and, stretching hands of prayer,
XLIII. Plead for a passage. Now the boatman stern
Takes these, now those, then thrusts the rest away,
And vainly for the distant bank they yearn.
Then spake AEneas, for with strange dismay
He viewed the tumult, "Prithee, maiden, say
What means this thronging to the river-side?
What seek the souls? Why separate, do they
Turn back, while others sweep the leaden tide?
Who parts the shades, what doom the difference can decide?"
XLIV. Thereto in brief the aged priestess spake:
"Son of Anchises, and the god's true heir,
Thou see'st Cocytus and the Stygian lake,
By whose dread majesty no god will dare
His solemn oath attested to forswear.
These are the needy, who a burial crave;
The ferryman is Charon; they who fare
Across the flood, the buried; none that wave
Can traverse, ere his bones have rested in the grave.
XLV. "A hundred years they wander in the cold
Around these shores, till at the destined date
The wished-for pools, admitted, they behold."
Sad stood AEneas, pitying their estate,
And, thoughtful, pondered their unequal fate.
Leucaspis there, and Lycia's chief he viewed,
Orontes, joyless, tombless, whom of late,
Sea-tost from Troy, the blustering South pursued,
And ship and crew at once whelmed in the rolling flood.
XLVI. There paced in sorrow Palinurus' ghost,
Who, lately from the Libyan shore their guide,
Watching the stars, headforemost from his post
Had fallen, and perished in the wildering tide.
Him, known, but dimly in the gloom descried,
The Dardan hails, "O Palinurus! who
Of all the gods hath torn thee from our side?
Speak, for Apollo, never known untrue,
This once hath answered false, and mocked with hopes undue.
XLVII. "Safe--so he sang--should'st thou escape the sea,
And scatheless to Ausonia's coast attain.
Lo, this, his plighted promise!"--"Nay," said he,
"Nor answered Phoebus' oracle in vain,
Nor did a god o'erwhelm me in the main.
For while I ruled the rudder, charged to keep
Our course, and steered thee o'er the billowy plain,
Sudden, I slipped, and, falling prone and steep,
Snapped with sheer force the helm, and dragged it to the deep.
XLVIII. "Naught--let the rough seas witness--but for thee
I feared, lest rudderless, her pilot lost,
Your ship should fail in such a towering sea.
Three wintry nights, nipt with the chilling frost,
Upon the boundless waters I was tost,
And on the fourth dawn from a wave at last
Descried Italia. Slowly to her coast
I swam, and clutching at the rock, held fast,
Cumbered with dripping clothes, and deemed the worst o'erpast.
XLIX. "When lo! the savage folk, with sword and stave,
Set on me, weening to have found rich prey.
And now my bones lie weltering on the wave,
Now on strange shores winds blow them far away.
O! by the memory of thy sire, I pray,
By young Iulus, and his hope so fair,
By heaven's sweet breath and light of gladsome day,
Relieve my misery, assuage my care,
Sail back to Velia's port, great conqueror, and there
L. "Strew earth upon me, for the task is light;
Or, if thy goddess-mother deign to show
Some path--for never in the god's despite
O'er these dread waters would'st thou dare to go,
Thine aid in pity on a wretch bestow;
Reach forth thy hand, and bear me to my rest,
Dead with the dead to ease me of my woe."
He spake, and him the prophetess addressed:
"O Palinurus! whence so impious a request?
LI. "Think'st thou the Stygian waters to explore
Unburied, and the Furies' flood to see,
And reach unbidden yon relentless shore?
Hope not by prayer to bend the Fates' decree,
But take this comfort to thy misery;
The neighbouring towns, and people far and near,
Compelled by prodigies, thy ghost shall free,
And load thy tomb with offerings year by year,
And Palinurus' name for aye the place shall bear."
LII. These words relieved his heaviness; joy came
Upon his saddened spirit, pleased to hear
The well-known land remembered by his name.
Thus on they journey, and the stream draw near;
Whom when the Stygian boatman saw appear,
As shoreward through the silent grove they stray,
With stern rebuke he challenged them: "Beware;
Stand off; approach not, but your purpose say;
What brought you here, whoe'er ye come in armed array?
