| |
| MEANTIME the Trojan cuts his wat’ry way, | |
| Fix’d on his voyage, thro’ the curling sea; | |
| Then, casting back his eyes, with dire amaze, | |
| Sees on the Punic shore the mounting blaze. | |
| The cause unknown; yet his presaging mind | 5 |
| The fate of Dido from the fire divin’d; | |
| He knew the stormy souls of womankind, | |
| What secret springs their eager passions move, | |
| How capable of death for injur’d love. | |
| Dire auguries from hence the Trojans draw; | 10 |
| Till neither fires nor shining shores they saw. | |
| Now seas and skies their prospect only bound; | |
| An empty space above, a floating field around. | |
| But soon the heav’ns with shadows were o’erspread; | |
| A swelling cloud hung hov’ring o’er their head: | 15 |
| Livid it look’d, the threat’ning of a storm: | |
| Then night and horror ocean’s face deform. | |
| The pilot, Palinurus, cried aloud: | |
| “What gusts of weather from that gath’ring cloud | |
| My thoughts presage! Ere yet the tempest roars, | 20 |
| Stand to your tackle, mates, and stretch your oars; | |
| Contract your swelling sails, and luff to wind.” | |
| The frighted crew perform the task assign’d. | |
| Then, to his fearless chief: “Not Heav’n,” said he, | |
| “Tho’ Jove himself should promise Italy, | 25 |
| Can stem the torrent of this raging sea. | |
| Mark how the shifting winds from west arise, | |
| And what collected night involves the skies! | |
| Nor can our shaken vessels live at sea, | |
| Much less against the tempest force their way. | 30 |
| ’T is fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey. | |
| Not far from hence, if I observ’d aright | |
| The southing of the stars, and polar light, | |
| Sicilia lies, whose hospitable shores | |
| In safety we may reach with struggling oars.” | 35 |
| Æneas then replied: “Too sure I find | |
| We strive in vain against the seas and wind: | |
| Now shift your sails; what place can please me more | |
| Than what you promise, the Sicilian shore, | |
| Whose hallow’d earth Anchises’ bones contains, | 40 |
| And where a prince of Trojan lineage reigns?” | |
| The course resolv’d, before the western wind | |
| They scud amain, and make the port assign’d. | |
| Meantime Acestes, from a lofty stand, | |
| Beheld the fleet descending on the land; | 45 |
| And, not unmindful of his ancient race, | |
| Down from the cliff he ran with eager pace, | |
| And held the hero in a strict embrace. | |
| Of a rough Libyan bear the spoils he wore, | |
| And either hand a pointed jav’lin bore. | 50 |
| His mother was a dame of Dardan blood; | |
| His sire Crinisus, a Sicilian flood. | |
| He welcomes his returning friends ashore | |
| With plenteous country cates and homely store. | |
| Now, when the following morn had chas’d away | 55 |
| The flying stars, and light restor’d the day, | |
| Æneas call’d the Trojan troops around, | |
| And thus bespoke them from a rising ground: | |
| “Offspring of heav’n, divine Dardanian race! | |
| The sun, revolving thro’ th’ ethereal space, | 60 |
| The shining circle of the year has fill’d, | |
| Since first this isle my father’s ashes held: | |
| And now the rising day renews the year; | |
| A day for ever sad, for ever dear. | |
| This would I celebrate with annual games, | 65 |
| With gifts on altars pil’d, and holy flames, | |
| Tho’ banish’d to Gætulia’s barren sands, | |
| Caught on the Grecian seas, or hostile lands: | |
| But since this happy storm our fleet has driv’n | |
| (Not, as I deem, without the will of Heav’n) | 70 |
| Upon these friendly shores and flow’ry plains, | |
| Which hide Anchises and his blest remains, | |
| Let us with joy perform his honors due, | |
| And pray for prosp’rous winds, our voyage to renew; | |
| Pray, that in towns and temples of our own, | 75 |
| The name of great Anchises may be known, | |
| And yearly games may spread the gods’ renown. | |
| Our sports Acestes, of the Trojan race, | |
| With royal gifts ordain’d, is pleas’d to grace: | |
| Two steers on ev’ry ship the king bestows; | 80 |
| His gods and ours shall share your equal vows. | |
| Besides, if, nine days hence, the rosy morn | |
| Shall with unclouded light the skies adorn, | |
| That day with solemn sports I mean to grace: | |
| Light galleys on the seas shall run a wat’ry race; | 85 |
| Some shall in swiftness for the goal contend, | |
| And others try the twanging bow to bend; | |
| The strong, with iron gauntlets arm’d, shall stand | |
| Oppos’d in combat on the yellow sand. | |
| Let all be present at the games prepar’d, | 90 |
| And joyful victors wait the just reward. | |
| But now assist the rites, with garlands crown’d.” | |
| He said, and first his brows with myrtle bound. | |
| Then Helymus, by his example led, | |
| And old Acestes, each adorn’d his head; | 95 |
| Thus young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace, | |
| His temples tied, and all the Trojan race. | |
| Æneas then advanc’d amidst the train, | |
| By thousands follow’d thro’ the flow’ry plain, | |
| To great Anchises’ tomb; which when he found, | 100 |
| He pour’d to Bacchus, on the hallow’d ground, | |
| Two bowls of sparkling wine, of milk two more, | |
| And two (from offer’d bulls) of purple gore, | |
| With roses then the sepulcher he strow’d | |
| And thus his father’s ghost bespoke aloud: | 105 |
| “Hail, O ye holy manes! hail again, | |
| Paternal ashes, now review’d in vain! | |
| The gods permitted not, that you, with me, | |
| Should reach the promis’d shores of Italy, | |
| Or Tiber’s flood, what flood soe’er it be.” | 110 |
| Scarce had he finish’d, when, with speckled pride, | |
| A serpent from the tomb began to glide; | |
| His hugy bulk on sev’n high volumes roll’d; | |
| Blue was his breadth of back, but streak’d with scaly gold: | |
| Thus riding on his curls, he seem’d to pass | 115 |
| A rolling fire along, and singe the grass. | |
| More various colors thro’ his body run, | |
| Than Iris when her bow imbibes the sun. | |
| Betwixt the rising altars, and around, | |
| The sacred monster shot along the ground; | 120 |
| With harmless play amidst the bowls he pass’d, | |
| And with his lolling tongue assay’d the taste: | |
| Thus fed with holy food, the wondrous guest | |
| Within the hollow tomb retir’d to rest. | |
| The pious prince, surpris’d at what he view’d, | 125 |
| The fun’ral honors with more zeal renew’d, | |
| Doubtful if this place’s genius were, | |
| Or guardian of his father’s sepulcher. | |
| Five sheep, according to the rites, he slew; | |
| As many swine, and steers of sable hue; | 130 |
| New gen’rous wine he from the goblets pour’d. | |
