Book 1

Arms and the man I sing, who first made way, predestined exile, from the Trojan shore to Italy, the blest Lavinian strand.

Smitten of storms he was on land and sea by violence of Heaven, to satisfy stern Juno's sleepless wrath; and much in war he suffered, seeking at the last to found the city, and bring o'er his fathers' gods to safe abode in Latium; whence arose the Latin race, old Alba's reverend lords, and from her hills wide-walled, imperial Rome.

O Muse, the causes tell! What sacrilege, or vengeful sorrow, moved the heavenly Queen to thrust on dangers dark and endless toil a man whose largest honor in men's eyes was serving Heaven? Can gods such anger feel?

In ages gone an ancient city stood—

Carthage, a Tyrian seat, which from afar made front on Italy and on the mouths of Tiber 's stream; its wealth and revenues were vast, and ruthless was its quest of war.

'T is said that Juno, of all lands she loved, most cherished this,—not Samos ' self so dear.

Here were her arms, her chariot; even then a throne of power o'er nations near and far, if Fate opposed not, 't was her darling hope to 'stablish here; but anxiously she heard that of the Trojan blood there was a breed then rising, which upon the destined day should utterly o'erwhelm her Tyrian towers, a people of wide sway and conquest proud should compass Libya 's doom;—such was the web the Fatal Sisters spun. Such was the fear of Saturn's daughter, who remembered well what long and unavailing strife she waged for her loved Greeks at Troy. Nor did she fail to meditate th' occasions of her rage, and cherish deep within her bosom proud its griefs and wrongs: the choice by Paris made;

her scorned and slighted beauty; a whole race rebellious to her godhead; and Jove's smile that beamed on eagle-ravished Ganymede.

With all these thoughts infuriate, her power pursued with tempests o'er the boundless main the Trojans, though by Grecian victor spared and fierce Achilles; so she thrust them far from Latium; and they drifted, Heaven-impelled, year after year, o'er many an unknown sea—

O labor vast, to found the Roman line!

Below th' horizon the Sicilian isle just sank from view, as for the open sea with heart of hope they sailed, and every ship clove with its brazen beak the salt, white waves.

But Juno of her everlasting wound knew no surcease, but from her heart of pain thus darkly mused: “Must I, defeated, fail of what I will, nor turn the Teucrian King from Italy away? Can Fate oppose?

Had Pallas power to lay waste in flame the Argive fleet and sink its mariners, revenging but the sacrilege obscene by Ajax wrought, Oileus' desperate son?

She, from the clouds, herself Jove's lightning threw, scattered the ships, and ploughed the sea with storms.

Her foe, from his pierced breast out-breathing fire, in whirlwind on a deadly rock she flung.

But I, who move among the gods a queen,

Jove's sister and his spouse, with one weak tribe make war so long! Who now on Juno calls?

What suppliant gifts henceforth her altars crown?”

So, in her fevered heart complaining still, unto the storm-cloud land the goddess came, a region with wild whirlwinds in its womb,

Aeolia named, where royal Aeolus in a high-vaulted cavern keeps control o'er warring winds and loud concourse of storms.

There closely pent in chains and bastions strong, they, scornful, make the vacant mountain roar, chafing against their bonds. But from a throne of lofty crag, their king with sceptred hand allays their fury and their rage confines.

Did he not so, our ocean, earth, and sky were whirled before them through the vast inane.

But over-ruling Jove, of this in fear, hid them in dungeon dark: then o'er them piled huge mountains, and ordained a lawful king to hold them in firm sway, or know what time, with Jove's consent, to loose them o'er the world.

To him proud Juno thus made lowly plea:

“Thou in whose hands the Father of all gods and Sovereign of mankind confides the power to calm the waters or with winds upturn, great Aeolus! a race with me at war now sails the Tuscan main towards Italy, bringing their Ilium and its vanquished powers.

Uprouse thy gales. Strike that proud navy down!

Hurl far and wide, and strew the waves with dead!

Twice seven nymphs are mine, of rarest mould;

of whom Deiopea, the most fair,

I give thee in true wedlock for thine own, to mate thy noble worth; she at thy side shall pass long, happy years, and fruitful bring her beauteous offspring unto thee their sire.”

Then Aeolus: “'T is thy sole task, O Queen, to weigh thy wish and will. My fealty thy high behest obeys. This humble throne is of thy gift. Thy smiles for me obtain authority from Jove. Thy grace concedes my station at your bright Olympian board, and gives me lordship of the darkening storm.”

Replying thus, he smote with spear reversed the hollow mountain's wall; then rush the winds through that wide breach in long, embattled line, and sweep tumultuous from land to land:

with brooding pinions o'er the waters spread, east wind and south, and boisterous Afric gale upturn the sea; vast billows shoreward roll;

the shout of mariners, the creak of cordage, follow the shock; low-hanging clouds conceal from Trojan eyes all sight of heaven and day;

night o'er the ocean broods; from sky to sky the thunders roll, the ceaseless lightnings glare;

and all things mean swift death for mortal man.

