The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Virgil
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That new example wanted yet above:
An act that well became the wife of Jove!
Alecto, raisâd by her, with rage inflames
The peaceful bosoms of the Latian dames.
Imperial sway no more exalts my mind;
(Such hopes I had indeed, while Heavân was kind;)
Now let my happier foes possess my place,
Whom Jove prefers before the Trojan race;
And conquer they, whom you with conquest grace.
Since you can spare, from all your wide command,
No spot of earth, no hospitable land,
Which may my wandâring fugitives receive;
(Since haughty Juno will not give you leave;)
Then, father, (if I still may use that name,)
By ruinâd Troy, yet smoking from the flame,
I beg you, let Ascanius, by my care,
Be freed from danger, and dismissâd the war:
Inglorious let him live, without a crown.
The father may be cast on coasts unknown,
Struggling with fate; but let me save the son.
Mine is Cythera, mine the Cyprian towârs:
In those recesses, and those sacred bowârs,
Obscurely let him rest; his right resign
To promisâd empire, and his Julian line.
Then Carthage may thâ Ausonian towns destroy,
Nor fear the race of a rejected boy.
What profits it my son to scape the fire,
Armâd with his gods, and loaded with his sire;
To pass the perils of the seas and wind;
Evade the Greeks, and leave the war behind;
To reach thâ Italian shores; if, after all,
Our second Pergamus is doomâd to fall?
Much better had he curbâd his high desires,
And hoverâd oâer his ill-extinguishâd fires.
To SimoĂŻsâ banks the fugitives restore,
And give them back to war, and all the woes before.â
Deep indignation swellâd Saturniaâs heart:
âAnd must I own,â she said, âmy secret smartâ â
What with more decence were in silence kept,
And, but for this unjust reproach, had slept?
Did god or man your favârite son advise,
With war unhopâd the Latians to surprise?
By fate, you boast, and by the godsâ decree,
He left his native land for Italy!
Confess the truth; by mad Cassandra, more
Than Heavân inspirâd, he sought a foreign shore!
Did I persuade to trust his second Troy
To the raw conduct of a beardless boy,
With walls unfinishâd, which himself forsakes,
And throâ the waves a wandâring voyage takes?
When have I urgâd him meanly to demand
The Tuscan aid, and arm a quiet land?
Did I or Iris give this mad advice,
Or made the fool himself the fatal choice?
You think it hard, the Latians should destroy
With swords your Trojans, and with fires your Troy!
Hard and unjust indeed, for men to draw
Their native air, nor take a foreign law!
That Turnus is permitted still to live,
To whom his birth a god and goddess give!
But yet is just and lawful for your line
To drive their fields, and force with fraud to join;
Realms, not your own, among your clans divide,
And from the bridegroom tear the promisâd bride;
Petition, while you public arms prepare;
Pretend a peace, and yet provoke a war!
âTwas givân to you, your darling son to shroud,
To draw the dastard from the fighting crowd,
And, for a man, obtend an empty cloud.
From flaming fleets you turnâd the fire away,
And changâd the ships to daughters of the sea.
But is my crimeâ âthe Queen of Heavân offends,
If she presume to save her suffâring friends!
Your son, not knowing what his foes decree,
You say, is absent: absent let him be.
Yours is Cythera, yours the Cyprian towârs,
The soft recesses, and the sacred bowârs.
Why do you then these needless arms prepare,
And thus provoke a people prone to war?
Did I with fire the Trojan town deface,
Or hinder from return your exilâd race?
Was I the cause of mischief, or the man
Whose lawless lust the fatal war began?
Think on whose faith thâ adultârous youth relied;
Who promisâd, who procurâd, the Spartan bride?
When all thâ united states of Greece combinâd,
To purge the world of the perfidious kind,
Then was your time to fear the Trojan fate:
Your quarrels and complaints are now too late.â
Thus Juno. Murmurs rise, with mixâd applause,
Just as they favour or dislike the cause.
So winds, when yet unfledgâd in woods they lie,
In whispers first their tender voices try,
Then issue on the main with bellowing rage,
And storms to trembling mariners presage.
Then thus to both replied thâ imperial god,
Who shakes heavânâs axles with his awful nod.
(When he begins, the silent senate stand
With revârence, listâning to the dread command:
The clouds dispel; the winds their breath restrain;
And the hushâd waves lie flatted on the main.)
âCelestials, your attentive ears incline!
Since,â said the god, âthe Trojans must not join
In wishâd alliance with the Latian line;
Since endless jarrings and immortal hate
Tend but to discompose our happy state;
The war henceforward be resignâd to fate:
Each to his proper fortune stand or fall;
Equal and unconcernâd I look on all.
Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me;
And both shall draw the lots their fates decree.
Let these assault, if Fortune be their friend;
And, if she favours those, let those defend:
The Fates will find their way.â The Thundârer said,
And shook the sacred honours of his head,
Attesting Styx, thâ inviolable flood,
And the black regions of his brother god.
Trembled the poles of heavân, and earth confessâd the nod.
This end the sessions had: the senate rise,
And to his palace wait their sovâreign throâ the skies.
Meantime, intent upon their siege, the foes
Within their walls the Trojan host inclose:
They wound, they kill, they watch at evâry gate;
Renew the fires, and urge their happy fate.
Thâ Aeneans wish in vain their wanted chief,
Hopeless of flight, more hopeless of relief.
Thin on the towârs they stand; and evân those few
A feeble, fainting, and dejected crew.
Yet in the face of danger some there stood:
The two bold brothers of Sarpedonâs blood,
Asius and Acmon; both thâ Assaraci;
Young Haemon, and thoâ young, resolvâd to die.
With these were Clarus and Thymoetes joinâd;
Tibris and Castor, both of Lycian kind.
From Acmonâs hands a rolling stone there came,
So large, it half deservâd a mountainâs name:
Strong-sinewâd was the youth, and big of bone;
His brother Mnestheus could not more have done,
Or the great father of thâ intrepid son.
Some firebrands throw, some flights of arrows send;
And some with darts, and some with stones defend.
Amid the press appears the beauteous boy,
The care of Venus, and the hope of Troy.
His lovely face unarmâd, his head was bare;
In ringlets oâer his shoulders hung his hair.
His forehead circled with a diadem;
Distinguishâd from the crowd, he shines a gem,
Enchasâd in
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