| And call’d his father’s ghost, from hell restor’d. | |
| The glad attendants in long order come, | |
| Off’ring their gifts at great Anchises’ tomb: | |
| Some add more oxen; some divide the spoil; | 135 |
| Some place the chargers on the grassy soil; | |
| Some blow the fires, and offer’d entrails broil. | |
| Now came the day desir’d. The skies were bright | |
| With rosy luster of the rising light: | |
| The bord’ring people, rous’d by sounding fame | 140 |
| Of Trojan feasts and great Acestes’ name, | |
| The crowded shore with acclamations fill, | |
| Part to behold, and part to prove their skill. | |
| And first the gifts in public view they place, | |
| Green laurel wreaths, and palm, the victors’ grace: | 145 |
| Within the circle, arms and tripods lie, | |
| Ingots of gold and silver, heap’d on high, | |
| And vests embroider’d, of the Tyrian dye. | |
| The trumpet’s clangor then the feast proclaims, | |
| And all prepare for their appointed games. | 150 |
| Four galleys first, which equal rowers bear, | |
| Advancing, in the wat’ry lists appear. | |
| The speedy Dolphin, that outstrips the wind, | |
| Bore Mnestheus, author of the Memmian kind: | |
| Gyas the vast Chimæra’s bulk commands, | 155 |
| Which rising, like a tow’ring city stands; | |
| Three Trojans tug at ev’ry lab’ring oar; | |
| Three banks in three degrees the sailors bore; | |
| Beneath their sturdy strokes the billows roar. | |
| Sergesthus, who began the Sergian race, | 160 |
| In the great Centaur took the leading place; | |
| Cloanthus on the sea-green Scylla stood, | |
| From whom Cluentius draws his Trojan blood. | |
| Far in the sea, against the foaming shore, | |
| There stands a rock: the raging billows roar | 165 |
| Above his head in storms; but, when ’t is clear, | |
| Uncurl their ridgy backs, and at his foot appear. | |
| In peace below the gentle waters run; | |
| The cormorants above lie basking in the sun. | |
| On this the hero fix’d an oak in sight, | 170 |
| The mark to guide the mariners aright. | |
| To bear with this, the seamen stretch their oars; | |
| Then round the rock they steer, and seek the former shores. | |
| The lots decide their place. Above the rest, | |
| Each leader shining in his Tyrian vest; | 175 |
| The common crew with wreaths of poplar boughs | |
| Their temples crown, and shade their sweaty brows: | |
| Besmear’d with oil, their naked shoulders shine. | |
| All take their seats, and wait the sounding sign: | |
| They gripe their oars; and ev’ry panting breast | 180 |
| Is rais’d by turns with hope, by turns with fear depress’d. | |
| The clangor of the trumpet gives the sign; | |
| At once they start, advancing in a line: | |
| With shouts the sailors rend the starry skies; | |
| Lash’d with their oars, the smoky billows rise; | 185 |
| Sparkles the briny main, and the vex’d ocean fries. | |
| Exact in time, with equal strokes they row: | |
| At once the brushing oars and brazen prow | |
| Dash up the sandy waves, and ope the depths below. | |
| Not fiery coursers, in a chariot race, | 190 |
| Invade the field with half so swift a pace; | |
| Not the fierce driver with more fury lends | |
| The sounding lash, and, ere the stroke descends, | |
| Low to the wheels his pliant body bends. | |
| The partial crowd their hopes and fears divide, | 195 |
| And aid with eager shouts the favor’d side. | |
| Cries, murmurs, clamors, with a mixing sound, | |
| From woods to woods, from hills to hills rebound. | |
| Amidst the loud applauses of the shore, | |
| Gyas outstripp’d the rest, and sprung before: | 200 |
| Cloanthus, better mann’d, pursued him fast, | |
| But his o’er-masted galley check’d his haste. | |
| The Centaur and the Dolphin brush the brine | |
| With equal oars, advancing in a line; | |
| And now the mighty Centaur seems to lead, | 205 |
| And now the speedy Dolphin gets ahead; | |
| Now board to board the rival vessels row, | |
| The billows lave the skies, and ocean groans below. | |
| They reach’d the mark. Proud Gyas and his train | |
| In triumph rode, the victors of the main; | 210 |
| But, steering round, he charg’d his pilot stand | |
| More close to shore, and skim along the sand— | |
| “Let others bear to sea!” Menoetes heard; | |
| But secret shelves too cautiously he fear’d, | |
| And, fearing, sought the deep; and still aloof he steer’d. | 215 |
| With louder cries the captain call’d again: | |
| “Bear to the rocky shore, and shun the main.” | |
| He spoke, and, speaking, at his stern he saw | |
| The bold Cloanthus near the shelvings draw. | |
| Betwixt the mark and him the Scylla stood, | 220 |
| And in a closer compass plow’d the flood. | |
| He pass’d the mark; and, wheeling, got before: | |
| Gyas blasphem’d the gods, devoutly swore, | |
| Cried out for anger, and his hair he tore. | |
| Mindless of others’ lives (so high was grown | 225 |
| His rising rage) and careless of his own, | |
| The trembling dotard to the deck he drew; | |
| Then hoisted up, and overboard he threw: | |
| This done, he seiz’d the helm; his fellows cheer’d, | |
| Turn’d short upon the shelfs, and madly steer’d. | 230 |
| Hardly his head the plunging pilot rears, | |
| Clogg’d with his clothes, and cumber’d with his years: | |
| Now dropping wet, he climbs the cliff with pain. | |
| The crowd, that saw him fall and float again, | |
| Shout from the distant shore; and loudly laugh’d, | 235 |
| To see his heaving breast disgorge the briny draught. | |
| The following Centaur, and the Dolphin’s crew, | |
| Their vanish’d hopes of victory renew; | |
| While Gyas lags, they kindle in the race, | |
| To reach the mark. Sergesthus takes the place; | 240 |
| Mnestheus pursues; and while around they wind, | |
| Comes up, not half his galley’s length behind; | |
| Then, on the deck, amidst his mates appear’d, | |
| And thus their drooping courage he cheer’d: | |
| “My friends, and Hector’s followers heretofore, | 245 |
| Exert your vigor; tug the lab’ring oar; | |
| Stretch to your strokes, my still unconquer’d crew, | |
| Whom from the flaming walls of Troy I drew. | |
| In this, our common int’rest, let me find | |
| That strength of hand, that courage of the mind, | 250 |
| As when you stemm’d the strong Malean flood, | |
| And o’er the Syrtes’ broken billows row’d. | |
| I seek not now the foremost palm to gain; | |
| Tho’ yet—but ah! that haughty wish is vain! | |
| Let those enjoy it whom the gods ordain. | 255 |
| But to be last, the lags of all the race!— | |
| Redeem yourselves and me from that disgrace.” | |
| Now, one and all, they tug amain; they row | |