Straightway Aeneas, shuddering with amaze, groaned loud, upraised both holy hands to Heaven, and thus did plead: “O thrice and four times blest, ye whom your sires and whom the walls of Troy looked on in your last hour! O bravest son

Greece ever bore, Tydides! O that I had fallen on Ilian fields, and given this life struck down by thy strong hand! where by the spear of great Achilles, fiery Hector fell, and huge Sarpedon; where the Simois in furious flood engulfed and whirled away so many helms and shields and heroes slain!”

While thus he cried to Heaven, a shrieking blast smote full upon the sail. Up surged the waves to strike the very stars; in fragments flew the shattered oars; the helpless vessel veered and gave her broadside to the roaring flood, where watery mountains rose and burst and fell.

Now high in air she hangs, then yawning gulfs lay bare the shoals and sands o'er which she drives.

Three ships a whirling south wind snatched and flung on hidden rocks,—altars of sacrifice

Italians call them, which lie far from shore a vast ridge in the sea; three ships beside an east wind, blowing landward from the deep, drove on the shallows,—pitiable sight,— and girdled them in walls of drifting sand.

That ship, which, with his friend Orontes, bore the Lycian mariners, a great, plunging wave struck straight astern, before Aeneas' eyes.

Forward the steersman rolled and o'er the side fell headlong, while three times the circling flood spun the light bark through swift engulfing seas.

Look, how the lonely swimmers breast the wave!

And on the waste of waters wide are seen weapons of war, spars, planks, and treasures rare, once Ilium 's boast, all mingled with the storm.

Now o'er Achates and Ilioneus, now o'er the ship of Abas or Aletes, bursts the tempestuous shock; their loosened seams yawn wide and yield the angry wave its will.

Meanwhile how all his smitten ocean moaned, and how the tempest's turbulent assault had vexed the stillness of his deepest cave, great Neptune knew; and with indignant mien uplifted o'er the sea his sovereign brow.

He saw the Teucrian navy scattered far along the waters; and Aeneas' men o'erwhelmed in mingling shock of wave and sky.

Saturnian Juno's vengeful stratagem her brother's royal glance failed not to see;

and loud to eastward and to westward calling, he voiced this word: “What pride of birth or power is yours, ye winds, that, reckless of my will, audacious thus, ye ride through earth and heaven, and stir these mountain waves? Such rebels I— nay, first I calm this tumult! But yourselves by heavier chastisement shall expiate hereafter your bold trespass. Haste away and bear your king this word! Not unto him dominion o'er the seas and trident dread, but unto me, Fate gives. Let him possess wild mountain crags, thy favored haunt and home,

O Eurus! In his barbarous mansion there, let Aeolus look proud, and play the king in yon close-bounded prison-house of storms!”

He spoke, and swiftlier than his word subdued the swelling of the floods; dispersed afar th' assembled clouds, and brought back light to heaven.

Cymothoe then and Triton, with huge toil, thrust down the vessels from the sharp-edged reef;

while, with the trident, the great god's own hand assists the task; then, from the sand-strewn shore out-ebbing far, he calms the whole wide sea, and glides light-wheeled along the crested foam.

As when, with not unwonted tumult, roars in some vast city a rebellious mob, and base-born passions in its bosom burn, till rocks and blazing torches fill the air

(rage never lacks for arms)—if haply then some wise man comes, whose reverend looks attest a life to duty given, swift silence falls;

all ears are turned attentive; and he sways with clear and soothing speech the people's will.

So ceased the sea's uproar, when its grave Sire looked o'er th' expanse, and, riding on in light, flung free rein to his winged obedient car.

Aeneas' wave-worn crew now landward made, and took the nearest passage, whither lay the coast of Libya. A haven there walled in by bold sides of a rocky isle, offers a spacious and secure retreat, where every billow from the distant main breaks, and in many a rippling curve retires.

Huge crags and two confronted promontories frown heaven-high, beneath whose brows outspread the silent, sheltered waters; on the heights the bright and glimmering foliage seems to show a woodland amphitheatre; and yet higher rises a straight-stemmed grove of dense, dark shade.

Fronting on these a grotto may be seen, o'erhung by steep cliffs; from its inmost wall clear springs gush out; and shelving seats it has of unhewn stone, a place the wood-nymphs love.

In such a port, a weary ship rides free of weight of firm-fluked anchor or strong chain.

Hither Aeneas of his scattered fleet saving but seven, into harbor sailed;

with passionate longing for the touch of land, forth leap the Trojans to the welcome shore, and fling their dripping limbs along the ground.

Then good Achates smote a flinty stone, secured a flashing spark, heaped on light leaves, and with dry branches nursed the mounting flame.

Then Ceres' gift from the corrupting sea they bring away; and wearied utterly ply Ceres' cunning on the rescued corn, and parch in flames, and mill 'twixt two smooth stones.

Aeneas meanwhile climbed the cliffs, and searched the wide sea-prospect; haply Antheus there, storm-buffeted, might sail within his ken, with biremes, and his Phrygian mariners, or Capys or Caicus armor-clad, upon a towering deck. No ship is seen;

but while he looks, three stags along the shore come straying by, and close behind them comes the whole herd, browsing through the lowland vale in one long line. Aeneas stopped and seized his bow and swift-winged arrows, which his friend, trusty Achates, close beside him bore.

His first shafts brought to earth the lordly heads of the high-antlered chiefs; his next assailed the general herd, and drove them one and all in panic through the leafy wood, nor ceased the victory of his bow, till on the ground lay seven huge forms, one gift for every ship.