LIII. "Here Shades inhabit,--Sleep and drowsy Night,--
I may not steer the living to yon shore.
Small joy was mine, when, in the gods' despite,
Alive Alcides o'er the stream I bore,
And Theseus and Pirithous, though more
Than men in prowess, nor of mortal clay.
One tried to seize Hell's guardian, and before
Our monarch's throne to chain the trembling prey;
These from her lord's own bed to drag the queen to day."
LIV. Briefly the seer Amphrysian spake again:
"No guile these arms intend, nor open fight;
Fear not; still may the monster in his den
With endless howl the bloodless ghosts affright,
And chaste Proserpine guard her uncle's right.
Duteous and brave, his father's shade to view,
Descends the famed AEneas; if the sight
Of love so great is powerless to subdue,
Mark this,"--and from her vest the fateful gift she drew.
LV. Down fell his wrath: the venerable bough,
So long unseen, with wonderment he eyed;
Then, shoreward turning with his cold-blue prow,
From bench and gangway thrusts the shades aside,
And takes the great AEneas and his guide.
The stitched bark, groaning with the load it bore,
Gapes at each seam, and drinks the plenteous tide,
Till Prince and Prophetess, borne safely o'er,
Stand on the dank, grey ooze and grim, unsightly shore.
LVI. Crouched in a fronting cave, huge Cerberus wakes
These kingdoms with his three-mouthed bark. His head
The priestess marked, all bristling now with snakes,
And flung a sop of honied drugs and bread.
He, famine-stung, with triple jaws dispread,
The morsel snaps, then prone along the cave
Lies stretched on earth, with loosened limbs, as dead.
The sentry lulled, AEneas, blithe and brave,
Seizes the pass, and leaves the irremeable wave.
LVII. Loud shrieks are heard, and wails of the distrest,
The souls of babes, that on the threshold cry,
Reft of sweet life, and ravished from the breast,
And early plunged in bitter death. Hard by
Are those, whom slanderous charges doomed to die.
Not without judgment these abodes they win.
Here, urn in hand, dread Minos sits to try
The charge anew; he summons from within
The silent court, and learns each several life and sin.
LVIII. And next are those, who, hateful of the day,
With guiltless hands their sorrowing lives have ta'en,
And miserably flung their souls away.
How gladly now, in upper air again,
Would they endure their poverty and pain!
It may not be. The Fates their doom decide
Past hope, and bind them to this sad domain.
Dark round them rolls the sea, unlovely tide;
Ninefold the waves of Styx those dreary realms divide.
LIX. Not far off stretch the Mourning Meads, where those
Whom cruel Love hath wasted with despair,
In myrtle groves and alleys hide their woes,
Nor Death itself relieves them of their care.
Lo, Phaedra, Procris, Eriphyle there,
Baring the breast by filial hands imbrued,
Evadne, and Pasiphae, and fair
Laodamia in the crowd he viewed,
And Caeneus, maid, then man, and now a maid renewed.
LX. There through the wood Phoenician Dido strayed,
Fresh from her wound. Whom when AEneas knew,
Scarce seen, though near, amid the doubtful shade,
As one who views, or only seems to view,
The clouded moon rise when the month is new,
Fondly he spake, while tears were in his eye:
"Ah, hapless Dido! then the news was true
That thou had'st sought the bitter end. Was I,
Alas! the cause of death? O by the starry sky,
LXI. "By Gods above, by faith, if aught, below,
Unwillingly, O Queen, I left thy sight.
The Gods, at whose compulsion now I go
Through these dark Shades, this realm of deepest Night,
These wastes of squalor, 'twas their word of might
That drove me forth; nor could I dream such woe
Was thine at my departing. Stay thy flight.
Whom dost thou fly? O, whither wilt thou go?
One word--the last, sad word--one parting look bestow!"
LXII. So strove AEneas, weeping, to appease
Her wrathful spirit. She, with down-fixt eyes
Turns from him, scowling, heedless of his pleas,
And hard as flint or marble, nor replies.