| At the full stretch, and shake the brazen prow. | |
| The sea beneath ’em sinks; their lab’ring sides | 260 |
| Are swell’d, and sweat runs gutt’ring down in tides. | |
| Chance aids their daring with unhop’d success; | |
| Sergesthus, eager with his beak to press | |
| Betwixt the rival galley and the rock, | |
| Shuts up th’ unwieldly Centaur in the lock. | 265 |
| The vessel struck; and, with the dreadful shock, | |
| Her oars she shiver’d, and her head she broke. | |
| The trembling rowers from their banks arise, | |
| And, anxious for themselves, renounce the prize. | |
| With iron poles they heave her off the shores, | 270 |
| And gather from the sea their floating oars. | |
| The crew of Mnestheus, with elated minds, | |
| Urge their success, and call the willing winds; | |
| Then ply their oars, and cut their liquid way | |
| In larger compass on the roomy sea. | 275 |
| As, when the dove her rocky hold forsakes, | |
| Rous’d in a fright, her sounding wings she shakes; | |
| The cavern rings with clatt’ring; out she flies, | |
| And leaves her callow care, and cleaves the skies: | |
| At first she flutters; but at length she springs | 280 |
| To smoother flight, and shoots upon her wings: | |
| So Mnestheus in the Dolphin cuts the sea; | |
| And, flying with a force, that force assists his way. | |
| Sergesthus in the Centaur soon he pass’d, | |
| Wedg’d in the rocky shoals, and sticking fast. | 285 |
| In vain the victor he with cries implores, | |
| And practices to row with shatter’d oars. | |
| Then Mnestheus bears with Gyas, and outflies: | |
| The ship, without a pilot, yields the prize. | |
| Unvanquish’d Scylla now alone remains; | 290 |
| Her he pursues, and all his vigor strains. | |
| Shouts from the fav’ring multitude arise; | |
| Applauding Echo to the shouts replies; | |
| Shouts, wishes, and applause run rattling thro’ the skies. | |
| These clamors with disdain the Scylla heard, | 295 |
| Much grudg’d the praise, but more the robb’d reward: | |
| Resolv’d to hold their own, they mend their pace, | |
| All obstinate to die, or gain the race. | |
| Rais’d with success, the Dolphin swiftly ran; | |
| For they can conquer, who believe they can. | 300 |
| Both urge their oars, and fortune both supplies, | |
| And both perhaps had shar’d an equal prize; | |
| When to the seas Cloanthus holds his hands, | |
| And succor from the wat’ry pow’rs demands: | |
| “Gods of the liquid realms, on which I row! | 305 |
| If, giv’n by you, the laurel bind my brow, | |
| Assist to make me guilty of my vow! | |
| A snow-white bull shall on your shore be slain; | |
| His offer’d entrails cast into the main, | |
| And ruddy wine, from golden goblets thrown, | 310 |
| Your grateful gift and my return shall own.” | |
| The choir of nymphs, and Phorcus, from below, | |
| With virgin Panopea, heard his vow; | |
| And old Portunus, with his breadth of hand, | |
| Push’d on, and sped the galley to the land. | 315 |
| Swift as a shaft, or winged wind, she flies, | |
| And, darting to the port, obtains the prize. | |
| The herald summons all, and then proclaims | |
| Cloanthus conqu’ror of the naval games. | |
| The prince with laurel crowns the victor’s head, | 320 |
| And three fat steers are to his vessel led, | |
| The ship’s reward; with gen’rous wine beside, | |
| And sums of silver, which the crew divide. | |
| The leaders are distinguish’d from the rest; | |
| The victor honor’d with a nobler vest, | 325 |
| Where gold and purple strive in equal rows, | |
| And needlework its happy cost bestows. | |
| There Ganymede is wrought with living art, | |
| Chasing thro’ Ida’s groves the trembling hart: | |
| Breathless he seems, yet eager to pursue; | 330 |
| When from aloft descends, in open view, | |
| The bird of Jove, and, sousing on his prey, | |
| With crooked talons bears the boy away. | |
| In vain, with lifted hands and gazing eyes, | |
| His guards behold him soaring thro’ the skies, | 335 |
| And dogs pursue his flight with imitated cries. | |
| Mnestheus the second victor was declar’d; | |
| And, summon’d there, the second prize he shar’d. | |
| A coat of mail, which brave Demoleus bore, | |
| More brave Æneas from his shoulders tore, | 340 |
| In single combat on the Trojan shore: | |
| This was ordain’d for Mnestheus to possess; | |
| In war for his defense, for ornament in peace. | |
| Rich was the gift, and glorious to behold, | |
| But yet so pond’rous with its plates of gold, | 345 |
| That scarce two servants could the weight sustain; | |
| Yet, loaded thus, Demoleus o’er the plain | |
| Pursued and lightly seiz’d the Trojan train. | |
| The third, succeeding to the last reward, | |
| Two goodly bowls of massy silver shar’d, | 350 |
| With figures prominent, and richly wrought, | |
| And two brass caldrons from Dodona brought. | |
| Thus all, rewarded by the hero’s hands, | |
| Their conqu’ring temples bound with purple bands; | |
| And now Sergesthus, clearing from the rock, | 355 |
| Brought back his galley shatter’d with the shock. | |
| Forlorn she look’d, without an aiding oar, | |
| And, houted by the vulgar, made to shore. | |
| As when a snake, surpris’d upon the road, | |
| Is crush’d athwart her body by the load | 360 |
| Of heavy wheels; or with a mortal wound | |
| Her belly bruis’d, and trodden to the ground: | |
| In vain, with loosen’d curls, she crawls along; | |
| Yet, fierce above, she brandishes her tongue; | |
| Glares with her eyes, and bristles with her scales; | 365 |
| But, groveling in the dust, her parts unsound she trails: | |
| So slowly to the port the Centaur tends, | |
| But, what she wants in oars, with sails amends. | |
| Yet, for his galley sav’d, the grateful prince | |
| Is pleas’d th’ unhappy chief to recompense. | 370 |
| Pholoe, the Cretan slave, rewards his care, | |
| Beauteous herself, with lovely twins as fair. | |
| From thence his way the Trojan hero bent | |
| Into the neighb’ring plain, with mountains pent, | |
| Whose sides were shaded with surrounding wood. | 375 |
| Full in the midst of this fair valley stood | |
| A native theater, which, rising slow | |
| By just degrees, o’erlook’d the ground below. | |
| High on a sylvan throne the leader sate; | |
| A num’rous train attend in solemn state. | 380 |
| Here those that in the rapid course delight, | |
| Desire of honor and the prize invite. | |
| The rival runners without order stand; | |
| The Trojans mix’d with the Sicilian band. | |
| First Nisus, with Euryalus, appears; | 385 |
| Euryalus a boy of blooming years, | |
| With sprightly grace and equal beauty crown’d; | |
| Nisus, for friendship to the youth renown’d. | |