Then back to shore he sped, and to his friends distributed the spoil, with that rare wine which good Acestes while in Sicily had stored in jars, and prince-like sent away with his Ioved guest;—this too Aeneas gave;

and with these words their mournful mood consoled.

“Companions mine, we have not failed to feel calamity till now. O, ye have borne far heavier sorrow: Jove will make an end also of this. Ye sailed a course hard by infuriate Scylla's howling cliffs and caves.

Ye knew the Cyclops' crags. Lift up your hearts!

No more complaint and fear! It well may be some happier hour will find this memory fair.

Through chance and change and hazard without end, our goal is Latium; where our destinies beckon to blest abodes, and have ordained that Troy shall rise new-born! Have patience all!

And bide expectantly that golden day.”

Such was his word, but vexed with grief and care, feigned hopes upon his forehead firm he wore, and locked within his heart a hero's pain.

Now round the welcome trophies of his chase they gather for a feast. Some flay the ribs and bare the flesh below; some slice with knives, and on keen prongs the quivering strips impale, place cauldrons on the shore, and fan the fires.

Then, stretched at ease on couch of simple green, they rally their lost powers, and feast them well on seasoned wine and succulent haunch of game.

But hunger banished and the banquet done, in long discourse of their lost mates they tell,

'twixt hopes and fears divided; for who knows whether the lost ones live, or strive with death, or heed no more whatever voice may call?

Chiefly Aeneas now bewails his friends,

Orontes brave and fallen Amycus, or mourns with grief untold the untimely doom of bold young Gyas and Cloanthus bold.

After these things were past, exalted Jove, from his ethereal sky surveying clear the seas all winged with sails, lands widely spread, and nations populous from shore to shore, paused on the peak of heaven, and fixed his gaze on Libya. But while he anxious mused, near him, her radiant eyes all dim with tears, nor smiling any more, Venus approached, and thus complained: “O thou who dost control things human and divine by changeless laws, enthroned in awful thunder! What huge wrong could my Aeneas and his Trojans few achieve against thy power? For they have borne unnumbered deaths, and, failing Italy, the gates of all the world against them close.

Hast thou not given us thy covenant that hence the Romans when the rolling years have come full cycle, shall arise to power from Troy 's regenerate seed, and rule supreme the unresisted lords of land and sea?

O Sire, what swerves thy will? How oft have I in Troy 's most lamentable wreck and woe consoled my heart with this, and balanced oft our destined good against our destined ill!

But the same stormful fortune still pursues my band of heroes on their perilous way.

When shall these labors cease, O glorious King?

Antenor, though th' Achaeans pressed him sore, found his way forth, and entered unassailed

Illyria 's haven, and the guarded land of the Liburni. Straight up stream he sailed where like a swollen sea Timavus pours a nine-fold flood from roaring mountain gorge, and whelms with voiceful wave the fields below.

He built Patavium there, and fixed abodes for Troy 's far-exiled sons; he gave a name to a new land and race; the Trojan arms were hung on temple walls; and, to this day, lying in perfect peace, the hero sleeps.

But we of thine own seed, to whom thou dost a station in the arch of heaven assign, behold our navy vilely wrecked, because a single god is angry; we endure this treachery and violence, whereby wide seas divide us from th' Hesperian shore.

Is this what piety receives? Or thus doth Heaven's decree restore our fallen thrones?”

Smiling reply, the Sire of gods and men, with such a look as clears the skies of storm chastely his daughter kissed, and thus spake on:

“Let Cytherea cast her fears away!

Irrevocably blest the fortunes be of thee and thine. Nor shalt thou fail to see that City, and the proud predestined wall encompassing Lavinium. Thyself shall starward to the heights of heaven bear

Aeneas the great-hearted. Nothing swerves my will once uttered. Since such carking cares consume thee, I this hour speak freely forth, and leaf by leaf the book of fate unfold.

Thy son in Italy shall wage vast war and, quell its nations wild; his city-wall and sacred laws shall be a mighty bond about his gathered people. Summers three shall Latium call him king; and three times pass the winter o'er Rutulia's vanquished hills.

His heir, Ascanius, now Iulus called

(Ilus it was while Ilium 's kingdom stood), full thirty months shall reign, then move the throne from the Lavinian citadel, and build for Alba Longa its well-bastioned wall.

Here three full centuries shall Hector's race have kingly power; till a priestess queen, by Mars conceiving, her twin offspring bear;

then Romulus, wolf-nursed and proudly clad in tawny wolf-skin mantle, shall receive the sceptre of his race. He shall uprear and on his Romans his own name bestow.

To these I give no bounded times or power, but empire without end. Yea, even my Queen,

Juno, who now chastiseth land and sea with her dread frown, will find a wiser way, and at my sovereign side protect and bless the Romans, masters of the whole round world, who, clad in peaceful toga, judge mankind.

Such my decree! In lapse of seasons due, the heirs of Ilium 's kings shall bind in chains

Mycenae 's glory and Achilles' towers, and over prostrate Argos sit supreme.

Of Trojan stock illustriously sprung, lo, Caesar comes! whose power the ocean bounds, whose fame, the skies. He shall receive the name

Iulus nobly bore, great Julius, he.