Then, starting, to the shadowy grove she flies,
Where dead Sychaeus, her old lord, renews
His love with hers, and sorrows with her sighs.
Touched by her fate, the Dardan hero views,
And far with tearful gaze the melting shade pursues.
LXIII. Thus onward to the furthest fields they strayed,
The haunts of heroes here doth Tydeus fare,
Parthenopaeus, pale Adrastus' shade.
And many a Dardan, wailed in upper air,
And fallen in war. Sighing, he sees them there,
Glaucus, Thersilochus and Medon slain,
Antenor's sons, three brethren past compare,
And Polyphoetes, priest of Ceres' fane,
And brave Idaeus, still grasping the sword and rein.
LXIV. All throng around, nor rest content to claim
One look, but linger with delight, and fain
Would pace beside, and question why he came.
But when the Greeks and Agamemnon's train
Beheld the hero, and his arms shone plain,
Huge terror shook them, and some turned to fly,
As erst they scattered to their ships; some strain
Their husky voice, and raise a feeble cry.
The warshout mocks their throats, the gibbering accents die.
LXV. There, too, he sees great Priam's son, the famed
Deiphobus, in evil plight forlorn;
A mangled shape, his visage marred and maimed.
His ravaged face the ruthless steel had torn,--
Face, nose and ears--and both his hands were shorn.
Him, cowering back, and striving to disown
The shameful tokens of his foemen's scorn,
Scarcely AEneas knew, then, soon as known,
Thus, unaccosted, hailed in old, familiar tone:
LXVI. "O brave Deiphobus, great Teucer's seed!
Whose heart had will, whose cruel hand had might
To wreak such punishment? Fame told, indeed,
That, tired with slaughter, thou had'st sunk that night
On heaps of mingled carnage in the fight.
Then on the shore I reared an empty mound,
And called (thy name and armour mark the site)
Thy shade. Thyself, dear comrade, ne'er was found.
Vain was my parting wish to lay thee in the ground."
LXVII. "Not thine the fault"; Deiphobus replied,
"Thy debt is rendered; thou hast dealt aright.
Fate, and the baseness of a Spartan bride
Wrought this; behold the tokens of her spite.
Thou know'st--too well must thou recall--that night
Passed in vain pleasure and delusive joy,
What time the fierce Steed, with a bound of might,
Big with armed warriors, eager to destroy,
Leaped o'er the wall, and scaled the citadel of Troy.
LXVIII. "Feigning mock orgies, round the town she led
Troy's dames, with shrieks that rent the midnight air,
And, armed with blazing cresset, at their head
Bright from the watch-tower made the signal flare,
That called the Danaan foemen from their lair.
I, sunk in sleep, the fatal couch had pressed,
Worn out with watching, and weighed down with care,
And, calm and deep, Death's image, gentle Rest
Crept o'er the wearied limbs, and stilled the troubled breast.
LXIX. "Meanwhile, all arms the traitress, as I slept,
Stole from the house, and from beneath my head
She took the trusty falchion, that I kept
To guard the chamber and the bridal bed.
Then, creeping to the door, with stealthy tread,
She lifts the latch, and beckons from within
To Menelaus; so, forsooth, she fled
In hopes a lover's gratitude to win,
And from the past wipe out the scandal of old sin.
LXX. "O noble wife! But why the tale prolong?
Few words were best; my chamber they invade,
They and Ulysses, counsellor of wrong.
Heaven! be these horrors on the Greeks repaid,
If pious lips for just revenge have prayed.
But thou, make answer, and in turn explain
What brought thee, living, to these realms of shade?
By heaven's command, or wandering o'er the main,
Com'st thou to view these shores, this sunless, sad domain?"
LXXI. So they in converse haply had the day
Consumed, when, rosy-charioted, the Morn
O'erpassed mid heaven on her ethereal way,
And thus the Sibyl doth the Dardan warn:
"Night lowers apace; we linger but to mourn.
Here part the roads; beyond the walls of Dis
_There_ lies for us Elysium; leftward borne
Thou comest to Tartarus, in whose drear abyss
Poor sinners purge with pains the lives they lived amiss."