| Diores next, of Priam’s royal race, | |
| Then Salius joined with Patron, took their place; | 390 |
| (But Patron in Arcadia had his birth, | |
| And Salius his from Arcananian earth;) | |
| Then two Sicilian youths—the names of these, | |
| Swift Helymus, and lovely Panopes: | |
| Both jolly huntsmen, both in forest bred, | 395 |
| And owning old Acestes for their head; | |
| With sev’ral others of ignobler name, | |
| Whom time has not deliver’d o’er to fame. | |
| To these the hero thus his thoughts explain’d, | |
| In words which gen’ral approbation gain’d: | 400 |
| “One common largess is for all design’d, | |
| (The vanquish’d and the victor shall be join’d,) | |
| Two darts of polish’d steel and Gnosian wood, | |
| A silver-studded ax, alike bestow’d. | |
| The foremost three have olive wreaths decreed: | 405 |
| The first of these obtains a stately steed, | |
| Adorn’d with trappings; and the next in fame, | |
| The quiver of an Amazonian dame, | |
| With feather’d Thracian arrows well supplied: | |
| A golden belt shall gird his manly side, | 410 |
| Which with a sparkling diamond shall be tied. | |
| The third this Grecian helmet shall content.” | |
| He said. To their appointed base they went; | |
| With beating hearts th’ expected sign receive, | |
| And, starting all at once, the barrier leave. | 415 |
| Spread out, as on the winged winds, they flew, | |
| And seiz’d the distant goal with greedy view. | |
| Shot from the crowd, swift Nisus all o’erpass’d; | |
| Nor storms, nor thunder, equal half his haste. | |
| The next, but tho’ the next, yet far disjoin’d, | 420 |
| Came Salius, and Euryalus behind; | |
| Then Helymus, whom young Diores plied, | |
| Step after step, and almost side by side, | |
| His shoulders pressing; and, in longer space, | |
| Had won, or left at least a dubious race. | 425 |
| Now, spent, the goal they almost reach at last, | |
| When eager Nisus, hapless in his haste, | |
| Slipp’d first, and, slipping, fell upon the plain, | |
| Soak’d with the blood of oxen newly slain. | |
| The careless victor had not mark’d his way; | 430 |
| But, treading where the treach’rous puddle lay, | |
| His heels flew up; and on the grassy floor | |
| He fell, besmear’d with filth and holy gore. | |
| Not mindless then, Euryalus, of thee, | |
| Nor of the sacred bonds of amity, | 435 |
| He strove th’ immediate rival’s hope to cross, | |
| And caught the foot of Salius as he rose. | |
| So Salius lay extended on the plain; | |
| Euryalus springs out, the prize to gain, | |
| And leaves the crowd: applauding peals attend | 440 |
| The victor to the goal, who vanquish’d by his friend. | |
| Next Helymus; and then Diores came, | |
| By two misfortunes made the third in fame. | |
| But Salius enters, and, exclaiming loud | |
| For justice, deafens and disturbs the crowd; | 445 |
| Urges his cause may in the court be heard; | |
| And pleads the prize is wrongfully conferr’d. | |
| But favor for Euryalus appears; | |
| His blooming beauty, with his tender tears, | |
| Had brib’d the judges for the promis’d prize. | 450 |
| Besides, Diores fills the court with cries, | |
| Who vainly reaches at the last reward, | |
| If the first palm on Salius be conferr’d. | |
| Then thus the prince: “Let no disputes arise: | |
| Where fortune plac’d it, I award the prize. | 455 |
| But fortune’s errors give me leave to mend, | |
| At least to pity my deserving friend.” | |
| He said, and, from among the spoils, he draws | |
| (Pond’rous with shaggy mane and golden paws) | |
| A lion’s hide: to Salius this he gives. | 460 |
| Nisus with envy sees the gift, and grieves. | |
| “If such rewards to vanquish’d men are due.” | |
| He said, “and falling is to rise by you, | |
| What prize may Nisus from your bounty claim, | |
| Who merited the first rewards and fame? | 465 |
| In falling, both an equal fortune tried; | |
| Would fortune for my fall so well provide!” | |
| With this he pointed to his face, and show’d | |
| His hand and all his habit smear’d with blood. | |
| Th’ indulgent father of the people smil’d, | 470 |
| And caus’d to be produc’d an ample shield, | |
| Of wondrous art, by Didymaon wrought, | |
| Long since from Neptune’s bars in triumph brought. | |
| This giv’n to Nisus, he divides the rest, | |
| And equal Justice in his gifts express’d. | 475 |
| The race thus ended, and rewards bestow’d, | |
| Once more the prince bespeaks th’ attentive crowd: | |
| “If there be here whose dauntless courage dare | |
| In gauntlet-fight, with limbs and body bare, | |
| His opposite sustain in open view, | 480 |
| Stand forth the champion, and the games renew. | |
| Two prizes I propose, and thus divide: | |
| A bull with gilded horns, and fillets tied, | |
| Shall be the portion of the conqu’ring chief; | |
| A sword and helm shall cheer the loser’s grief.” | 485 |
| Then haughty Dares in the lists appears; | |
| Stalking he strides, his head erected bears: | |
| His nervous arms the weighty gauntlet wield, | |
| And loud applauses echo thro’ the field. | |
| Dares alone in combat us’d to stand | 490 |
| The match of mighty Paris, hand to hand; | |
| The same, at Hector’s fun’rals, undertook | |
| Gigantic Butes, of th’ Amycian stock, | |
| And, by the stroke of his resistless hand, | |
| Stretch’d the vast bulk upon the yellow sand. | 495 |
| Such Dares was; and such he strode along, | |
| And drew the wonder of the gazing throng. | |
| His brawny back and ample breast he shows, | |
| His lifted arms around his head he throws, | |
| And deals in whistling air his empty blows. | 500 |
| His match is sought; but, thro’ the trembling band, | |
| Not one dares answer to the proud demand. | |
| Presuming of his force, with sparkling eyes | |
| Already he devours the promis’d prize. | |
| He claims the bull with awless insolence, | 505 |
| And having seiz’d his horns, accosts the prince: | |
| “If none my matchless valor dares oppose, | |
| How long shall Dares wait his dastard foes? | |
| Permit me, chief, permit without delay, | |
| To lead this uncontended gift away.” | 510 |
| The crowd assents, and with redoubled cries | |
| For the proud challenger demands the prize. | |
| Acestes, fir’d with just disdain, to see | |
| The palm usurp’d without a victory, | |
| Reproach’d Entellus thus, who sate beside, | 515 |
| And heard and saw, unmov’d, the Trojan’s pride: | |
| “Once, but in vain, a champion of renown, | |
| So tamely can you bear the ravish’d crown, | |
| A prize in triumph borne before your sight, | |
| And shun, for fear, the danger of the fight? | 520 |
| Where is our Eryx now, the boasted name, | |
