Æneas Flees from an Inconsolable Love
October 11, 2014![]() |
Depiction of Vergil, 3rd Century A.D. |
Vergil (70 B.C.–19
B.C.). Æneid.
Vol. 13, pp. 178-188 Of
The Harvard Classics
Æneas, mythological
founder of the Roman race, leaving Car?thage and its lovely Queen
Dido, was driven by a storm to the coast of Sicily. There the
hospitality of King Acestes helped him to forget his relinquished
love.
The
Fifth Book of the Æneis
THE ARGUMENT.—Æneas,
setting sail from Afric, is driven by a storm on the coasts of
Sicily, where he is hospitably receiv’d by his friend Acestes, king
of part of the island, and born of Trojan parentage. He applies
himself to celebrate the memory of his father with divine honors, and
accordingly institutes funeral games, and appoints prizes for those
who should conquer in them. While the ceremonies were performing,
Juno sends Iris to persuade the Trojan women to burn the ships, who,
upon her instigation, set fire to them; which burnt four, and would
have consum’d the rest, had not Jupiter, by a miraculous shower,
extinguish’d it. Upon this, Æneas, by the advice of one of his
generals, and a vision of his father, builds a city for the women,
old men, and others, who were either unfit for war, or weary of the
voyage, and sails for Italy. Venus procures of Neptune a safe voyage
for him and all his men, excepting only his pilot Palinurus, who is
unfortunately lost.
MEANTIME the
Trojan cuts his wat’ry way,
Fix’d on his voyage,
thro’ the curling sea;
Then, casting back his
eyes, with dire amaze,
Sees on the Punic shore
the mounting blaze.
The cause unknown; yet
his presaging mind
The fate of Dido from
the fire divin’d;
He knew the stormy
souls of womankind,
What secret springs
their eager passions move,
How capable of death
for injur’d love.
Dire auguries from
hence the Trojans draw;
Till neither fires nor
shining shores they saw.
Now seas and skies
their prospect only bound;
An empty space above, a
floating field around.
But soon the heav’ns
with shadows were o’erspread;
A swelling cloud hung
hov’ring o’er their head:
Livid it look’d, the
threat’ning of a storm:
Then night and horror
ocean’s face deform.
The pilot, Palinurus,
cried aloud:
“What gusts of
weather from that gath’ring cloud
My thoughts presage!
Ere yet the tempest roars,
Stand to your tackle,
mates, and stretch your oars;
Contract your swelling
sails, and luff to wind.”
The frighted crew
perform the task assign’d.
Then, to his fearless
chief: “Not Heav’n,” said he,
“Tho’ Jove himself
should promise Italy,
Can stem the torrent of
this raging sea.
Mark how the shifting
winds from west arise,
And what collected
night involves the skies!
Nor can our shaken
vessels live at sea,
Much less against the
tempest force their way.
’T is fate diverts
our course, and fate we must obey.
Not far from hence, if
I observ’d aright
The southing of the
stars, and polar light,
Sicilia lies, whose
hospitable shores
In safety we may reach
with struggling oars.”
Æneas then replied:
“Too sure I find
We strive in vain
against the seas and wind:
Now shift your sails;
what place can please me more
Than what you promise,
the Sicilian shore,
Whose hallow’d earth
Anchises’ bones contains,
And where a prince of
Trojan lineage reigns?”
The course resolv’d,
before the western wind
They scud amain, and
make the port assign’d.
Meantime
Acestes, from a lofty stand,
Beheld the fleet
descending on the land;
And, not unmindful of
his ancient race,
Down from the cliff he
ran with eager pace,
And held the hero in a
strict embrace.
Of a rough Libyan bear
the spoils he wore,
And either hand a
pointed jav’lin bore.
His mother was a dame
of Dardan blood;
His sire Crinisus, a
Sicilian flood.
He welcomes his
returning friends ashore
With plenteous country
cates and homely store.
Now, when
the following morn had chas’d away
The flying stars, and
light restor’d the day,
Æneas call’d the
Trojan troops around,
And thus bespoke them
from a rising ground:
“Offspring of heav’n,
divine Dardanian race!
