“Meantime the herdsman hero shifts his place,To find fresh pasture and untrodden grass.The beasts, who miss’d their mates, fill’d all aroundWith bellowings, and the rocks restor’d the sound.One heifer, who had heard her love complain,Roar’d from the cave, and made the project vain.Alcides found the fraud; with rage he shook,And toss’d about his head his knotted oak.Swift as the winds, or Scythian arrows’ flight,He clomb, with eager haste, th’ aerial height.Then first we saw the monster mend his pace;Fear in his eyes, and paleness in his face,Confess’d the god’s approach. Trembling he springs,As terror had increas’d his feet with wings;Nor stay’d for stairs; but down the depth he threwHis body, on his back the door he drew(The door, a rib of living rock; with painsHis father hew’d it out, and bound with iron chains):He broke the heavy links, the mountain clos’d,And bars and levers to his foe oppos’d.The wretch had hardly made his dungeon fast;The fierce avenger came with bounding haste;Survey’d the mouth of the forbidden hold,And here and there his raging eyes he roll’d.He gnash’d his teeth; and thrice he compass’d roundWith winged speed the circuit of the ground.Thrice at the cavern’s mouth he pull’d in vain,And, panting, thrice desisted from his pain.A pointed flinty rock, all bare and black,Grew gibbous from behind the mountain’s back;Owls, ravens, all ill omens of the night,Here built their nests, and hither wing’d their flight.The leaning head hung threat’ning o’er the flood,And nodded to the left. The hero stoodAdverse, with planted feet, and, from the right,Tugg’d at the solid stone with all his might.Thus heav’d, the fix’d foundations of the rockGave way; heav’n echo’d at the rattling shock.Tumbling, it chok’d the flood: on either sideThe banks leap backward, and the streams divide;The sky shrunk upward with unusual dread,And trembling Tiber div’d beneath his bed.The court of Cacus stands reveal’d to sight;The cavern glares with new-admitted light.So the pent vapours, with a rumbling sound,Heave from below, and rend the hollow ground;A sounding flaw succeeds; and, from on high,The gods with hate beheld the nether sky:The ghosts repine at violated night,And curse th’ invading sun, and sicken at the sight.The graceless monster, caught in open day,Inclos’d, and in despair to fly away,Howls horrible from underneath, and fillsHis hollow palace with unmanly yells.The hero stands above, and from afarPlies him with darts, and stones, and distant war.He, from his nostrils huge mouth, expiresBlack clouds of smoke, amidst his father’s fires,Gath’ring, with each repeated blast, the night,To make uncertain aim, and erring sight.The wrathful god then plunges from above,And, where in thickest waves the sparkles drove,There lights; and wades thro’ fumes, and gropes his way,Half sing’d, half stifled, till he grasps his prey.The monster, spewing fruitless flames, he found;He squeez’d his throat; he writh’d his neck around,And in a knot his crippled members bound;Then from their sockets tore his burning eyes:Roll’d on a heap, the breathless robber lies.The doors, unbarr’d, receive the rushing day,And thoro’ lights disclose the ravish’d prey.The bulls, redeem’d, breathe open air again.Next, by the feet, they drag him from his den.The wond’ring neighbourhood, with glad surprise,Behold his shagged breast, his giant size,His mouth that flames no more, and his extinguish’d eyes.From that auspicious day, with rites divine,We worship at the hero’s holy shrine.Potitius first ordain’d these annual vows:As priests, were added the Pinarian house,Who rais’d this altar in the sacred shade,Where honours, ever due, for ever shall be paid.For these deserts, and this high virtue shown,Ye warlike youths, your heads with garlands crown:Fill high the goblets with a sparkling flood,And with deep draughts invoke our common god.”