| The god who taught your thund’ring arm the game? | |
| Where now your baffled honor? Where the spoil | |
| That fill’d your house, and fame that fill’d our isle?” | |
| Entellus, thus: “My soul is still the same, | 525 |
| Unmov’d with fear, and mov’d with martial fame; | |
| But my chill blood is curdled in my veins, | |
| And scarce the shadow of a man remains. | |
| O could I turn to that fair prime again, | |
| That prime of which this boaster is so vain, | 530 |
| The brave, who this decrepid age defies, | |
| Should feel my force, without the promis’d prize.” | |
| He said; and, rising at the word, he threw | |
| Two pond’rous gauntlets down in open view; | |
| Gauntlets which Eryx wont in fight to wield, | 535 |
| And sheathe his hands with in the listed field. | |
| With fear and wonder seiz’d, the crowd beholds | |
| The gloves of death, with sev’n distinguish’d folds | |
| Of tough bull hides; the space within is spread | |
| With iron, or with loads of heavy lead: | 540 |
| Dares himself was daunted at the sight, | |
| Renounc’d his challenge, and refus’d to fight. | |
| Astonish’d at their weight, the hero stands, | |
| And pois’d the pond’rous engines in his hands. | |
| “What had your wonder,” said Entellus, “been, | 545 |
| Had you the gauntlets of Alcides seen, | |
| Or view’d the stern debate on this unhappy green! | |
| These which I bear your brother Eryx bore, | |
| Still mark’d with batter’d brains and mingled gore. | |
| With these he long sustain’d th’ Herculean arm; | 550 |
| And these I wielded while my blood was warm, | |
| This languish’d frame while better spirits fed, | |
| Ere age unstrung my nerves, or time o’ersnow’d my head. | |
| But if the challenger these arms refuse, | |
| And cannot wield their weight, or dare not use; | 555 |
| If great Æneas and Acestes join | |
| In his request, these gauntlets I resign; | |
| Let us with equal arms perform the fight, | |
| And let him leave to fear, since I resign my right.” | |
| This said, Entellus for the strife prepares; | 560 |
| Stripp’d of his quilted coat, his body bares; | |
| Compos’d of mighty bones and brawn he stands, | |
| A goodly tow’ring object on the sands. | |
| Then just Æneas equal arms supplied, | |
| Which round their shoulders to their wrists they tied. | 565 |
| Both on the tiptoe stand, at full extent, | |
| Their arms aloft, their bodies inly bent; | |
| Their heads from aiming blows they bear afar; | |
| With clashing gauntlets then provoke the war. | |
| One on his youth and pliant limbs relies; | 570 |
| One on his sinews and his giant size. | |
| The last is stiff with age, his motion slow; | |
| He heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro, | |
| And clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow. | |
| Yet equal in success, they ward, they strike; | 575 |
| Their ways are diff’rent, but their art alike. | |
| Before, behind, the blows are dealt; around | |
| Their hollow sides the rattling thumps resound. | |
| A storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies, | |
| And errs about their temples, ears, and eyes. | 580 |
| Nor always errs; for oft the gauntlet draws | |
| A sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws. | |
| Heavy with age, Entellus stands his ground, | |
| But with his warping body wards the wound. | |
| His hand and watchful eye keep even pace; | 585 |
| While Dares traverses and shifts his place, | |
| And, like a captain who beleaguers round | |
| Some strong-built castle on a rising ground, | |
| Views all th’ approaches with observing eyes: | |
| This and that other part in vain he tries, | 590 |
| And more on industry than force relies. | |
| With hands on high, Entellus threats the foe; | |
| But Dares watch’d the motion from below, | |
| And slipp’d aside, and shunn’d the long descending blow. | |
| Entellus wastes his forces on the wind, | 595 |
| And, thus deluded of the stroke design’d, | |
| Headlong and heavy fell; his ample breast | |
| And weighty limbs his ancient mother press’d. | |
| So falls a hollow pine, that long had stood | |
| On Ida’s height, or Erymanthus’ wood, | 600 |
| Torn from the roots. The diff’ring nations rise, | |
| And shouts and mingled murmurs rend the skies, | |
| Acestus runs with eager haste, to raise | |
| The fall’n companion of his youthful days. | |
| Dauntless he rose, and to the fight return’d; | 605 |
| With shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burn’d. | |
| Disdain and conscious virtue fir’d his breast, | |
| And with redoubled force his foe he press’d. | |
| He lays on load with either hand, amain, | |
| And headlong drives the Trojan o’er the plain; | 610 |
| Nor stops, nor stays; nor rest nor breath allows; | |
| But storms of strokes descend about his brows, | |
| A rattling tempest, and a hail of blows. | |
| But now the prince, who saw the wild increase | |
| Of wounds, commands the combatants to cease, | 615 |
| And bounds Entellus’ wrath, and bids the peace. | |
| First to the Trojan, spent with toil, he came, | |
| And sooth’d his sorrow for the suffer’d shame. | |
| “What fury seiz’d my friend? The gods,” said he, | |
| “To him propitious, and averse to thee, | 620 |
| Have giv’n his arm superior force to thine. | |
| ’T is madness to contend with strength divine.” | |
| The gauntlet fight thus ended, from the shore | |
| His faithful friends unhappy Dares bore: | |
| His mouth and nostrils pour’d a purple flood, | 625 |
| And pounded teeth came rushing with his blood. | |
| Faintly he stagger’d thro’ the hissing throng, | |
| And hung his head, and trail’d his legs along. | |
| The sword and casque are carried by his train; | |
| But with his foe the palm and ox remain. | 630 |
| The champion, then, before Æneas came, | |
| Proud of his prize, but prouder of his fame: | |
| “O goddess-born, and you, Dardanian host, | |
| Mark with attention, and forgive my boast; | |
| Learn what I was, by what remains; and know | 635 |
| From what impending fate you sav’d my foe.” | |
| Sternly he spoke, and then confronts the bull; | |
| And, on his ample forehead aiming full, | |
| The deadly stroke, descending, pierc’d the skull. | |
| Down drops the beast, nor needs a second wound, | 640 |
| But sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground. | |
| Then, thus: “In Dares’ stead I offer this. | |
| Eryx, accept a nobler sacrifice; | |
| Take the last gift my wither’d arms can yield: | |
| Thy gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field.” | 645 |
| This done, Æneas orders, for the close, | |
| The strife of archers with contending bows. | |