Him to the skies, in Orient trophies dress, thou shalt with smiles receive; and he, like us, shall hear at his own shrines the suppliant vow.

Then will the world grow mild; the battle-sound will be forgot; for olden Honor then, with spotless Vesta, and the brothers twain,

Remus and Romulus, at strife no more, will publish sacred laws. The dreadful gates whence issueth war, shall with close-jointed steel be barred impregnably; and prisoned there the heaven-offending Fury, throned on swords, and fettered by a hundred brazen chains, shall belch vain curses from his lips of gore.”

These words he gave, and summoned Maia's son, the herald Mercury, who earthward flying, should bid the Tyrian realms and new-built towers welcome the Trojan waifs; lest Dido, blind to Fate's decree, should thrust them from the land.

He takes his flight, with rhythmic stroke of wing, across th' abyss of air, and soon draws near unto the Libyan mainland. He fulfils his heavenly task; the Punic hearts of stone grow soft beneath the effluence divine;

and, most of all, the Queen, with heart at ease awaits benignantly her guests from Troy.

But good Aeneas, pondering all night long his many cares, when first the cheerful dawn upon him broke, resolved to take survey of this strange country whither wind and wave had driven him,—for desert land it seemed,— to learn what tribes of man or beast possess a place so wild, and careful tidings bring back to his friends. His fleet of ships the while, where dense, dark groves o'er-arch a hollowed crag, he left encircled in far-branching shade.

Then with no followers save his trusty friend

Achates, he went forth upon his way, two broad-tipped javelins poising in his hand.

Deep to the midmost wood he went, and there his Mother in his path uprose; she seemed in garb and countenance a maid, and bore, like Spartan maids, a weapon; in such guise

Harpalyce the Thracian urges on her panting coursers and in wild career outstrips impetuous Hebrus as it flows.

Over her lovely shoulders was a bow, slender and light, as fits a huntress fair;

her golden tresses without wimple moved in every wind, and girded in a knot her undulant vesture bared her marble knees.

She hailed them thus: “Ho, sirs, I pray you tell if haply ye have noted, as ye came, one of my sisters in this wood astray?

She bore a quiver, and a lynx's hide her spotted mantle was; perchance she roused some foaming boar, and chased with loud halloo.”

So Venus spoke, and Venus' son replied:

“No voice or vision of thy sister fair has crossed my path, thou maid without a name!

Thy beauty seems not of terrestrial mould, nor is thy music mortal! Tell me, goddess, art thou bright Phoebus' sister? Or some nymph, the daughter of a god? Whate'er thou art, thy favor we implore, and potent aid in our vast toil. Instruct us of what skies, or what world's end, our storm-swept lives have found!

Strange are these lands and people where we rove, compelled by wind and wave. Lo, this right hand shall many a victim on thine altar slay!”

Then Venus: “Nay, I boast not to receive honors divine. We Tyrian virgins oft bear bow and quiver, and our ankles white lace up in purple buskin. Yonder lies the Punic power, where Tyrian masters hold

Agenor's town; but on its borders dwell the Libyans, by battles unsubdued.

Upon the throne is Dido, exiled there from Tyre, to flee th' unnatural enmity of her own brother. 'T was an ancient wrong;

too Iong the dark and tangled tale would be;

I trace the larger outline of her story:

Sichreus was her spouse, whose acres broad no Tyrian lord could match, and he was-blessed by his ill-fated lady's fondest love, whose father gave him her first virgin bloom in youthful marriage. But the kingly power among the Tyrians to her brother came,

Pygmalion, none deeper dyed in crime in all that land. Betwixt these twain there rose a deadly hatred,—and the impious wretch, blinded by greed, and reckless utterly of his fond sister's joy, did murder foul upon defenceless and unarmed Sichaeus, and at the very altar hewed him down.

Long did he hide the deed, and guilefully deceived with false hopes, and empty words, her grief and stricken love. But as she slept, her husband's tombless ghost before her came, with face all wondrous pale, and he laid bare his heart with dagger pierced, disclosing so the blood-stained altar and the infamy that darkened now their house. His counsel was to fly, self-banished, from her ruined land, and for her journey's aid, he whispered where his buried treasure lay, a weight unknown of silver and of gold. Thus onward urged,

Dido, assembling her few trusted friends, prepared her flight. There rallied to her cause all who did hate and scorn the tyrant king, or feared his cruelty. They seized his ships, which haply rode at anchor in the bay, and loaded them with gold; the hoarded wealth of vile and covetous Pygmalion they took to sea. A woman wrought this deed.

Then came they to these lands where now thine eyes behold yon walls and yonder citadel of newly rising Carthage. For a price they measured round so much of Afric soil as one bull's hide encircles, and the spot received its name, the Byrsa. But, I pray, what men are ye? from what far land arrived, and whither going?” When she questioned thus, her son, with sighs that rose from his heart's depths, this answer gave:

“Divine one, if I tell my woes and burdens all, and thou could'st pause to heed the tale, first would the vesper star th' Olympian portals close, and bid the day in slumber lie. Of ancient Troy are we— if aught of Troy thou knowest! As we roved from sea to sea, the hazard of the storm cast us up hither on this Libyan coast.