LXXII. "Spare, priestess," cried Deiphobus, "thy wrath;
I will depart, and fill the tale, and hide
In darkness. Thou, with happier fates, go forth,
Our glory."--Sudden, from the Dardan's side
He fled. Back looked AEneas, and espied
Broad bastions, girt with triple wall, that frowned
Beneath a rock to leftward, and the tide
Of torrent Phlegethon, that flamed around,
And made the beaten rocks rebellow with the sound.
LXXIII. In front, a massive gateway threats the sky,
And posts of solid adamant upstay
An iron tower, firm-planted to defy
All force, divine or human. Night and day,
Sleepless Tisiphone defends the way,
Girt up with bloody garments. From within
Loud groans are heard, and wailings of dismay,
The whistling scourge, the fetter's clank and din,
Shrieks, as of tortured fiends, and all the sounds of sin.
LXXIV. Aghast, AEneas listens to the cries.
"O maid," he asks, "what crimes are theirs? What pain
Do they endure? what wailings rend the skies?"
Then she: "Famed Trojan, this accursed domain
None chaste may enter; so the Fates ordain.
Great Hecate herself, when here below
She made me guardian of Avernus' reign,
Led me through all the region, fain to show
The tortures of the gods, the various forms of woe.
LXXV. "Here Cretan Rhadamanthus, strict and stern,
His kingdom holds. Each trespass, now confessed,
He hears and punishes; each tells in turn
The sin, with idle triumph long suppressed,
Till death has bared the secrets of the breast.
Swift at the guilty, as he stands and quakes,
Leaps fierce Tisiphone, for vengeance prest,
And calls her sisters; o'er the wretch she shakes
The torturing scourge aloft, and waves the twisted snakes.
LXXVI. "Then, opening slow, on horrid hinges grate
The doors accursed. See'st thou what sentinel
Sits in the porch? What presence guards the gate?
Know, that within, still fiercer and more fell,
Wide-yawning with her fifty throats, doth dwell
A Hydra. Tartarus itself, hard by,
Abrupt and sheer, beneath the ghosts in Hell,
Gapes twice as deep, as o'er the earth on high
Towers up the Olympian steep, the summit of the sky.
LXXVII. "There roll the Titans, born of ancient Earth,
Hurled to the bottom by the lightning's blast.
There lie--twin monsters of enormous girth--
Aloeus' sons, who 'gainst Olympus cast
Their impious hands, and strove with daring vast
To disenthrone the Thunderer. There, again,
The famed Salmoneus I beheld, laid fast
In cruel agonies of endless pain,
Who sought the flames of Jove with mimic art to feign,
LXXVIII. "And mocked Olympian thunder. Torch in hand,
Drawn by four steeds, through Elis' streets he came,
A conqueror, borne in triumph through the land.
And, waving high the firebrand, dared to claim
The God's own homage and a godlike name.
Blind fool and vain! to think with brazen clash
And hollow tramp of horn-hoofed steeds, to frame
The dread Storm's counterfeit, the thunder's crash,
The matchless bolts of Jove, the inimitable flash.
LXXIX. "But lo! his bolt, no smoky torch of pine,
The Sire omnipotent through darkness sped,
And hurled him headlong with the blast divine.
There, too, lay Tityos, nine roods outspread,
Nursling of earth. Hook-beaked, a vulture dread,
Pecking the deathless liver, plied his quest,
And probed the entrails and the heart, that bred
Immortal pain, and burrowed in his breast.
The torturing growth goes on, the fibres never rest.
LXXX. "Why now those ancient Lapithae recall,
Ixion and Pirithous? There in sight
The black rock frowns, and ever threats to fall.
On golden pillars shine the couches bright,
And royal feasts their longing eyes invite.
But lo, the eldest of the Furies' band
Sits by, and oft uprising in her might,
Warns from the banquet, with uplifted hand,
And thunders in their ears, and waves a flaming brand.