| The mast Sergesthus’ shatter’d galley bore | |
| With his own hands he raises on the shore. | |
| A flutt’ring dove upon the top they tie, | 650 |
| The living mark at which their arrows fly. | |
| The rival archers in a line advance, | |
| Their turn of shooting to receive from chance. | |
| A helmet holds their names; the lots are drawn: | |
| On the first scroll was read Hippocoon. | 655 |
| The people shout. Upon the next was found | |
| Young Mnestheus, late with naval honors crown’d. | |
| The third contain’d Eurytion’s noble name, | |
| Thy brother, Pandarus, and next in fame, | |
| Whom Pallas urg’d the treaty to confound, | 660 |
| And send among the Greeks a feather’d wound. | |
| Acestes in the bottom last remain’d, | |
| Whom not his age from youthful sports restrain’d. | |
| Soon all with vigor bend their trusty bows, | |
| And from the quiver each his arrow chose. | 665 |
| Hippocoon’s was the first: with forceful sway | |
| It flew, and, whizzing, cut the liquid way. | |
| Fix’d in the mast the feather’d weapon stands: | |
| The fearful pigeon flutters in her bands, | |
| And the tree trembled, and the shouting cries | 670 |
| Of the pleas’d people rend the vaulted skies. | |
| Then Mnestheus to the head his arrow drove, | |
| With lifted eyes, and took his aim above, | |
| But made a glancing shot, and miss’d the dove; | |
| Yet miss’d so narrow, that he cut the cord | 675 |
| Which fasten’d by the foot the flitting bird. | |
| The captive thus releas’d, away she flies, | |
| And beats with clapping wings the yielding skies. | |
| His bow already bent, Eurytion stood; | |
| And, having first invok’d his brother god, | 680 |
| His winged shaft with eager haste he sped. | |
| The fatal message reach’d her as she fled: | |
| She leaves her life aloft; she strikes the ground, | |
| And renders back the weapon in the wound. | |
| Acestes, grudging at his lot, remains, | 685 |
| Without a prize to gratify his pains. | |
| Yet, shooting upward, sends his shaft, to show | |
| An archer’s art, and boast his twanging bow. | |
| The feather’d arrow gave a dire portent, | |
| And latter augurs judge from this event. | 690 |
| Chaf’d by the speed, it fir’d; and, as it flew, | |
| A trail of following flames ascending drew: | |
| Kindling they mount, and mark the shiny way; | |
| Across the skies as falling meteors play, | |
| And vanish into wind, or in a blaze decay. | 695 |
| The Trojans and Sicilians wildly stare, | |
| And, trembling, turn their wonder into pray’r. | |
| The Dardan prince put on a smiling face, | |
| And strain’d Acestes with a close embrace; | |
| Then, hon’ring him with gifts above the rest, | 700 |
| Turn’d the bad omen, nor his fears confess’d. | |
| “The gods,” said he, “this miracle have wrought, | |
| And order’d you the prize without the lot. | |
| Accept this goblet, rough with figur’d gold, | |
| Which Thracian Cisseus gave my sire of old: | 705 |
| This pledge of ancient amity receive, | |
| Which to my second sire I justly give.” | |
| He said, and, with the trumpets’ cheerful sound, | |
| Proclaim’d him victor, and with laurel crown’d. | |
| Nor good Eurytion envied him the prize, | 710 |
| Tho’ he transfix’d the pigeon in the skies. | |
| Who cut the line, with second gifts was grac’d; | |
| The third was his whose arrow pierc’d the mast. | |
| The chief, before the games were wholly done, | |
| Call’d Periphantes, tutor to his son, | 715 |
| And whisper’d thus: “With speed Ascanius find; | |
| And, if his childish troop be ready join’d, | |
| On horseback let him grace his grandsire’s day, | |
| And lead his equals arm’d in just array.” | |
| He said; and, calling out, the cirque he clears. | 720 |
| The crowd withdrawn, an open plain appears. | |
| And now the noble youths, of form divine, | |
| Advance before their fathers, in a line; | |
| The riders grace the steeds; the steeds with glory shine. | |
| Thus marching on in military pride, | 725 |
| Shouts of applause resound from side to side. | |
| Their casques adorn’d with laurel wreaths they wear, | |
| Each brandishing aloft a cornel spear. | |
| Some at their backs their gilded quivers bore; | |
| Their chains of burnish’d gold hung down before. | 730 |
| Three graceful troops they form’d upon the green; | |
| Three graceful leaders at their head were seen; | |
| Twelve follow’d ev’ry chief, and left a space between. | |
| The first young Priam led; a lovely boy, | |
| Whose grandsire was th’ unhappy king of Troy; | 735 |
| His race in after times was known to fame, | |
| New honors adding to the Latian name; | |
| And well the royal boy his Thracian steed became. | |
| White were the fetlocks of his feet before, | |
| And on his front a snowy star he bore. | 740 |
| Then beauteous Atys, with Iulus bred, | |
| Of equal age, the second squadron led. | |
| The last in order, but the first in place, | |
| First in the lovely features of his face, | |
| Rode fair Ascanius on a fiery steed, | 745 |
| Queen Dido’s gift, and of the Tyrian breed. | |
| Sure coursers for the rest the king ordains, | |
| With golden bits adorn’d, and purple reins. | |
| The pleas’d spectators peals of shouts renew, | |
| And all the parents in the children view; | 750 |
| Their make, their motions, and their sprightly grace, | |
| And hopes and fears alternate in their face. | |
| Th’ unfledg’d commanders and their martial train | |
| First make the circuit of the sandy plain | |
| Around their sires, and, at th’ appointed sign, | 755 |
| Drawn up in beauteous order, form a line. | |
| The second signal sounds, the troop divides | |
| In three distinguish’d parts, with three distinguish’d guides. | |
| Again they close, and once again disjoin; | |
| In troop to troop oppos’d, and line to line. | 760 |
| They meet; they wheel; they throw their darts afar | |
| With harmless rage and well-dissembled war. | |
| Then in a round the mingled bodies run: | |
| Flying they follow, and pursuing shun; | |
| Broken, they break; and, rallying, they renew | 765 |
| In other forms the military shew. | |
| At last, in order, undiscern’d they join, | |
| And march together in a friendly line. | |
| And, as the Cretan labyrinth of old, | |
| With wand’ring ways and many a winding fold, | 770 |
| Involv’d the weary feet, without redress, | |
| In a round error, which denied recess; | |
| So fought the Trojan boys in warlike play, | |
| Turn’d and return’d, and still a diff’rent way. | |
| Thus dolphins in the deep each other chase | 775 |
| In circles, when they swim around the wat’ry race. | |
| This game, these carousels, Ascanius taught; | |