I am Aeneas, faithful evermore to Heaven's command; and in my ships I bear my gods ancestral, which I snatched away from peril of the foe. My fame is known above the stars. I travel on in quest of Italy, my true home-land, and I from Jove himself may trace my birth divine.

With twice ten ships upon the Phryglan main

I launched away. My mother from the skies gave guidance, and I wrought what Fate ordained.

Yet now scarce seven shattered ships survive the shock of wind and wave; and I myself friendless, bereft, am wandering up and down this Libyan wilderness! Behold me here, from Europe and from Asia exiled still!”

But Venus could not let him longer plain, and stopped his grief midway:

“Whoe'er thou art,

I deem that not unblest of heavenly powers, with vital breath still thine, thou comest hither unto our Tyrian town. Go steadfast on, and to the royal threshold make thy way!

I bring thee tidings that thy comrades all are safe at land; and all thy ships, conveyed by favoring breezes, safe at anchor lie;

or else in vain my parents gave me skill to read the skies. Look up at yonder swans!

A flock of twelve, whose gayly fluttering file, erst scattered by Jove's eagle swooping down from his ethereal haunt, now form anew their long-drawn line, and make a landing-place, or, hovering over, scan some chosen ground, or soaring high, with whir of happy wings, re-circle heaven in triumphant song:

likewise, I tell thee, thy Iost mariners are landed, or fly landward at full sail.

Up, then! let yon plain path thy guidance be,”

She ceased and turned away. A roseate beam from her bright shoulder glowed; th' ambrosial hair breathed more than mortal sweetness, while her robes fell rippling to her feet. Each step revealed the veritable goddess. Now he knew that vision was his mother, and his words pursued the fading phantom as it fled:

“Why is thy son deluded o'er and o'er with mocking dreams,—another cruel god?

Hast thou no hand-clasp true, nor interchange of words unfeigned betwixt this heart and thine?”

Such word of blame he spoke, and took his way toward the city's rampart. Venus then o'erveiled them as they moved in darkened air,— a liquid mantle of thick cloud divine,— that viewless they might pass, nor would any obstruct, delay, or question why they came.

To Paphos then she soared, her Ioved abode, where stands her temple, at whose hundred shrines garlands of myrtle and fresh roses breathe, and clouds of orient sweetness waft away.

Meanwhile the wanderers swiftly journey on along the clear-marked road, and soon they climb the brow of a high hill, which close in view o'er-towers the city's crown. The vast exploit, where lately rose but Afric cabins rude,

Aeneas wondered at: the smooth, wide ways;

the bastioned gates; the uproar of the throng.

The Tyrians toil unwearied; some up-raise a wall or citadel, from far below lifting the ponderous stone; or with due care choose where to build, and close the space around with sacred furrow; in their gathering-place the people for just governors, just laws, and for their reverend senate shout acclaim.

Some clear the harbor mouth; some deeply lay the base of a great theatre, and carve out proud columns from the mountain, to adorn their rising stage with lofty ornament.

so busy bees above a field of flowers in early summer amid sunbeams toil, leading abroad their nation's youthful brood;

or with the flowing honey storing close the pliant cells, until they quite run o'er with nectared sweet; while from the entering swarm they take their little loads; or lined for war, rout the dull drones, and chase them from the hive;

brisk is the task, and all the honeyed air breathes odors of wild thyme. “How blest of Heaven.

These men that see their promised ramparts rise!”

Aeneas sighed; and swift his glances moved from tower to tower; then on his way he fared, veiled in the wonder-cloud, whence all unseen of human eyes,—O strange the tale and true!— he threaded the thronged streets, unmarked, unknown.

Deep in the city's heart there was a grove of beauteous shade, where once the Tyrians, cast here by stormful waves, delved out of earth that portent which Queen Juno bade them find,— the head of a proud horse,—that ages long their boast might be wealth, luxury and war.

Upon this spot Sidonian Dido raised a spacious fane to Juno, which became splendid with gifts, and hallowed far and wide for potency divine. Its beams were bronze, and on loud hinges swung the brazen doors.

A rare, new sight this sacred grove did show, which calmed Aeneas' fears, and made him bold to hope for safety, and with lifted heart from his low-fallen fortunes re-aspire.

For while he waits the advent of the Queen, he scans the mighty temple, and admires the city's opulent pride, and all the skill its rival craftsmen in their work approve.

Behold! he sees old Ilium 's well-fought fields in sequent picture, and those famous wars now told upon men's lips the whole world round.

There Atreus' sons, there kingly Priam moved, and fierce Pelides pitiless to both.

Aeneas paused, and, weeping, thus began:

“Alas, Achates, what far region now, what land in all the world knows not our pain?

See, it is Priam! Virtue's wage is given—

O even here! Here also there be tears for what men bear, and mortal creatures feel each other's sorrow. Therefore, have no fear!

This story of our loss forbodes us well.”

So saying, he received into his heart that visionary scene, profoundly sighed, and let his plenteous tears unheeded flow.

There he beheld the citadel of Troy girt with embattled foes; here, Greeks in flight some Trojan onset 'scaped; there, Phrygian bands before tall-plumed Achilles' chariot sped.

The snowy tents of Rhesus spread hard by

(he sees them through his tears), where Diomed in night's first watch burst o'er them unawares with bloody havoc and a host of deaths;

then drove his fiery coursers o'er the plain before their thirst or hunger could be stayed on Trojan corn or Xanthus ' cooling stream.