LXXXI. "Those, who with hate a brother's love repaid,
Or drove a parent outcast from their door,
Or, weaving fraud, their client's trust betrayed;
Those, who--the most in number--brooded o'er
Their gold, nor gave to kinsmen of their store;
Those, who for foul adultery were slain,
Who followed treason's banner, or forswore
Their plighted oath to masters, here remain,
And, pent in dungeons deep, await their doom of pain.
LXXXII. "Ask not what pain; what fortune or what fate
O'erwhelmed them, nor their torments seek to know.
These roll uphill a rock's enormous weight,
Those, hung on wheels, are racked with endless woe.
There, too, for ever, as the ages flow,
Sad Theseus sits, and through the darkness cries
Unhappy Phlegyas to the shades below,
'Learn to be good; take warning and be wise;
Learn to revere the gods, nor heaven's commands despise.'
LXXXIII. "There stands the traitor, who his country sold,
A tyrant's bondage for his land prepared;
Made laws, unmade them, for a bribe of gold.
With lawless lust a daughter's shame he shared;
All dared huge crimes, and compassed what they dared.
Ne'er had a hundred mouths, if such were mine,
Nor hundred tongues their endless sins declared,
Nor iron voice their torments could define,
Or tell what doom to each the avenging gods assign.
LXXXIV. "But haste we," adds the Sibyl; "onward hold
The way before thee, and thy task pursue.
Forged in the Cyclops' furnaces, behold
Yon walls and fronting archway, full in view.
Leave there thy gift and pay the God his due."
She spake, and thither through the dark they paced,
And reached the gateway. He, with lustral dew
Self-sprinkled, seized the entrance, and in haste
High o'er the fronting door the fateful offering placed.
LXXXV. These dues performed, they reach the realms of rest,
Fortunate groves, where happy souls repair,
And lawns of green, the dwellings of the blest.
A purple light, a more abundant air
Invest the meadows. Sun and stars are there,
Known but to them. There rival athletes train
Their practised limbs, and feats of strength compare.
These run and wrestle on the sandy plain,
Those tread the measured dance, and join the song's sweet strain.
LXXXVI. In flowing robes the Thracian minstrel sings,
Sweetly responsive to the seven-toned lyre;
Fingers and quill alternate wakes the strings.
Here Teucer's race, and many an ancient sire,
Chieftains of nobler days and martial fire,
Ilus, high-souled Assaracus, and he
Who founded Troy, the rapturous strains admire,
And arms afar and shadowy cars they see,
And lances fixt in earth, and coursers grazing free.
LXXXVII. The love of arms and chariots, the care
Their glossy steeds to pasture and to train,
That pleased them living, still attends them there:
These, stretched at ease, lie feasting on the plain;
There, choral companies, in gladsome strain,
Chant the loud Paean, in a grove of bay,
Rich in sweet scents, whence hurrying to the main,
Eridanus' full torrent on its way
Rolls from below through woods majestic to the day.
LXXXVIII. There, the slain patriot, and the spotless sage,
And pious poets, worthy of the God;
There he, whose arts improved a rugged age,
And those who, labouring for their country's good,
Lived long-remembered,--all, in eager mood,
Crowned with white fillets, round the Sibyl pressed;
Chiefly Musaeus; in the midst he stood,
With ample shoulders towering o'er the rest,
When thus the listening crowd the prophetess addressed:
LXXXIX. "Tell, happy souls; and thou, great poet, tell
Where--in what place--Anchises doth abide,
For whom we came and crossed the streams of Hell."
Briefly the venerable chief replied:
"Fixt home hath no one; by the streamlet's side,
Or in dark groves, or dewy meads we stray,
Where living waters through the pastures glide.
Mount, if ye list, and I will point the way,
Yon summit, and beneath the shining fields survey."
XC. Thus on he leads them, till they leave the height,
Rejoicing.--In a valley far away
The sire Anchises scanned, with fond delight,
The prisoned souls, who waited for the day.
Their shape, their mien his studious eyes survey;
Their fates and fortunes he reviews with pride,
And counts his future offspring in array.
Now, when his son advancing he espied,
Aloud, with tearful eyes and outspread hands, he cried:
XCI. "Art thou, then, come at last? Has filial love,
Thrice welcome, braved the perils of the way?
