The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) 📖

Smear’d as she was with black Gorgonian blood,
The Fury sprang above the Stygian flood;
And on her wicker wings, sublime thro’ night,
She to the Latian palace took her flight:
There sought the queen’s apartment, stood before
The peaceful threshold, and besieg’d the door.
Restless Amata lay, her swelling breast
Fir’d with disdain for Turnus dispossess’d,
And the new nuptials of the Trojan guest.
From her black bloody locks the Fury shakes
Her darling plague, the fav’rite of her snakes;
With her full force she threw the poisonous dart,
And fix’d it deep within Amata’s heart,
That, thus envenom’d, she might kindle rage,
And sacrifice to strife her house and husband’s age.
Unseen, unfelt, the fiery serpent skims
Betwixt her linen and her naked limbs;
His baleful breath inspiring, as he glides,
Now like a chain around her neck he rides,
Now like a fillet to her head repairs,
And with his circling volumes folds her hairs.
At first the silent venom slid with ease,
And seiz’d her cooler senses by degrees;
Then, ere th’ infected mass was fir’d too far,
In plaintive accents she began the war,
And thus bespoke her husband: “Shall,” she said,
“A wand’ring prince enjoy Lavinia’s bed?
If nature plead not in a parent’s heart,
Pity my tears, and pity her desert.
I know, my dearest lord, the time will come,
You’d in vain, reverse your cruel doom;
The faithless pirate soon will set to sea,
And bear the royal virgin far away!
A guest like him, a Trojan guest before,
In shew of friendship sought the Spartan shore,
And ravish’d Helen from her husband bore.
Think on a king’s inviolable word;
And think on Turnus, her once plighted lord:
To this false foreigner you give your throne,
And wrong a friend, a kinsman, and a son.
Resume your ancient care; and, if the god
Your sire, and you, resolve on foreign blood,
Know all are foreign, in a larger sense,
Not born your subjects, or deriv’d from hence.
Then, if the line of Turnus you retrace,
He springs from Inachus of Argive race.”

But when she saw her reasons idly spent,
And could not move him from his fix’d intent,
She flew to rage; for now the snake possess’d
Her vital parts, and poison’d all her breast;
She raves, she runs with a distracted pace,
And fills with horrid howls the public place.
And, as young striplings whip the top for sport,
On the smooth pavement of an empty court;
The wooden engine flies and whirls about,
Admir’d, with clamours, of the beardless rout;
They lash aloud; each other they provoke,
And lend their little souls at ev’ry stroke:
Thus fares the queen; and thus her fury blows
Amidst the crowd, and kindles as she goes.
Nor yet content, she strains her malice more,
And adds new ills to those contriv’d before:
She flies the town, and, mixing with a throng
Of madding matrons, bears the bride along,
Wand’ring thro’ woods and wilds, and devious ways,
And with these arts the Trojan match delays.
She feign’d the rites of Bacchus; cried aloud,
And to the buxom god the virgin vow’d.
“Evoe! O Bacchus!” thus began the song;
And “Evoe!” answer’d all the female throng.
“O virgin! worthy thee alone!” she cried;
“O worthy thee alone!” the crew replied.
“For thee she feeds her hair, she leads thy dance,
And with thy winding ivy wreathes her lance.”
Like fury seiz’d the rest; the progress known,
All seek the mountains, and forsake the town:
All, clad in skins of beasts, the jav’lin bear,
Give to the wanton winds their flowing hair,
And shrieks and shoutings rend the suff’ring air.
The queen herself, inspir’d with rage divine,
Shook high above her head a flaming pine;
Then roll’d her haggard eyes around the throng,
And sung, in Turnus’ name, the nuptial song:
“Io, ye Latian dames! if any here
Hold your unhappy queen, Amata, dear;
If there be here,” she said, “who dare maintain
My right, nor think the name of mother vain;
Unbind your fillets, loose your flowing hair,
And orgies and nocturnal rites prepare.”

Amata’s breast the Fury thus invades,
And fires with rage, amid the sylvan shades;
Then, when she found her venom spread so far,
The royal house embroil’d in civil war,
Rais’d on her dusky wings, she cleaves the skies,
And seeks the palace where young Turnus lies.
His town, as fame reports, was built of old
By Danae, pregnant with almighty gold,
Who fled her father’s rage, and, with a train
Of following Argives, thro’ the stormy main,
Driv’n by the southern blasts, was fated here to reign.
’Twas Ardua once; now Ardea’s name it bears;
Once a fair city, now consum’d with years.
Here, in his lofty palace, Turnus lay,
Betwixt the confines of the night and day,
Secure in sleep. The Fury laid aside
Her looks and limbs, and with new methods tried
The foulness of th’ infernal form to hide.
Propp’d on a staff, she takes a trembling mien:
Her face is furrow’d, and her front obscene;
Deep-dinted wrinkles on her cheek she draws;
Sunk are her eyes, and toothless are her jaws;
Her hoary hair with holy fillets bound,
Her temples with an olive wreath are crown’d.
Old Chalybe, who kept the sacred fane
Of Juno, now she seem’d, and thus began,
Appearing in a dream, to rouse the careless man:
“Shall Turnus then such endless toil sustain
In fighting fields, and conquer towns in vain?
Win, for a Trojan head to wear the prize,
Usurp thy crown, enjoy thy victories?
The bride and scepter which thy blood has bought,
The king transfers; and foreign heirs are sought.
Go now, deluded man, and seek again
New toils, new dangers, on the dusty plain.
Repel the Tuscan foes; their city seize;
Protect the Latians in luxurious ease.
This dream all-pow’rful Juno sends; I bear
Her mighty mandates, and her words you hear.
Haste; arm your Ardeans; issue to the plain;
With fate to friend, assault the Trojan train:
Their thoughtless chiefs, their painted ships, that lie
In Tiber’s mouth, with fire and sword destroy.
The Latian king, unless he shall submit,
Own his old promise, and his new forget⁠—
Let him, in arms, the pow’r of Turnus prove,
And learn to fear whom he disdains to love.
For such is Heav’n’s command.” The youthful prince
With scorn replied, and made this bold defence:
“You tell me, mother, what I knew before:
The Phrygian fleet is landed on the shore.
I neither fear nor will provoke the