Here too was princely Troilus, despoiled, routed and weaponless, O wretched boy!

Ill-matched against Achilles! His wild steeds bear him along, as from his chariot's rear he falls far back, but clutches still the rein;

his hair and shoulders on the ground go trailing, and his down-pointing spear-head scrawls the dust.

Elsewhere, to Pallas' ever-hostile shrine, daughters of Ilium, with unsnooded hair, and lifting all in vain her hallowed pall, walked suppliant and sad, beating their breasts, with outspread palms. But her unswerving eyes the goddess fixed on earth, and would not see.

Achilles round the Trojan rampart thrice had dragged the fallen Hector, and for gold was making traffic of the lifeless clay.

Aeneas groaned aloud, with bursting heart, to see the spoils, the car, the very corpse of his lost friend,—while Priam for the dead stretched forth in piteous prayer his helpless hands.

There too his own presentment he could see surrounded by Greek kings; and there were shown hordes from the East, and black-browed Memnon's arms;

her band of Amazons, with moon-shaped shields,

Penthesilea led; her martial eye flamed on from troop to troop; a belt of gold beneath one bare, protruded breast she bound— a warrior-virgin braving mail-clad men.

While on such spectacle Aeneas' eyes looked wondering, while mute and motionless he stood at gaze, Queen Dido to the shrine in lovely majesty drew near; a throng of youthful followers pressed round her way.

So by the margin of Eurotas wide or o'er the Cynthian steep, Diana leads her bright processional; hither and yon are visionary legions numberless of Oreads; the regnant goddess bears a quiver on her shoulders, and is seen emerging tallest of her beauteous train;

while joy unutterable thrills the breast of fond Latona: Dido not less fair amid her subjects passed, and not less bright her glow of gracious joy, while she approved her future kingdom's pomp and vast emprise.

Then at the sacred portal and beneath the temple's vaulted dome she took her place, encompassed by armed men, and lifted high upon a throne; her statutes and decrees the people heard, and took what lot or toil her sentence, or impartial urn, assigned.

But, lo! Aeneas sees among the throng

Antheus, Sergestus, and Cloanthus bold, with other Teucrians, whom the black storm flung far o'er the deep and drove on alien shores.

Struck dumb was he, and good Achates too, half gladness and half fear. Fain would they fly to friendship's fond embrace; but knowing not what might befall, their hearts felt doubt and care.

Therefore they kept the secret, and remained forth-peering from the hollow veil of cloud, haply to learn what their friends' fate might be, or where the fleet was landed, or what aim had brought them hither; for a chosen few from every ship had come to sue for grace, and all the temple with their voices rang.

The doors swung wide; and after access given and leave to speak, revered Ilioneus with soul serene these lowly words essayed:

“O Queen, who hast authority of Jove to found this rising city, and subdue with righteous governance its people proud, we wretched Trojans, blown from sea to sea, beseech thy mercy; keep the curse of fire from our poor ships! We pray thee, do no wrong unto a guiltless race. But heed our plea!

No Libyan hearth shall suffer by our sword, nor spoil and plunder to our ships be borne;

such haughty violence fits not the souls of vanquished men. We journey to a land named, in Greek syllables, Hesperia:

a storied realm, made mighty by great wars and wealth of fruitful land; in former days

Oenotrians had it, and their sons, 't is said, have called it Italy, a chieftain's name to a whole region given. Thitherward our ships did fare; but with swift-rising flood the stormful season of Orion's star drove us on viewless shoals; and angry gales dispersed us, smitten by the tumbling surge, among innavigable rocks. Behold, we few swam hither, waifs upon your shore!

What race of mortals this? What barbarous land, that with inhospitable laws ye thrust a stranger from your coasts, and fly to arms, nor grant mere foothold on your kingdom's bound?

If man thou scornest and all mortal power, forget not that the gods watch good and ill!

A king we had; Aeneas,—never man in all the world more loyal, just and true, nor mightier in arms! If Heaven decree his present safety, if he now do breathe the air of earth and is not buried low among the dreadful shades, then fear not thou!

For thou wilt never rue that thou wert prompt to do us the first kindness. O'er the sea in the Sicilian land, are cities proud, with martial power, and great Acestes there is of our Trojan kin. So grant us here to beach our shattered ships along thy shore, and from thy forest bring us beam and spar to mend our broken oars. Then, if perchance we find once more our comrades and our king, and forth to Italy once more set sail, to Italy, our Latin hearth and home, we will rejoicing go. But if our weal is clean gone by, and thee, blest chief and sire, these Libyan waters keep, and if no more

Iulus bids us hope,—then, at the least, to yon Sicilian seas, to friendly lands whence hither drifting with the winds we came, let us retrace the journey and rejoin good King Acestes.” So Ilioneus ended his pleading; the Dardanidae murmured assent.

Then Dido, briefly and with downcast eyes, her answer made: “O Teucrians, have no fear!

Bid care begone! It was necessity, and my young kingdom's weakness, which compelled the policy of force, and made me keep such vigilant sentry my wide co'ast along.

Aeneas and his people, that fair town of Troy—who knows them not? The whole world knows those valorous chiefs and huge, far-flaming wars.