The sun, revolving
thro’ th’ ethereal space,
The shining circle of
the year has fill’d,
Since first this isle
my father’s ashes held:
And now the rising day
renews the year;
A day for ever sad, for
ever dear.
This would I celebrate
with annual games,
With gifts on altars
pil’d, and holy flames,
Tho’ banish’d to
Gætulia’s barren sands,
Caught on the Grecian
seas, or hostile lands:
But since this happy
storm our fleet has driv’n
(Not, as I deem,
without the will of Heav’n)
Upon these friendly
shores and flow’ry plains,
Which hide Anchises and
his blest remains,
Let us with joy perform
his honors due,
And pray for prosp’rous
winds, our voyage to renew;
Pray, that in towns and
temples of our own,
The name of great
Anchises may be known,
And yearly games may
spread the gods’ renown.
Our sports Acestes, of
the Trojan race,
With royal gifts
ordain’d, is pleas’d to grace:
Two steers on ev’ry
ship the king bestows;
His gods and ours shall
share your equal vows.
Besides, if, nine days
hence, the rosy morn
Shall with unclouded
light the skies adorn,
That day with solemn
sports I mean to grace:
Light galleys on the
seas shall run a wat’ry race;
Some shall in swiftness
for the goal contend,
And others try the
twanging bow to bend;
The strong, with iron
gauntlets arm’d, shall stand
Oppos’d in combat on
the yellow sand.
Let all be present at
the games prepar’d,
And joyful victors wait
the just reward.
But now assist the
rites, with garlands crown’d.”
He said, and first his
brows with myrtle bound.
Then Helymus, by his
example led,
And old Acestes, each
adorn’d his head;
Thus young Ascanius,
with a sprightly grace,
His temples tied, and
all the Trojan race.
Æneas then
advanc’d amidst the train,
By thousands follow’d
thro’ the flow’ry plain,
To great Anchises’
tomb; which when he found,
He pour’d to Bacchus,
on the hallow’d ground,
Two bowls of sparkling
wine, of milk two more,
And two (from offer’d
bulls) of purple gore,
With roses then the
sepulcher he strow’d
And thus his father’s
ghost bespoke aloud:
“Hail, O ye holy
manes! hail again,
Paternal ashes, now
review’d in vain!
The gods permitted not,
that you, with me,
Should reach the
promis’d shores of Italy,
Or Tiber’s flood,
what flood soe’er it be.”
Scarce had he finish’d,
when, with speckled pride,
A serpent from the tomb
began to glide;
His hugy bulk on sev’n
high volumes roll’d;
Blue was his breadth of
back, but streak’d with scaly gold:
Thus riding on his
curls, he seem’d to pass
A rolling fire along,
and singe the grass.
More various colors
thro’ his body run,
Than Iris when her bow
imbibes the sun.
Betwixt the rising
altars, and around,
The sacred monster shot
along the ground;
With harmless play
amidst the bowls he pass’d,
And with his lolling
tongue assay’d the taste:
Thus fed with holy
food, the wondrous guest
Within the hollow tomb
retir’d to rest.
The pious prince,
surpris’d at what he view’d,
The fun’ral honors
with more zeal renew’d,
Doubtful if this
place’s genius were,
Or guardian of his
father’s sepulcher.
Five sheep, according
to the rites, he slew;
As many swine, and
steers of sable hue;
New gen’rous wine he
from the goblets pour’d.
And call’d his
father’s ghost, from hell restor’d.
The glad attendants in
long order come,
Off’ring their gifts
at great Anchises’ tomb:
Some add more oxen;
some divide the spoil;
Some place the chargers
on the grassy soil;
Some blow the fires,
and offer’d entrails broil.
Now came
the day desir’d. The skies were bright
With rosy luster of the
rising light:
The bord’ring people,
rous’d by sounding fame
Of Trojan feasts and
great Acestes’ name,
The crowded shore with
acclamations fill,
Part to behold, and
part to prove their skill.