| And, building Alba, to the Latins brought; | |
| Shew’d what he learn’d: the Latin sires impart | |
| To their succeeding sons the graceful art; | 780 |
| From these imperial Rome receiv’d the game, | |
| Which Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name. | |
| Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate: | |
| But Fortune soon resum’d her ancient hate; | |
| For, while they pay the dead his annual dues, | 785 |
| Those envied rites Saturnian Juno views; | |
| And sends the goddess of the various bow, | |
| To try new methods of revenge below; | |
| Supplies the winds to wing her airy way, | |
| Where in the port secure the navy lay. | 790 |
| Swiftly fair Iris down her arch descends, | |
| And, undiscern’d, her fatal voyage ends. | |
| She saw the gath’ring crowd; and, gliding thence, | |
| The desart shore, and fleet without defense. | |
| The Trojan matrons, on the sands alone, | 795 |
| With sighs and tears Anchises’ death bemoan; | |
| Then, turning to the sea their weeping eyes, | |
| Their pity to themselves renews their cries. | |
| “Alas!” said one, “what oceans yet remain | |
| For us to sail! what labors to sustain!” | 800 |
| All take the word, and, with a gen’ral groan, | |
| Implore the gods for peace, and places of their own. | |
| The goddess, great in mischief, views their pains, | |
| And in a woman’s form her heav’nly limbs restrains. | |
| In face and shape old Beroe she became, | 805 |
| Doryclus’ wife, a venerable dame, | |
| Once blest with riches, and a mother’s name. | |
| Thus chang’d, amidst the crying crowd she ran, | |
| Mix’d with the matrons, and these words began: | |
| “O wretched we, whom not the Grecian pow’r, | 810 |
| Nor flames, destroy’d, in Troy’s unhappy hour! | |
| O wretched we, reserv’d by cruel fate, | |
| Beyond the ruins of the sinking state! | |
| Now sev’n revolving years are wholly run, | |
| Since this improsp’rous voyage we begun; | 815 |
| Since, toss’d from shores to shores, from lands to lands, | |
| Inhospitable rocks and barren sands, | |
| Wand’ring in exile thro’ the stormy sea, | |
| We search in vain for flying Italy. | |
| Now cast by fortune on this kindred land, | 820 |
| What should our rest and rising walls withstand, | |
| Or hinder here to fix our banish’d band? | |
| O country lost, and gods redeem’d in vain, | |
| If still in endless exile we remain! | |
| Shall we no more the Trojan walls renew, | 825 |
| Or streams of some dissembled Simois view! | |
| Haste, join with me, th’ unhappy fleet consume! | |
| Cassandra bids; and I declare her doom. | |
| In sleep I saw her; she supplied my hands | |
| (For this I more than dreamt) with flaming brands: | 830 |
| ‘With these,’ said she, ‘these wand’ring ships destroy: | |
| These are your fatal seats, and this your Troy.’ | |
| Time calls you now; the precious hour employ: | |
| Slack not the good presage, while Heav’n inspires | |
| Our minds to dare, and gives the ready fires. | 835 |
| See! Neptune’s altars minister their brands: | |
| The god is pleas’d; the god supplies our hands.” | |
| Then from the pile a flaming fire she drew, | |
| And, toss’d in air, amidst the galleys threw. | |
| Wrapp’d in amaze, the matrons wildly stare: | 840 |
| Then Pyrgo, reverenc’d for her hoary hair, | |
| Pyrgo, the nurse of Priam’s num’rous race: | |
| “No Beroe this, tho’ she belies her face! | |
| What terrors from her frowning front arise! | |
| Behold a goddess in her ardent eyes! | 845 |
| What rays around her heav’nly face are seen! | |
| Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien! | |
| Beroe but now I left, whom, pin’d with pain, | |
| Her age and anguish from these rites detain,” | |
| She said. The matrons, seiz’d with new amaze, | 850 |
| Roll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze. | |
| They fear, and hope, and neither part obey: | |
| They hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way. | |
| The goddess, having done her task below, | |
| Mounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow. | 855 |
| Struck with the sight, and seiz’d with rage divine, | |
| The matrons prosecute their mad design: | |
| They shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands, | |
| The food of altars; fires and flaming brands. | |
| Green boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste, | 860 |
| And smoking torches, on the ships they cast. | |
| The flame, unstopp’d at first, more fury gains, | |
| And Vulcan rides at large with loosen’d reins: | |
| Triumphant to the painted sterns he soars, | |
| And seizes, in his way, the banks and crackling oars. | 865 |
| Eumelus was the first the news to bear, | |
| While yet they crowd the rural theater. | |
| Then, what they hear, is witness’d by their eyes: | |
| A storm of sparkles and of flames arise. | |
| Ascanius took th’ alarm, while yet he led | 870 |
| His early warriors on his prancing steed, | |
| And, spurring on, his equals soon o’erpass’d; | |
| Nor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste. | |
| Soon as the royal youth appear’d in view, | |
| He sent his voice before him as he flew: | 875 |
| “What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy | |
| The last remainders of unhappy Troy! | |
| Not hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn, | |
| And on your friends your fatal fury turn. | |
| Behold your own Ascanius!” While he said, | 880 |
| He drew his glitt’ring helmet from his head, | |
| In which the youths to sportful arms he led. | |
| By this, Æneas and his train appear; | |
| And now the women, seiz’d with shame and fear, | |
| Dispers’d, to woods and caverns take their flight, | 885 |
| Abhor their actions, and avoid the light; | |
| Their friends acknowledge, and their error find, | |
| And shake the goddess from their alter’d mind. | |
| Not so the raging fires their fury cease, | |
| But, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace, | 890 |
| Work on their way amid the smold’ring tow, | |
| Sure in destruction, but in motion slow. | |
| The silent plague thro’ the green timber eats, | |
| And vomits out a tardy flame by fits. | |
| Down to the keels, and upward to the sails, | 895 |
| The fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails; | |
| Nor buckets pour’d, nor strength of human hand, | |
| Can the victorious element withstand. | |
| The pious hero rends his robe, and throws | |
| To heav’n his hands, and with his hands his vows. | 900 |
| “O Jove,” he cried, ‘if pray’rs can yet have place; | |
| If thou abhorr’st not all the Dardan race; | |
