The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Virgil
Book online «The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ». Author Virgil
Then, turning to the sea their weeping eyes,
Their pity to themselves renews their cries.
âAlas!â said one, âwhat oceans yet remain
For us to sail! what labours to sustain!â
All take the word, and, with a genâral groan,
Implore the gods for peace, and places of their own.
The goddess, great in mischief, views their pains,
And in a womanâs form her heavânly limbs restrains.
In face and shape old Beroe she became,
Doryclusâ wife, a venerable dame,
Once blest with riches, and a motherâs name.
Thus changâd, amidst the crying crowd she ran,
Mixâd with the matrons, and these words began:
âO wretched we, whom not the Grecian powâr,
Nor flames, destroyâd, in Troyâs unhappy hour!
O wretched we, reservâd by cruel fate,
Beyond the ruins of the sinking state!
Now sevân revolving years are wholly run,
Since this improspârous voyage we begun;
Since, tossâd from shores to shores, from lands to lands,
Inhospitable rocks and barren sands,
Wandâring in exile throâ the stormy sea,
We search in vain for flying Italy.
Now cast by fortune on this kindred land,
What should our rest and rising walls withstand,
Or hinder here to fix our banishâd band?
O country lost, and gods redeemâd in vain,
If still in endless exile we remain!
Shall we no more the Trojan walls renew,
Or streams of some dissembled SimoĂŻs view!
Haste, join with me, thâ 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:
âWith these,â said she, âthese wandâring ships destroy:
These are your fatal seats, and this your Troy.â
Time calls you now; the precious hour employ:
Slack not the good presage, while Heavân inspires
Our minds to dare, and gives the ready fires.
See! Neptuneâs altars minister their brands:
The god is pleasâd; the god supplies our hands.â
Then from the pile a flaming fire she drew,
And, tossâd in air, amidst the galleys threw.
Wrappâd in amaze, the matrons wildly stare:
Then Pyrgo, reverencâd for her hoary hair,
Pyrgo, the nurse of Priamâs numârous race:
âNo Beroe this, thoâ she belies her face!
What terrors from her frowning front arise!
Behold a goddess in her ardent eyes!
What rays around her heavânly face are seen!
Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!
Beroe but now I left, whom, pinâd with pain,
Her age and anguish from these rites detain,â
She said. The matrons, seizâd with new amaze,
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.
Struck with the sight, and seizâd 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,
And smoking torches, on the ships they cast.
The flame, unstoppâd at first, more fury gains,
And Vulcan rides at large with loosenâd reins:
Triumphant to the painted sterns he soars,
And seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars.
Eumelus was the first the news to bear,
While yet they crowd the rural theatre.
Then, what they hear, is witnessâd by their eyes:
A storm of sparkles and of flames arise.
Ascanius took thâ alarm, while yet he led
His early warriors on his prancing steed,
And, spurring on, his equals soon oâerpassâd;
Nor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste.
Soon as the royal youth appearâd in view,
He sent his voice before him as he flew:
âWhat 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!â While he said,
He drew his glittâring helmet from his head,
In which the youths to sportful arms he led.
By this, Aeneas and his train appear;
And now the women, seizâd with shame and fear,
Dispersâd, to woods and caverns take their flight,
Abhor their actions, and avoid the light;
Their friends acknowledge, and their error find,
And shake the goddess from their alterâd mind.
Not so the raging fires their fury cease,
But, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace,
Work on their way amid the smouldâring tow,
Sure in destruction, but in motion slow.
The silent plague throâ the green timber eats,
And vomits out a tardy flame by fits.
Down to the keels, and upward to the sails,
The fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails;
Nor buckets pourâd, nor strength of human hand,
Can the victorious element withstand.
The pious hero rends his robe, and throws
To heavân his hands, and with his hands his vows.
âO Jove,â he cried, âif prayârs can yet have place;
If thou abhorrâst not all the Dardan race;
If any spark of pity still remain;
If gods are gods, and not invokâd in vain;
Yet spare the relics of the Trojan train!
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!â
Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise:
From pole to pole the forky lightning flies;
Loud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain;
Heavân bellies downward, and descends in rain.
Whole sheets of water from the clouds are sent,
Which, hissing throâ the planks, the flames prevent,
And stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone
Burn to the waist, and for the fleet atone.
But doubtful thoughts the heroâs heart divide;
If he should still in Sicily reside,
Forgetful of his fates, or tempt the main,
In hope the promisâd Italy to gain.
Then Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone
The will of Heavân by Pallas was foreshown;
Versâd in portents, experiencâd, and inspirâd
To tell events, and what the fates requirâd;
Thus while he stood, to neither part inclinâd,
With cheerful words relievâd his labâring mind:
âO goddess-born, resignâd in evâry state,
With patience bear, with prudence push your fate.
By suffâring well, our Fortune we subdue;
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 numârous for the ships which yet remain:
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,
And, from Acestesâ name, Acesta call.â
The reasons, with his friendâs
Comments (0)