And first the gifts in
public view they place,
Green laurel wreaths,
and palm, the victors’ grace:
Within the circle, arms
and tripods lie,
Ingots of gold and
silver, heap’d on high,
And vests embroider’d,
of the Tyrian dye.
The trumpet’s clangor
then the feast proclaims,
And all prepare for
their appointed games.
Four galleys first,
which equal rowers bear,
Advancing, in the
wat’ry lists appear.
The speedy Dolphin,
that outstrips the wind,
Bore Mnestheus, author
of the Memmian kind:
Gyas the vast Chimæra’s
bulk commands,
Which rising, like a
tow’ring city stands;
Three Trojans tug at
ev’ry lab’ring oar;
Three banks in three
degrees the sailors bore;
Beneath their sturdy
strokes the billows roar.
Sergesthus, who began
the Sergian race,
In the great Centaur
took the leading place;
Cloanthus on the
sea-green Scylla stood,
From whom Cluentius
draws his Trojan blood.
Far in the
sea, against the foaming shore,
There stands a rock:
the raging billows roar
Above his head in
storms; but, when ’t is clear,
Uncurl their ridgy
backs, and at his foot appear.
In peace below the
gentle waters run;
The cormorants above
lie basking in the sun.
On this the hero fix’d
an oak in sight,
The mark to guide the
mariners aright.
To bear with this, the
seamen stretch their oars;
Then round the rock
they steer, and seek the former shores.
The lots decide their
place. Above the rest,
Each leader shining in
his Tyrian vest;
The common crew with
wreaths of poplar boughs
Their temples crown,
and shade their sweaty brows:
Besmear’d with oil,
their naked shoulders shine.
All take their seats,
and wait the sounding sign:
They gripe their oars;
and ev’ry panting breast
Is rais’d by turns
with hope, by turns with fear depress’d.
The clangor of the
trumpet gives the sign;
At once they start,
advancing in a line:
With shouts the sailors
rend the starry skies;
Lash’d with their
oars, the smoky billows rise;
Sparkles the briny
main, and the vex’d ocean fries.
Exact in time, with
equal strokes they row:
At once the brushing
oars and brazen prow
Dash up the sandy
waves, and ope the depths below.
Not fiery coursers, in
a chariot race,
Invade the field with
half so swift a pace;
Not the fierce driver
with more fury lends
The sounding lash, and,
ere the stroke descends,
Low to the wheels his
pliant body bends.
The partial crowd their
hopes and fears divide,
And aid with eager
shouts the favor’d side.
Cries, murmurs,
clamors, with a mixing sound,
From woods to woods,
from hills to hills rebound.
Amidst the
loud applauses of the shore,
Gyas outstripp’d the
rest, and sprung before:
Cloanthus, better
mann’d, pursued him fast,
But his o’er-masted
galley check’d his haste.
The Centaur and the
Dolphin brush the brine
With equal oars,
advancing in a line;
And now the mighty
Centaur seems to lead,
And now the speedy
Dolphin gets ahead;
Now board to board the
rival vessels row,
The billows lave the
skies, and ocean groans below.
They reach’d the
mark. Proud Gyas and his train
In triumph rode, the
victors of the main;
But, steering round, he
charg’d his pilot stand
More close to shore,
and skim along the sand—
“Let others bear to
sea!” Menoetes heard;
But secret shelves too
cautiously he fear’d,
And, fearing, sought
the deep; and still aloof he steer’d.
With louder cries the
captain call’d again:
“Bear to the rocky
shore, and shun the main.”
He spoke, and,
speaking, at his stern he saw
The bold Cloanthus near
the shelvings draw.
Betwixt the mark and
him the Scylla stood,
And in a closer compass
plow’d the flood.
He pass’d the mark;
and, wheeling, got before:
Gyas blasphem’d the
gods, devoutly swore,
Cried out for anger,
and his hair he tore.
Mindless of others’
lives (so high was grown
His rising rage) and
careless of his own,
The trembling dotard to
the deck he drew;
Then hoisted up, and
overboard he threw:
This done, he seiz’d
the helm; his fellows cheer’d,
Turn’d short upon the
shelfs, and madly steer’d.