O joy! do I behold thee? hear thee move
Sweet converse as of old? 'Tis come, the day
I longed and looked for, pondering the delay,
And counting every moment, nor in vain.
How tost with perils do I greet thee? yea,
What wanderings thine on every land and main!
What dangers did I dread from Libya's tempting reign!"
XCII. "Father, 'twas thy sad image," he replied,
"Oft-haunting, drove me to this distant place.
Our navy floats on the Tyrrhenian tide.
Give me thy hand, nor shun a son's embrace."
So spake the son, and o'er his cheeks apace
Rolled down soft tears, of sadness and delight.
Thrice he essayed the phantom to embrace;
Thrice, vainly clasped, it melted from his sight,
Swift as the winged wind, or vision of the night.
XCIII. Meanwhile he views, deep-bosomed in a dale,
A grove, and brakes that rustle in the breeze,
And Lethe, gliding through the peaceful vale.
Peoples and tribes, all hovering round, he sees,
Unnumbered, as in summer heat the bees
Hum round the flowerets of the field, to drain
The fair, white lilies of their sweets; so these
Swarm numberless, and ever and again
The gibbering ghosts disperse, and murmur o'er the plain.
XCIV. Awe-struck, AEneas would the cause enquire:
What streams are yonder? what the crowd so great,
That filled the river's margin? Then the Sire
Anchises answered: "They are souls, that wait
For other bodies, promised them by Fate.
Now, by the banks of Lethe here below,
They lose the memory of their former state,
And from the silent waters, as they flow,
Drink the oblivious draught, and all their cares forego.
XCV. "Long have I wished to show thee, face to face,
Italia's sons, that thou might'st joy with me
To hail the new-found country of our race."
"Oh father!" said AEneas, "can it be,
That souls sublime, so happy and so free,
Can yearn for fleshly tenements again?
So madly long they for the light?" Then he:
"Learn, son, and listen, nor in doubt remain."
And thus in ordered speech the mystery made plain:
XCVI. "First, Heaven and Earth and Ocean's liquid plains,
The Moon's bright globe and planets of the pole,
One mind, infused through every part, sustains;
One universal, animating soul
Quickens, unites and mingles with the whole.
Hence man proceeds, and beasts, and birds of air,
And monsters that in marble ocean roll;
And fiery energy divine they share,
Save what corruption clogs, and earthly limbs impair.
XCVII. "Hence Fear and Sorrow, hence Desire and Mirth;
Nor can the soul, in darkness and in chains,
Assert the skies, and claim celestial birth.
Nay, after death, the traces it retains
Of fleshly grossness, and corporeal stains,
Since much must needs by long concretion grow
Inherent. Therefore are they racked with pains,
And schooled in all the discipline of woe;
Each pays for ancient sin with punishment below.
XCVIII. "Some hang before the viewless winds to bleach;
Some purge in fire or flood the deep decay
And taint of wickedness. We suffer each
Our ghostly penance; thence, the few who may,
Seek the bright meadows of Elysian day,
Till long, long years, when our allotted time
Hath run its orbit, wear the stains away,
And leave the aetherial sense, and spark sublime,
Cleansed from the dross of earth, and cankering rust of crime.
XCIX. "These, when a thousand rolling years are o'er,
Called by the God, to Lethe's waves repair;
There, reft of memory, to yearn once more
For mortal bodies and the upper air."
So spake Anchises, and the priestess fair
Leads, with his son, the murmuring shades among,
Where thickest crowd the multitude, and there
They mount a hillock, and survey the throng,
And scan the pale procession, as it winds along.
C. "Come, now, and hearken to the Dardan's fame,
What noble grandsons shall Italia grace,
Proud spirits, heirs of our illustrious name,
And learn the fates and future of thy race.
See yon fair youth, now leaning--mark his face--
Upon a pointless spear, by lot decreed
To stand the nearest to the light in place,
He first shall rise, of mixt Italian breed,
Silvius, an Alban name, the youngest of thy seed.