Our Punic hearts are not of substance all insensible and dull: the god of day drives not his fire-breathing steeds so far from this our Tyrian town. If ye would go to great Hesperia, where Saturn reigned, or if voluptuous Eryx and the throne of good Acestes be your journey's end,

I send you safe; I speed you on your way.

But if in these my realms ye will abide, associates of my power, behold, I build this city for your own! Choose haven here for your good ships. Beneath my royal sway

Trojan and Tyrian equal grace will find.

But O, that this same storm had brought your King.

Aeneas, hither! I will bid explore our Libya 's utmost bound, where haply he in wilderness or hamlet wanders lost.”

By these fair words to joy profoundly stirred,

Father Aeneas and Achates brave to cast aside the cloud that wrapped them round yearned greatly; and Achates to his King spoke thus: “O goddess-born, in thy wise heart what purpose rises now? Lo! All is well!

Thy fleet and followers are safe at land.

One only comes not, who before our eyes sank in the soundless sea. All else fulfils thy mother's prophecy.” Scarce had he spoke when suddenly that overmantling cloud was cloven, and dissolved in lucent air;

forth stood Aeneas. A clear sunbeam smote his god-like head and shoulders. Venus' son of his own heavenly mother now received youth's glowing rose, an eye of joyful fire, and tresses clustering fair. 'T is even so the cunning craftsman unto ivory gives new beauty, or with circlet of bright gold encloses silver or the Parian stone.

Thus of the Queen he sued, while wonderment fell on all hearts. “Behold the man ye seek, for I am here! Aeneas, Trojan-born, brought safely hither from yon Libyan seas!

O thou who first hast looked with pitying eye on Troy 's unutterable grief, who even to us

(escaped our Grecian victor, and outworn by all the perils land and ocean know), to us, bereft and ruined, dost extend such welcome to thy kingdom and thy home!

I have no power, Dido, to give thanks to match thine ample grace; nor is there power in any remnant of our Dardan blood, now fled in exile o'er the whole wide world.

May gods on high (if influence divine bless faithful lives, or recompense be found in justice and thy self-approving mind)

give thee thy due reward. What age was blest by such a birth as thine? What parents proud such offspring bore? O, while the rivers run to mingle with the sea, while shadows pass along yon rounded hills from vale to vale, and while from heaven's unextinguished fire the stars be fed—so Iong thy glorious name, thy place illustrious and thy virtue's praise, abide undimmed.—Yet I myself must go to lands I know not where.” After this word his right hand clasped his Ioved Ilioneus, his left Serestus; then the comrades all, brave Gyas, brave Cloanthus, and their peers.

Sidonian Dido felt her heart stand still when first she looked on him; and thrilled again to hear what vast adventure had befallen so great a hero. Thus she welcomed him:

“What chance, O goddess-born, o'er danger's path impels? What power to this wild coast has borne?

Art thou Aeneas, great Anchises' son, whom lovely Venus by the Phrygian stream of Simois brought forth unto the day?

Now I bethink me of when Teucer came to Sidon, exiled, and of Belus' power desired a second throne. For Belus then, our worshipped sire, despoiled the teeming land of Cyprus, as its conqueror and king.

And since that hour I oft have heard the tale of fallen Troy, of thine own noble name, and of Achaean kings. Teucer was wont, although their foe, to praise the Teucrian race, and boasted him of that proud lineage sprung.

Therefore, behold, our portals are swung wide for all your company. I also bore hard fate like thine. I too was driven of storms and after long toil was allowed at last to call this land my home. O, I am wise in sorrow, and I help all suffering souls!”

So saying, she bade Aeneas welcome take beneath her royal roof, and to the gods made sacrifice in temples, while she sent unto the thankful Trojans on the shore a score of bulls, and of huge, bristling swine, a herd of a whole hundred, and a flock of goodly lambs, a hundred, who ran close beside the mother-ewes: and all were given in joyful feast to please the Heavenly Powers.

Her palace showed a monarch's fair array all glittering and proud, and feasts were spread within the ample court. Rich broideries hung deep incarnadined with Tyrian skill;

the board had massy silver, gold-embossed, where gleamed the mighty deeds of all her sires, a graven chronicle of peace and war prolonged, since first her ancient line began, from royal sire to son.

Aeneas now

(for love in his paternal heart spoke loud and gave no rest) bade swift Achates run to tell Ascanius all, and from the ship to guide him upward to the town,—for now the father's whole heart for Ascanius yearned.

And gifts he bade them bring, which had been saved in Ilium 's fall: a richly broidered cloak heavy with golden emblems; and a veil by leaves of saffron lilies bordered round, which Argive Helen o'er her beauty threw, her mother Leda's gift most wonderful, and which to Troy she bore, when flying far in lawless wedlock from Mycenae 's towers;

a sceptre, too, once fair Ilione's, eldest of Priam's daughters; and round pearls strung in a necklace, and a double crown of jewels set in gold. These gifts to find,

Achates to the tall ships sped away.

But Cytherea in her heart revolved new wiles, new schemes: how Cupid should transform his countenance, and, coming in the guise of sweet Ascanius, still more inflame the amorous Queen with gifts, and deeply fuse through all her yielding frame his fatal fire.

Sooth, Venus feared the many-languaged guile which Tyrians use; fierce Juno's hate she feared, and falling night renewed her sleepless care.