Hardly his
head the plunging pilot rears,
Clogg’d with his
clothes, and cumber’d with his years:
Now dropping wet, he
climbs the cliff with pain.
The crowd, that saw him
fall and float again,
Shout from the distant
shore; and loudly laugh’d,
To see his heaving
breast disgorge the briny draught.
The following Centaur,
and the Dolphin’s crew,
Their vanish’d hopes
of victory renew;
While Gyas lags, they
kindle in the race,
To reach the mark.
Sergesthus takes the place;
Mnestheus pursues; and
while around they wind,
Comes up, not half his
galley’s length behind;
Then, on the deck,
amidst his mates appear’d,
And thus their drooping
courage he cheer’d:
“My friends, and
Hector’s followers heretofore,
Exert your vigor; tug
the lab’ring oar;
Stretch to your
strokes, my still unconquer’d crew,
Whom from the flaming
walls of Troy I drew.
In this, our common
int’rest, let me find
That strength of hand,
that courage of the mind,
As when you stemm’d
the strong Malean flood,
And o’er the Syrtes’
broken billows row’d.
I seek not now the
foremost palm to gain;
Tho’ yet—but ah!
that haughty wish is vain!
Let those enjoy it whom
the gods ordain.
But to be last, the
lags of all the race!—
Redeem yourselves and
me from that disgrace.”
Now, one and all, they
tug amain; they row
At the full stretch,
and shake the brazen prow.
The sea beneath ’em
sinks; their lab’ring sides
Are swell’d, and
sweat runs gutt’ring down in tides.
Chance aids their
daring with unhop’d success;
Sergesthus, eager with
his beak to press
Betwixt the rival
galley and the rock,
Shuts up th’
unwieldly Centaur in the lock.
The vessel struck; and,
with the dreadful shock,
Her oars she shiver’d,
and her head she broke.
The trembling rowers
from their banks arise,
And, anxious for
themselves, renounce the prize.
With iron poles they
heave her off the shores,
And gather from the sea
their floating oars.
The crew of Mnestheus,
with elated minds,
Urge their success, and
call the willing winds;
Then ply their oars,
and cut their liquid way
In larger compass on
the roomy sea.
As, when the dove her
rocky hold forsakes,
Rous’d in a fright,
her sounding wings she shakes;
The cavern rings with
clatt’ring; out she flies,
And leaves her callow
care, and cleaves the skies:
At first she flutters;
but at length she springs
To smoother flight, and
shoots upon her wings:
So Mnestheus in the
Dolphin cuts the sea;
And, flying with a
force, that force assists his way.
Sergesthus in the
Centaur soon he pass’d,
Wedg’d in the rocky
shoals, and sticking fast.
In vain the victor he
with cries implores,
And practices to row
with shatter’d oars.
Then Mnestheus bears
with Gyas, and outflies:
The ship, without a
pilot, yields the prize.
Unvanquish’d Scylla
now alone remains;
Her he pursues, and all
his vigor strains.
Shouts from the
fav’ring multitude arise;
Applauding Echo to the
shouts replies;
Shouts, wishes, and
applause run rattling thro’ the skies.
These clamors with
disdain the Scylla heard,
Much grudg’d the
praise, but more the robb’d reward:
Resolv’d to hold
their own, they mend their pace,
All obstinate to die,
or gain the race.
Rais’d with success,
the Dolphin swiftly ran;
For they can conquer,
who believe they can.
Both urge their oars,
and fortune both supplies,
And both perhaps had
shar’d an equal prize;
When to the seas
Cloanthus holds his hands,
And succor from the
wat’ry pow’rs demands:
“Gods of the liquid
realms, on which I row!
If, giv’n by you, the
laurel bind my brow,
Assist to make me
guilty of my vow!
A snow-white bull shall
on your shore be slain;
His offer’d entrails
cast into the main,
And ruddy wine, from
golden goblets thrown,
Your grateful gift and
my return shall own.”