CI. "Him, latest offspring of thy days' decline,
Thy spouse Lavinia in the woods shall rear,
The kingly parent of a kingly line,
The lords of Alba Longa. Procas, dear
To Trojans, Capys, Numitor are here,
And he, whose surname shall revive thine own.
Silvius AEneas, like his great compeer
Alike for piety and arms well known,
If e'er, by Fate's decree, he mount the Alban throne.
CII. "What youths! what strength! what promise of renown!
Behold the wreaths of civic oak they wear.
First founders these of many a glorious town,
Nomentum, Gabii and Fidenae fair;
They on the mountain pinnacles shall rear
Collatia's fortress, and Pometii found,
The camp of Inuus, which foemen fear,
Bola and Cora, names to be renowned,
Albeit inglorious now, for nameless is the ground.
CIII. "See Romulus, beside his grandsire's shade,
Offspring of Mars and Ilia, and the line
Of old Assaracus. See there displayed,
The double crest upon his helm, the sign,
Stamped by his sire, to mark his birth divine.
Henceforth, beneath his auspices, shall rise
That Rome, whose glories through the world shall shine;
Far as wide earth's remotest boundary lies,
Her empire shall extend her genius to the skies.
CIV. "Seven hills her single rampart shall embrace,
Seven citadels her girdling wall contain,
Thrice blest, beyond all cities, in a race
Of heroes, destined to adorn her reign.
So, with a hundred grandsons in her train,
Thrice blest, the Mother of the Gods, whose shrine
Is Berecynthus, rides the Phrygian plain,
Tower-crowned, the queen of an immortal line,
All habitants of heaven, and all of seed divine.
CV. "See now thy Romans; thither bend thine eyes,
And Caesar and Iulus' race behold,
Waiting their destined advent to the skies.
This, this is he--long promised, oft foretold--
Augustus Caesar. He the Age of Gold,
God-born himself, in Latium shall restore,
And rule the land, that Saturn ruled of old,
And spread afar his empire and his power
To Garamantian tribes, and India's distant shore.
CVI. "Beyond the planets his dominions lie,
Beyond the solar circuit of the year,
Where Atlas bears the starry-spangled sky.
E'en now the realms of Caspia shuddering hear
His coming, made by oracles too clear.
E'en now Maeotia trembles at his tread,
And Nile's seven mouths are troubled, as in fear
She shrinks reluctant to the deep, such dread
Hath seized the wondering world, so far his fame hath spread.
CVII. "So much of earth not Hercules of yore
O'erpassed, though he the brass-hoofed hind laid low,
And forth from Erymanthus drove the boar,
And startled Lerna's forest with his bow;
Nor he, the Wine-God, who in conquering show,
With vine-wreathed reins, and tigers to his car,
Rides down from Nysa to the plains below.
And doubt we then to celebrate so far
Our prowess, and shall fear Ausonian fields debar?
CVIII. "But see, who, crowned with olive wreath, doth bring
The sacred vessels? By his long, grey hair
And grizzled beard I know the Roman King,
Whom Fate from lowly Cures calls to bear
The mighty burden of an empire's care,
In peace the fabric of our laws to frame.
Now, Tullus comes, new triumphs to prepare,
And wake the folk to arm from idlesse fame,
And Ancus courts e'en now the popular acclaim.
CIX. "Would'st thou behold the Tarquins? Yonder stands
Great Brutus, the Avenger, proud to tear
The people's fasces from the tyrant's hands.
First Consul, he the dreaded axe shall bear,
The patriot-father, who for freedom fair
Shall call his own rebellious sons to bleed.
O noble soul, but hapless! Howso'er
Succeeding ages shall record the deed.
'Tis country's love prevails, and glory's quenchless greed.
CX. "Lo, there the Drusi and the Decii stand,
And stern Torquatus with his axe, and lo!
Camilius brings in triumph to his land
The Roman standards, rescued from the foe.
See, too, yon pair, well-matched in equal show
Of radiant arms, and, while obscured in night,
Firm knit in friendly fellowship; but oh!
How dire the feud, what hosts shall arm for fight,
What streams of carnage flow, if e'er they reach the light!
