The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Virgil
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We view a rising land, like distant clouds;
The mountain-tops confirm the pleasing sight,
And curling smoke ascending from their height.
The canvas falls; their oars the sailors ply;
From the rude strokes the whirling waters fly.
At length I land upon the Strophades,
Safe from the danger of the stormy seas.
Those isles are compassâd by thâ Ionian main,
The dire abode where the foul Harpies reign,
Forcâd by the winged warriors to repair
To their old homes, and leave their costly fare.
Monsters more fierce offended Heavân neâer sent
From hellâs abyss, for human punishment:
With virgin faces, but with wombs obscene,
Foul paunches, and with ordure still unclean;
With claws for hands, and looks for ever lean.
âWe landed at the port, and soon beheld
Fat herds of oxen graze the flowâry field,
And wanton goats without a keeper strayâd.
With weapons we the welcome prey invade,
Then call the gods for partners of our feast,
And Jove himself, the chief invited guest.
We spread the tables on the greensward ground;
We feed with hunger, and the bowls go round;
When from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry,
And clattâring wings, the hungry Harpies fly;
They snatch the meat, defiling all they find,
And, parting, leave a loathsome stench behind.
Close by a hollow rock, again we sit,
New dress the dinner, and the beds refit,
Secure from sight, beneath a pleasing shade,
Where tufted trees a native arbour made.
Again the holy fires on altars burn;
And once again the ravânous birds return,
Or from the dark recesses where they lie,
Or from another quarter of the sky;
With filthy claws their odious meal repeat,
And mix their loathsome ordures with their meat.
I bid my friends for vengeance then prepare,
And with the hellish nation wage the war.
They, as commanded, for the fight provide,
And in the grass their glittâring weapons hide;
Then, when along the crooked shore we hear
Their clattâring wings, and saw the foes appear,
Misenus sounds a charge: we take thâ alarm,
And our strong hands with swords and bucklers arm.
In this new kind of combat all employ
Their utmost force, the monsters to destroy.
In vainâ âthe fated skin is proof to wounds;
And from their plumes the shining sword rebounds.
At length rebuffâd, they leave their mangled prey,
And their stretchâd pinions to the skies display.
Yet one remainâdâ âthe messenger of Fate:
High on a craggy cliff Celaeno sate,
And thus her dismal errand did relate:
âWhat! not contented with our oxen slain,
Dare you with Heavân an impious war maintain,
And drive the Harpies from their native reign?
Heed therefore what I say; and keep in mind
What Jove decrees, what Phoebus has designâd,
And I, the Furiesâ queen, from both relateâ â
You seek thâ Italian shores, foredoomâd by fate:
Thâ Italian shores are granted you to find,
And a safe passage to the port assignâd.
But know, that ere your promisâd walls you build,
My curses shall severely be fulfillâd.
Fierce famine is your lot for this misdeed,
Reducâd to grind the plates on which you feed.â
She said, and to the neighbâring forest flew.
Our courage fails us, and our fears renew.
Hopeless to win by war, to prayârs we fall,
And on thâ offended Harpies humbly call,
And whether gods or birds obscene they were,
Our vows for pardon and for peace prefer.
But old Anchises, offâring sacrifice,
And lifting up to heavân his hands and eyes,
Adorâd the greater gods: âAvert,â said he,
âThese omens; render vain this prophecy,
And from thâ impending curse a pious people free!â
âThus having said, he bids us put to sea;
We loose from shore our haulsers, and obey,
And soon with swelling sails pursue the watâry way.
Amidst our course, Zacynthian woods appear;
And next by rocky Neritos we steer:
We fly from Ithacaâs detested shore,
And curse the land which dire Ulysses bore.
At length Leucateâs cloudy top appears,
And the Sunâs temple, which the sailor fears.
Resolvâd to breathe a while from labour past,
Our crooked anchors from the prow we cast,
And joyful to the little city haste.
Here, safe beyond our hopes, our vows we pay
To Jove, the guide and patron of our way.
The customs of our country we pursue,
And Trojan games on Actian shores renew.
Our youth their naked limbs besmear with oil,
And exercise the wrastlersâ noble toil;
Pleasâd to have sailâd so long before the wind,
And left so many Grecian towns behind.
The sun had now fulfillâd his annual course,
And Boreas on the seas displayâd his force:
I fixâd upon the templeâs lofty door
The brazen shield which vanquishâd Abas bore;
The verse beneath my name and action speaks:
âThese arms Aeneas took from conquâring Greeks.â
Then I command to weigh; the seamen ply
Their sweeping oars; the smoking billows fly.
The sight of high Phaeacia soon we lost,
And skimmâd along Epirusâ rocky coast.
âThen to Chaoniaâs port our course we bend,
And, landed, to Buthrotusâ heights ascend.
Here wondrous things were loudly blazâd fame:
How Helenus revivâd the Trojan name,
And reignâd in Greece; that Priamâs captive son
Succeeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne;
And fair AndromachĂ«, restorâd by fate,
Once more was happy in a Trojan mate.
I leave my galleys riding in the port,
And long to see the new Dardanian court.
By chance, the mournful queen, before the gate,
Then solemnizâd her former husbandâs fate.
Green altars, raisâd of turf, with gifts she crownâd,
And sacred priests in order stand around,
And thrice the name of hapless Hector sound.
The grove itself resembles Idaâs wood;
And SimoĂŻs seemâd the well-dissembled flood.
But when at nearer distance she beheld
My shining armour and my Trojan shield,
Astonishâd at the sight, the vital heat
Forsakes her limbs; her veins no longer beat:
She faints, she falls, and scarce recovâring strength,
Thus, with a faltâring tongue, she speaks at length:
âââAre you alive, O goddess-born?â she said,
âOr if a ghost, then where is Hectorâs shade?â
At this, she cast a loud and frightful cry.
With broken words I made this brief reply:
âAll of me that remains appears in sight;
I live, if living be to loathe the light.
No phantom; but I drag a wretched life,
My fate resembling that of Hectorâs wife.
What have you sufferâd since you lost your lord?
By what strange blessing are you now restorâd?
Still are you Hectorâs? or is Hector fled,
And his remembrance lost in Pyrrhusâ bed?â
With eyes dejected, in a lowly tone,
After a modest pause she thus begun:
âââO only happy maid of Priamâs race,
Whom death deliverâd from the foesâ embrace!
Commanded on Achillesâ tomb to die,
Not forcâd, like us, to hard captivity,
Or in a haughty masterâs arms to lie.
In Grecian ships unhappy we were borne,
Endurâd
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