The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Virgil
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Here Toils, and Death, and Deathâs half-brother, Sleep,
Forms terrible to view, their sentry keep;
With anxious Pleasures of a guilty mind,
Deep Frauds before, and open Force behind;
The Furiesâ iron beds; and Strife, that shakes
Her hissing tresses and unfolds her snakes.
Full in the midst of this infernal road,
An elm displays her dusky arms abroad:
The God of Sleep there hides his heavy head,
And empty dreams on evâry leaf are spread.
Of various forms unnumberâd spectres more,
Centaurs, and double shapes, besiege the door.
Before the passage, horrid Hydra stands,
And Briareus with all his hundred hands;
Gorgons, Geryon with his triple frame;
And vain Chimaera vomits empty flame.
The chief unsheathâd his shining steel, preparâd,
Thoâ seizâd with sudden fear, to force the guard,
Offâring his brandishâd weapon at their face;
Had not the Sibyl stoppâd his eager pace,
And told him what those empty phantoms were:
Forms without bodies, and impassive air.
Hence to deep Acheron they take their way,
Whose troubled eddies, thick with ooze and clay,
Are whirlâd aloft, and in Cocytus lost.
There Charon stands, who rules the dreary coastâ â
A sordid god: down from his hoary chin
A length of beard descends, uncombâd, unclean;
His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire;
A girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire.
He spreads his canvas; with his pole he steers;
The freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears.
He lookâd in years; yet in his years were seen
A youthful vigour and autumnal green.
An airy crowd came rushing where he stood,
Which fillâd the margin of the fatal flood:
Husbands and wives, boys and unmarried maids,
And mighty heroesâ more majestic shades,
And youths, intombâd before their fathersâ eyes,
With hollow groans, and shrieks, and feeble cries.
Thick as the leaves in autumn strow the woods,
Or fowls, by winter forcâd, forsake the floods,
And wing their hasty flight to happier lands;
Such, and so thick, the shivâring army stands,
And press for passage with extended hands.
Now these, now those, the surly boatman bore:
The rest he drove to distance from the shore.
The hero, who beheld with wondâring eyes
The tumult mixâd with shrieks, laments, and cries,
Askâd of his guide, what the rude concourse meant;
Why to the shore the thronging people bent;
What forms of law among the ghosts were usâd;
Why some were ferried oâer, and some refusâd.
âSon of Anchises, offspring of the gods,â
The Sibyl said, âyou see the Stygian floods,
The sacred stream which heavânâs imperial state
Attests in oaths, and fears to violate.
The ghosts rejected are thâ unhappy crew
Deprivâd of sepulchers and funâral due:
The boatman, Charon; those, the buried host,
He ferries over to the farther coast;
Nor dares his transport vessel cross the waves
With such whose bones are not composâd in graves.
A hundred years they wander on the shore;
At length, their penance done, are wafted oâer.â
The Trojan chief his forward pace repressâd,
Revolving anxious thoughts within his breast,
He saw his friends, who, whelmâd beneath the waves,
Their funâral honours claimâd, and askâd their quiet graves.
The lost Leucaspis in the crowd he knew,
And the brave leader of the Lycian crew,
Whom, on the Tyrrhene seas, the tempests met;
The sailors masterâd, and the ship oâerset.
Amidst the spirits, Palinurus pressâd,
Yet fresh from life, a new-admitted guest,
Who, while he steering viewâd the stars, and bore
His course from Afric to the Latian shore,
Fell headlong down. The Trojan fixâd his view,
And scarcely throâ the gloom the sullen shadow knew.
Then thus the prince: âWhat envious powâr, O friend,
Brought your lovâd life to this disastrous end?
For Phoebus, ever true in all he said,
Has in your fate alone my faith betrayâd.
The god foretold you should not die, before
You reachâd, secure from seas, thâ Italian shore.
Is this thâ unerring powâr?â The ghost replied;
âNor Phoebus flatterâd, nor his answers lied;
Nor envious gods have sent me to the deep:
But, while the stars and course of heavân I keep,
My wearied eyes were seizâd with fatal sleep.
I fell; and, with my weight, the helm constrainâd
Was drawn along, which yet my gripe retainâd.
Now by the winds and raging waves I swear,
Your safety, more than mine, was then my care;
Lest, of the guide bereft, the rudder lost,
Your ship should run against the rocky coast.
Three blustâring nights, borne by the southern blast,
I floated, and discoverâd land at last:
High on a mounting wave my head I bore,
Forcing my strength, and gathâring to the shore.
Panting, but past the danger, now I seizâd
The craggy cliffs, and my tirâd members easâd.
While, cumberâd with my dropping clothes, I lay,
The cruel nation, covetous of prey,
Stainâd with my blood thâ unhospitable coast;
And now, by winds and waves, my lifeless limbs are tossâd:
Which O avert, by yon ethereal light,
Which I have lost for this eternal night!
Or, if by dearer ties you may be won,
By your dead sire, and by your living son,
Redeem from this reproach my wandâring ghost;
Or with your navy seek the Velin coast,
And in a peaceful grave my corpse compose;
Or, if a nearer way your mother shows,
Without whose aid you durst not undertake
This frightful passage oâer the Stygian lake,
Lend to this wretch your hand, and waft him oâer
To the sweet banks of yon forbidden shore.â
Scarce had he said, the prophetess began:
âWhat hopes delude thee, miserable man?
Thinkâst thou, thus unintombâd, to cross the floods,
To view the Furies and infernal gods,
And visit, without leave, the dark abodes?
Attend the term of long revolving years;
Fate, and the dooming gods, are deaf to tears.
This comfort of thy dire misfortune take:
The wrath of Heavân, inflicted for thy sake,
With vengeance shall pursue thâ inhuman coast,
Till they propitiate thy offended ghost,
And raise a tomb, with vows and solemn prayâr;
And Palinurusâ name the place shall bear.â
This calmâd his cares; soothâd with his future fame,
And pleasâd to hear his propagated name.
Now nearer to the Stygian lake they draw:
Whom, from the shore, the surly boatman saw;
Observâd their passage throâ the shady wood,
And markâd their near approaches to the flood.
Then thus he callâd aloud, inflamâd with wrath:
âMortal, whateâer, who this forbidden path
In arms presumâst to tread, I charge thee, stand,
And tell thy name, and busâness in the land.
Know this, the realm of nightâ âthe Stygian shore:
My boat conveys no living bodies oâer;
Nor was I pleasâd great Theseus once to bear,
Who forcâd a passage with his pointed spear,
Nor strong Alcidesâ âmen of mighty fame,
And from thâ immortal gods their lineage came.
In fetters one
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