The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Virgil
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Then Juno thus: âThe grateful work is done,
The seeds of discord sowâd, the war begun;
Frauds, fears, and fury have possessâd the state,
And fixâd the causes of a lasting hate.
A bloody Hymen shall thâ alliance join
Betwixt the Trojan and Ausonian line:
But thou with speed to night and hell repair;
For not the gods, nor angry Jove, will bear
Thy lawless wandâring walks in upper air.
Leave what remains to me.â Saturnia said:
The sullen fiend her sounding wings displayâd,
Unwilling left the light, and sought the nether shade.
In midst of Italy, well known to fame,
There lies a lake, (Amsanctus is the name)
Below the lofty mounts: on either side
Thick forests the forbidden entrance hide.
Full in the centre of the sacred wood
An arm arises of the Stygian flood,
Which, breaking from beneath with bellowing sound,
Whirls the black waves and rattling stones around.
Here Pluto pants for breath from out his cell,
And opens wide the grinning jaws of hell.
To this infernal lake the Fury flies;
Here hides her hated head, and frees the labâring skies.
Saturnian Juno now, with double care,
Attends the fatal process of the war.
The clowns, returnâd, from battle bear the slain,
Implore the gods, and to their king complain.
The corps of Almon and the rest are shown;
Shrieks, clamours, murmurs, fill the frighted town.
Ambitious Turnus in the press appears,
And, aggravating crimes, augments their fears;
Proclaims his private injuries aloud,
A solemn promise made, and disavowâd;
A foreign son is sought, and a mixâd mungril brood.
Then they, whose mothers, frantic with their fear,
In woods and wilds the flags of Bacchus bear,
And lead his dances with dishevelâd hair,
Increase the clamour, and the war demand,
(Such was Amataâs interest in the land,)
Against the public sanctions of the peace,
Against all omens of their ill success.
With fates averse, the rout in arms resort,
To force their monarch, and insult the court.
But, like a rock unmovâd, a rock that braves
The raging tempest and the rising wavesâ â
Proppâd on himself he stands; his solid sides
Wash off the seaweeds, and the sounding tidesâ â
So stood the pious prince, unmovâd, and long
Sustainâd the madness of the noisy throng.
But, when he found that Junoâs powâr prevailâd,
And all the methods of cool counsel failâd,
He calls the gods to witness their offence,
Disclaims the war, asserts his innocence.
âHurried by fate,â he cries, âand borne before
A furious wind, we have the faithful shore.
O more than madmen! you yourselves shall bear
The guilt of blood and sacrilegious war:
Thou, Turnus, shalt atone it by thy fate,
And pray to Heavân for peace, but pray too late.
For me, my stormy voyage at an end,
I to the port of death securely tend.
The funâral pomp which to your kings you pay,
Is all I want, and all you take away.â
He said no more, but, in his walls confinâd,
Shut out the woes which he too well divinâd
Nor with the rising storm would vainly strive,
But left the helm, and let the vessel drive.
A solemn custom was observâd of old,
Which Latium held, and now the Romans hold,
Their standard when in fighting fields they rear
Against the fierce Hyrcanians, or declare
The Scythian, Indian, or Arabian war;
Or from the boasting Parthians would regain
Their eagles, lost in Carrhaeâs bloody plain.
Two gates of steel (the name of Mars they bear,
And still are worshipâd with religious fear)
Before his temple stand: the dire abode,
And the fearâd issues of the furious god,
Are fencâd with brazen bolts; without the gates,
The wary guardian Janus doubly waits.
Then, when the sacred senate votes the wars,
The Roman consul their decree declares,
And in his robes the sounding gates unbars.
The youth in military shouts arise,
And the loud trumpets break the yielding skies.
These rites, of old by sovâreign princes usâd,
Were the kingâs office; but the king refusâd,
Deaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar
Of sacred peace, or loose thâ imprisonâd war;
But hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms,
Abhorrâd the wicked ministry of arms.
Then heavânâs imperious queen shot down from high:
At her approach the brazen hinges fly;
The gates are forcâd, and evâry falling bar;
And, like a tempest, issues out the war.
The peaceful cities of thâ Ausonian shore,
Lullâd in their ease, and undisturbâd before,
Are all on fire; and some, with studious care,
Their restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare;
Some their soft limbs in painful marches try,
And war is all their wish, and arms the genâral cry.
Part scour the rusty shields with seam; and part
New grind the blunted ax, and point the dart:
With joy they view the waving ensigns fly,
And hear the trumpetâs clangour pierce the sky.
Five cities forge their arms: thâ Atinian powârs,
Antemnae, Tibur with her lofty towârs,
Ardea the proud, the Crustumerian town:
All these of old were places of renown.
Some hammer helmets for the fighting field;
Some twine young sallows to support the shield;
The croslet some, and some the cuishes mould,
With silver plated, and with ductile gold.
The rustic honours of the scythe and share
Give place to swords and plumes, the pride of war.
Old falchions are new temperâd in the fires;
The sounding trumpet evâry soul inspires.
The word is givân; with eager speed they lace
The shining headpiece, and the shield embrace.
The neighing steeds are to the chariot tied;
The trusty weapon sits on evâry side.
And now the mighty labour is begunâ â
Ye Muses, open all your Helicon.
Sing you the chiefs that swayâd thâ Ausonian land,
Their arms, and armies under their command;
What warriors in our ancient clime were bred;
What soldiers followâd, and what heroes led.
For well you know, and can record alone,
What fame to future times conveys but darkly down.
Mezentius first appearâd upon the plain:
Scorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain,
Defying earth and heavân. Etruria lost,
He brings to Turnusâ aid his baffled host.
The charming Lausus, full of youthful fire,
Rode in the rank, and next his sullen sire;
To Turnus only second in the grace
Of manly mien, and features of the face.
A skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred,
With fates averse a thousand men he led:
His sire unworthy of so brave a son;
Himself well worthy of a happier throne.
Next Aventinus drives his chariot round
The Latian plains, with palms and laurels crownâd.
Proud of his steeds, he smokes along the field;
His fatherâs hydra fills his ample shield:
A hundred serpents hiss about the brims;
The son of Hercules he justly seems
By his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs;
Of heavânly part,
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