Therefore to Love, the light-winged god, she said:

“Sweet son, of whom my sovereignty and power alone are given! O son, whose smile may scorn the shafts of Jove whereby the Titans fell, to thee I fly, and humbly here implore thy help divine. Behold, from land to land

Aeneas, thine own brother, voyages on storm-driven, by Juno's causeless enmity.

Thou knowest it well, and oft hast sighed to see my sighs and tears. Dido the Tyrian now detains him with soft speeches; and I fear such courtesy from Juno means us ill;

she is not one who, when the hour is ripe, bids action pause. I therefore now intend the Tyrian Queen to snare, and siege her breast with our invading fire, before some god shall change her mood. But let her bosom burn with love of my Aeneas not less than mine.

This thou canst bring to pass. I pray thee hear the plan I counsel. At his father's call

Ascanius, heir of kings, makes haste to climb to yon Sidonian citadel; my grace protects him, and he bears gifts which were saved from hazard of the sea and burning Troy.

Him lapped in slumber on Cythera 's hill, or in Idalia's deep and hallowing shade, myself will hide, lest haply he should learn our stratagem, and burst in, foiling all.

Wear thou his shape for one brief night thyself, and let thy boyhood feign another boy's familiar countenance; when Dido there, beside the royal feast and flowing wine, all smiles and joy, shall clasp thee to her breast while she caresses thee, and her sweet lips touch close with thine, then let thy secret fire breathe o'er her heart, to poison and betray.”

The love-god to his mother's dear behest gave prompt assent. He put his pinions by and tripped it like Iulus, light of heart.

But Venus o'er Ascanius' body poured a perfect sleep, and, to her heavenly breast enfolding him, far, far away upbore to fair Idalia's grove, where fragrant buds of softly-petalled marjoram embower in pleasurable shade.

Cupid straightway obeyed his mother's word and bore the gifts, each worthy of a king, as offerings to greet the Tyrian throne; and as he went he clasped Achates' friendly hand, and smiled.

Father Aeneas now, and all his band of Trojan chivalry, at social feast, on lofty purple-pillowed couches lie;

deft slaves fresh water on their fingers pour, and from reed-woven basketry renew the plenteous bread, or bring smooth napery of softest weave; fifty handmaidens serve, whose task it is to range in order fair the varied banquet, or at altars bright throw balm and incense on the sacred fires.

A hundred more serve with an equal band of beauteous pages, whose obedient skill piles high the generous board and fills the bowl.

The Tyrians also to the festal hall come thronging, and receive their honor due, each on his painted couch; with wondering eyes

Aeneas' gifts they view, and wondering more, mark young Iulus' radiant brows divine, his guileful words, the golden pall he bears, and broidered veil with saffron lilies bound.

The Tyrian Queen ill-starred, already doomed to her approaching woe, scanned ardently, with kindling cheek and never-sated eyes, the precious gifts and wonder-gifted boy.

He round Aeneas' neck his arms entwined, fed the deep yearning of his seeming sire, then sought the Queen's embrace; her eyes, her soul clave to him as she strained him to her breast.

For Dido knew not in that fateful hour how great a god betrayed her. He began, remembering his mother (she who bore the lovely Acidalian Graces three), to make the dear name of Sichaeus fade, and with new life, new love, to re-possess her Iong-since slumbering bosom's Iost desire.

When the main feast is over, they replace the banquet with huge bowls, and crown the wine with ivy-leaf and rose. Loud rings the roof with echoing voices; from the gilded vault far-blazing cressets swing, or torches bright drive the dark night away. The Queen herself called for her golden chalice studded round with jewels, and o'er-brimming it with wine as Belus and his proud successors use, commanded silence, and this utterance made:

“Great Jove, of whom are hospitable laws for stranger-guest, may this auspicious day bless both our Tyrians and the wanderers from Trojan shore. May our posterity keep this remembrance! Let kind Juno smile, and Bacchus, Iord of mirth, attend us here!

And, O ye Tyrians, come one and all, and with well-omened words our welcome share!”

So saying, she outpoured the sacred drop due to the gods, and lightly from the rim sipped the first taste, then unto Bitias gave with urgent cheer; he seized it, nothing loth, quaffed deep and long the foaming, golden bowl, then passed to others. On a gilded Iyre the flowing-haired Iopas woke a song taught him by famous Atlas: of the moon he sang, the wanderer, and what the sun's vast labors be; then would his music tell whence man and beast were born, and whence were bred clouds, lightnings, and Arcturus' stormful sign, the Hyades, rain-stars, and nigh the Pole the great and lesser Wain; for well he knew why colder suns make haste to quench their orb in ocean-stream, and wintry nights be slow.

Loudly the Tyrians their minstrel praised, and Troy gave prompt applause. Dido the while with varying talk prolonged the fateful night, and drank both long and deep of love and wine.

Now many a tale of Priam would she crave, of Hector many; or what radiant arms

Aurora's son did wear; what were those steeds of Diomed, or what the stature seemed of great Achilles. “Come, illustrious guest, begin the tale,” she said, “begin and tell the perfidy of Greece, thy people's fall, and all thy wanderings. For now,—Ah, me!

Seven times the summer's burning stars have seen thee wandering far o'er alien lands and seas.”