The choir of nymphs,
and Phorcus, from below,
With virgin Panopea,
heard his vow;
And old Portunus, with
his breadth of hand,
Push’d on, and sped
the galley to the land.
Swift as a shaft, or
winged wind, she flies,
And, darting to the
port, obtains the prize.
The herald
summons all, and then proclaims
Cloanthus conqu’ror
of the naval games.
The prince with laurel
crowns the victor’s head,
And three fat steers
are to his vessel led,
The ship’s reward;
with gen’rous wine beside,
And sums of silver,
which the crew divide.
The leaders are
distinguish’d from the rest;
The victor honor’d
with a nobler vest,
Where gold and purple
strive in equal rows,
And needlework its
happy cost bestows.
There Ganymede is
wrought with living art,
Chasing thro’ Ida’s
groves the trembling hart:
Breathless he seems,
yet eager to pursue;
When from aloft
descends, in open view,
The bird of Jove, and,
sousing on his prey,
With crooked talons
bears the boy away.
In vain, with lifted
hands and gazing eyes,
His guards behold him
soaring thro’ the skies,
And dogs pursue his
flight with imitated cries.
Mnestheus
the second victor was declar’d;
And, summon’d there,
the second prize he shar’d.
A coat of mail, which
brave Demoleus bore,
More brave Æneas from
his shoulders tore,
In single combat on the
Trojan shore:
This was ordain’d for
Mnestheus to possess;
In war for his defense,
for ornament in peace.
Rich was the gift, and
glorious to behold,
But yet so pond’rous
with its plates of gold,
That scarce two
servants could the weight sustain;
Yet, loaded thus,
Demoleus o’er the plain
Pursued and lightly
seiz’d the Trojan train.
The third, succeeding
to the last reward,
Two goodly bowls of
massy silver shar’d,
With figures prominent,
and richly wrought,
And two brass caldrons
from Dodona brought.
Thus all,
rewarded by the hero’s hands,
Their conqu’ring
temples bound with purple bands;
And now Sergesthus,
clearing from the rock,
Brought back his galley
shatter’d with the shock.
Forlorn she look’d,
without an aiding oar,
And, houted by the
vulgar, made to shore.
As when a snake,
surpris’d upon the road,
Is crush’d athwart
her body by the load
Of heavy wheels; or
with a mortal wound
Her belly bruis’d,
and trodden to the ground:
In vain, with loosen’d
curls, she crawls along;
Yet, fierce above, she
brandishes her tongue;
Glares with her eyes,
and bristles with her scales;
But, groveling in the
dust, her parts unsound she trails:
So slowly to the port
the Centaur tends,
But, what she wants in
oars, with sails amends.
Yet, for his galley
sav’d, the grateful prince
Is pleas’d th’
unhappy chief to recompense.
Pholoe, the Cretan
slave, rewards his care,
Beauteous herself, with
lovely twins as fair.
From thence
his way the Trojan hero bent
Into the neighb’ring
plain, with mountains pent,
Whose sides were shaded
with surrounding wood.
Full in the midst of
this fair valley stood
A native theater,
which, rising slow
By just degrees,
o’erlook’d the ground below.
High on a sylvan throne
the leader sate;
A num’rous train
attend in solemn state.
Here those that in the
rapid course delight,
Desire of honor and the
prize invite.
The rival runners
without order stand;
The Trojans mix’d
with the Sicilian band.
First Nisus, with
Euryalus, appears;
Euryalus a boy of
blooming years,
With sprightly grace
and equal beauty crown’d;
Nisus, for friendship
to the youth renown’d.
Diores next, of Priam’s
royal race,
Then Salius joined with
Patron, took their place;
(But Patron in Arcadia
had his birth,
And Salius his from
Arcananian earth;)
Then two Sicilian
youths—the names of these,
Swift Helymus, and
lovely Panopes:
Both jolly huntsmen,
both in forest bred,
And owning old Acestes
for their head;
With sev’ral others
of ignobler name,
Whom time has not
deliver’d o’er to fame.
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