| If any spark of pity still remain; | |
| If gods are gods, and not invok’d in vain; | |
| Yet spare the relics of the Trojan train! | 905 |
| Yet from the flames our burning vessels free, | |
| Or let thy fury fall alone on me! | |
| At this devoted head thy thunder throw, | |
| And send the willing sacrifice below!” | |
| Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise: | 910 |
| From pole to pole the forky lightning flies; | |
| Loud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain; | |
| Heav’n bellies downward, and descends in rain. | |
| Whole sheets of water from the clouds are sent, | |
| Which, hissing thro’ the planks, the flames prevent, | 915 |
| And stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone | |
| Burn to the waist, and for the fleet atone. | |
| But doubtful thoughts the hero’s heart divide; | |
| If he should still in Sicily reside, | |
| Forgetful of his fates, or tempt the main, | 920 |
| In hope the promis’d Italy to gain. | |
| Then Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone | |
| The will of Heav’n by Pallas was foreshown; | |
| Vers’d in portents, experienc’d, and inspir’d | |
| To tell events, and what the fates requir’d; | 925 |
| Thus while he stood, to neither part inclin’d, | |
| With cheerful words reliev’d his lab’ring mind: | |
| “O goddess-born, resign’d in ev’ry state, | |
| With patience bear, with prudence push your fate. | |
| By suff’ring well, our Fortune we subdue; | 930 |
| Fly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue. | |
| Your friend Acestes is of Trojan kind; | |
| To him disclose the secrets of your mind: | |
| Trust in his hands your old and useless train; | |
| Too num’rous for the ships which yet remain: | 935 |
| The feeble, old, indulgent of their ease, | |
| The dames who dread the dangers of the seas, | |
| With all the dastard crew, who dare not stand | |
| The shock of battle with your foes by land. | |
| Here you may build a common town for all, | 940 |
| And, from Acestes’ name, Acesta call.” | |
| The reasons, with his friend’s experience join’d, | |
| Encourag’d much, but more disturb’d his mind. | |
| ’T was dead of night; when to his slumb’ring eyes | |
| His father’s shade descended from the skies, | 945 |
| And thus he spoke: “O more than vital breath, | |
| Lov’d while I liv’d, and dear ev’n after death; | |
| O son, in various toils and troubles toss’d, | |
| The King of Heav’n employs my careful ghost | |
| On his commands: the god, who sav’d from fire | 950 |
| Your flaming fleet, and heard your just desire. | |
| The wholesome counsel of your friend receive, | |
| And here the coward train and women leave: | |
| The chosen youth, and those who nobly dare, | |
| Transport, to tempt the dangers of the war. | 955 |
| The stern Italians will their courage try; | |
| Rough are their manners, and their minds are high. | |
| But first to Pluto’s palace you shall go, | |
| And seek my shade among the blest below: | |
| For not with impious ghosts my soul remains, | 960 |
| Nor suffers with the damn’d perpetual pains, | |
| But breathes the living air of soft Elysian plains. | |
| The chaste Sibylla shall your steps convey, | |
| And blood of offer’d victims free the way. | |
| There shall you know what realms the gods assign, | 965 |
| And learn the fates and fortunes of your line. | |
| But now, farewell! I vanish with the night, | |
| And feel the blast of heav’n’s approaching light.” | |
| He said, and mix’d with shades, and took his airy flight. | |
| “Whither so fast?” the filial duty cried; | 970 |
| “And why, ah why, the wish’d embrace denied?” | |
| He said, and rose; as holy zeal inspires, | |
| He rakes hot embers, and renews the fires; | |
| His country gods and Vesta then adores | |
| With cakes and incense, and their aid implores. | 975 |
| Next, for his friends and royal host he sent, | |
| Reveal’d his vision, and the gods’ intent, | |
| With his own purpose. All, without delay, | |
| The will of Jove, and his desires obey. | |
| They list with women each degenerate name, | 980 |
| Who dares not hazard life for future fame. | |
| These they cashier: the brave remaining few, | |
| Oars, banks, and cables, half consum’d, renew. | |
| The prince designs a city with the plow; | |
| The lots their sev’ral tenements allow. | 985 |
| This part is nam’d from Ilium, that from Troy, | |
| And the new king ascends the throne with joy; | |
| A chosen senate from the people draws; | |
| Appoints the judges, and ordains the laws. | |
| Then, on the top of Eryx, they begin | 990 |
| A rising temple to the Paphian queen. | |
| Anchises, last, is honor’d as a god; | |
| A priest is added, annual gifts bestow’d, | |
| And groves are planted round his blest abode. | |
| Nine days they pass in feasts, their temples crown’d; | 995 |
| And fumes of incense in the fanes abound. | |
| Then from the south arose a gentle breeze | |
| That curl’d the smoothness of the glassy seas; | |
| The rising winds a ruffling gale afford, | |
| And call the merry mariners aboard. | 1000 |
| Now loud laments along the shores resound, | |
| Of parting friends in close embraces bound. | |
| The trembling women, the degenerate train, | |
| Who shunn’d the frightful dangers of the main, | |
| Ev’n those desire to sail, and take their share | 1005 |
| Of the rough passage and the promis’d war: | |
| Whom good Æneas cheers, and recommends | |
| To their new master’s care his fearful friends. | |
| On Eryx’s altars three fat calves he lays; | |
| A lamb new-fallen to the stormy seas; | 1010 |
| Then slips his haulsers, and his anchors weighs. | |
| High on the deck the godlike hero stands, | |
| With olive crown’d, a charger in his hands; | |
| Then cast the reeking entrails in the brine, | |
| And pour’d the sacrifice of purple wine. | 1015 |
| Fresh gales arise; with equal strokes they vie, | |
| And brush the buxom seas, and o’er the billows fly. | |
| Meantime the mother goddess, full of fears, | |
| To Neptune thus address’d, with tender tears: | |
| “The pride of Jove’s imperious queen, the rage, | 1020 |
| The malice which no suff’rings can assuage, | |
| Compel me to these pray’rs; since neither fate, | |
| Nor time, nor pity, can remove her hate: | |
| Ev’n Jove is thwarted by his haughty wife; | |
| Still vanquish’d, yet she still renews the strife. | 1025 |
| As if ’t were little to consume the town | |
| Which aw’d the world, and wore th’ imperial crown, | |
| She prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains, | |
| And gnaws, ev’n to the bones, the last remains. | |
| Let her the causes of her hatred tell; | 1030</ |