CXI. "Here from Monoecus and the Alps descends
The father; there, with Easterns in array,
The daughter's husband. O my sons! be friends;
Cease from the strife; forbear the unnatural fray,
Nor turn Rome's prowess to her own decay;
And thou, the foremost of our blood, be first
To fling the arms of civic strife away,
And cease for lawless victories to thirst,
Thou of Olympian birth, and sheath the sword, accurst.
CXII. "See who from Corinth doth his march pursue,
Decked with the spoils of many a Grecian foe.
His car shall climb the Capitol. See, too,
The man who lofty Argos shall o'erthrow,
And lay the walls of Agamemnon low,
And great AEacides himself destroy,
Sprung from Achilles, to requite the woe
Wrought on old Ilion, and avenge with joy
Minerva's outraged fane, and slaughtered sires of Troy.
CXIII. "Shalt thou, great Cato, unextolled remain?
Cossus? the Gracchi? or the Scipios, ye
Twin thunderbolts of battle, and the bane
Of Libya? Who would fail to tell of thee,
Fabricius, potent in thy poverty?
Or thee, Serranus, scattering the seed?
O spare my breath, ye Fabii; thou art he
Called Maximus, their Greatest thou indeed,
Sole saviour, whose delay averts the hour of need.
CXIV. "Others, no doubt, from breathing bronze shall draw
More softness, and a living face devise
From marble, plead their causes at the law
More deftly, trace the motions of the skies
With learned rod, and tell the stars that rise.
Thou, Roman, rule, and o'er the world proclaim
The ways of peace. Be these thy victories,
To spare the vanquished and the proud to tame.
These are imperial arts, and worthy of thy name."
CXV. He paused; and while they pondered in amaze,
"Behold," he cried "Marcellus, see him stride,
Proud of the spoils that tell a nation's praise.
See how he towers, with all a conqueror's pride.
His arm shall stem the tumult and the tide
Of foreign hordes, and save the land from stain.
'Tis he shall crush the rebel Gaul, and ride
Through Punic ranks, and in Quirinus' fane
Hang up the thrice-won spoils, in triumph for the slain."
CXVI. Then thus AEneas spoke, for, passing by,
He saw a comely youth, in bright array
Of glittering arms; yet downcast was his eye,
Joyless and damp his face; "O father, say,
Who companies the hero on his way?
His son? or scion of his stock renowned?
What peerless excellence his looks display!
What stir, what whispers in the crowd around!
But gloomy Night's sad shades his youthful brows surround."
CXVII. Weeping, the Sire: "Seek not, my son, to weigh
Thy children's mighty sorrow. Him shall Fate
Just show to earth, but suffer not to stay.
Too potent Heaven had deemed the Roman state,
Were gifts like this as permanent as great.
Ah! what laments, what groanings of the brave
Shall fill the field of Mars! What funeral state
Shall Tiber see, as past the recent grave
Slowly and sad he winds his melancholy wave!
CXVIII. "No Trojan youth of such illustrious worth
Shall raise the hopes of Latin sires so high.
Ne'er shall the land of Romulus henceforth
Look on a fosterling with prouder eye.
O filial love! O faith of days gone by!
O hand unconquered! None had hoped to bide
Unscathed his onset, nor his arm defy,
When, foot to foot, the murderous sword he plied,
Or dug with iron heel his foaming charger's side.
CXIX. "Ah! child of tears! can'st thou again be free
And burst Fate's cruel bondage, Rome shall know
Her own Marcellus, reappeared in thee.
Go, fill your hands with lilies; let me strow
The purple blossoms where he lies below.
These gifts, at least, in sorrow will I lay,
To grace my kinsman's spirit, thus--but oh!
Alas, how vainly!--to the thankless clay
These unavailing dues, these empty offerings pay."
CXX. Twain are the gates of Sleep; one framed, 'tis said,
Of horn, which easy exit doth invite
For real shades to issue from the dead.
One with the gleam of polished ivory bright,
Whence only lying visions leave the night.
Through this Anchises, talking by the way,
Sends forth the son and Sibyl to the light.
Back hastes AEneas to his friends, and they
Straight to Caieta steer, and anchor in her bay.
More History
|