This said, a double wreath Evander twin’d,And poplars black and white his temples bind.Then brims his ample bowl. With like designThe rest invoke the gods, with sprinkled wine.Meantime the sun descended from the skies,And the bright evening star began to rise.And now the priests, Potitius at their head,In skins of beasts involv’d, the long procession led;Held high the flaming tapers in their hands,As custom had prescrib’d their holy bands;Then with a second course the tables load,And with full chargers offer to the god.The Salii sing, and cense his altars roundWith Saban smoke, their heads with poplar boundOne choir of old, another of the young,To dance, and bear the burthen of the song.The lay records the labours, and the praise,And all th’ immortal acts of Hercules:First, how the mighty babe, when swath’d in bands,The serpents strangled with his infant hands;Then, as in years and matchless force he grew,Th’ Oechalian walls, and Trojan, overthrew.Besides, a thousand hazards they relate,Procur’d by Juno’s and Eurystheus’ hate:“Thy hands, unconquer’d hero, could subdueThe cloud-born Centaurs, and the monster crew:Nor thy resistless arm the bull withstood,Nor he, the roaring terror of the wood.The triple porter of the Stygian seat,With lolling tongue, lay fawning at thy feet,And, seiz’d with fear, forgot his mangled meat.Th’ infernal waters trembled at thy sight;Thee, god, no face of danger could affright;Not huge Typhoeus, nor th’ unnumber’d snake,Increas’d with hissing heads, in Lerna’s lake.Hail, Jove’s undoubted son! an added graceTo heav’n and the great author of thy race!Receive the grateful off’rings which we pay,And smile propitious on thy solemn day!”In numbers thus they sung; above the rest,The den and death of Cacus crown the feast.The woods to hollow vales convey the sound,The vales to hills, and hills the notes rebound.The rites perform’d, the cheerful train retire.
Betwixt young Pallas and his aged sire,The Trojan pass’d, the city to survey,And pleasing talk beguil’d the tedious way.The stranger cast around his curious eyes,New objects viewing still, with new surprise;With greedy joy enquires of various things,And acts and monuments of ancient kings.Then thus the founder of the Roman tow’rs:“These woods were first the seat of sylvan pow’rs,Of Nymphs and Fauns, and salvage men, who tookTheir birth from trunks of trees and stubborn oak.Nor laws they knew, nor manners, nor the careOf lab’ring oxen, or the shining share,Nor arts of gain, nor what they gain’d to spare.Their exercise the chase; the running floodSupplied their thirst, the trees supplied their food.Then Saturn came, who fled the pow’r of Jove,Robb’d of his realms, and banish’d from above.The men, dispers’d on hills, to towns he brought,And laws ordain’d, and civil customs taught,And Latium call’d the land where safe he layFrom his unduteous son, and his usurping sway.With his mild empire, peace and plenty came;And hence the golden times deriv’d their name.A more degenerate and discolour’d ageSucceeded this, with avarice and rage.Th’ Ausonians then, and bold Sicanians came;And Saturn’s empire often chang’d the name.Then kings, gigantic Tybris, and the rest,With arbitrary sway the land oppress’d:For Tiber’s flood was Albula before,Till, from the tyrant’s fate, his name it bore.I last arriv’d, driv’n from my native homeBy fortune’s pow’r, and fate’s resistless doom.Long toss’d on seas, I sought this happy land,Warn’d by my mother nymph, and call’d by Heav’n’s command.”
Thus, walking on, he spoke, and shew’d the gate,Since call’d Carmental by the Roman state;Where stood an altar, sacred to the nameOf old Carmenta, the prophetic dame,Who to her son foretold th’ Aenean race,Sublime in fame, and Rome’s imperial place:Then shews the forest, which, in after times,Fierce Romulus for perpetrated crimesA sacred refuge made; with this, the shrineWhere Pan below the rock had rites divine:Then tells of Argus’ death, his murder’d guest,Whose grave and tomb his innocence attest.Thence, to the steep Tarpeian rock he leads;Now roof’d with gold, then thatch’d with homely reeds.A reverent fear (such superstition reignsAmong the rude) ev’n then possess’d the swains.Some god, they knew—what god, they could not tell—Did there amidst the sacred horror dwell.Th’ Arcadians thought him Jove; and said they sawThe mighty Thund’rer with majestic awe,Who took his shield, and dealt his bolts around,And scatter’d tempests on the teeming ground.Then saw two heaps of ruins, (once they stoodTwo stately towns, on either side the flood,)Saturnia’s and Janiculum’s remains;And either place the founder’s name retains.Discoursing thus together, they resortWhere poor Evander kept his country court.They view’d the ground of Rome’s litigious hall;(Once oxen low’d, where now the lawyers bawl;)Then, stooping, thro’ the narrow gate they press’d,When thus the king bespoke his Trojan guest:“Mean as it is, this palace, and this door,Receiv’d Alcides, then a conqueror.Dare to be poor; accept our homely food,Which feasted him, and emulate a god.”Then underneath a lowly roof he ledThe weary prince, and laid him on a bed;The stuffing leaves, with hides of bears o’erspread.Now night had shed her silver dews around,And with her sable wings embrac’d the ground,When love’s fair goddess, anxious for her son,(New tumults rising, and new wars begun,)Couch’d with her husband in his golden bed,With these alluring words invokes his aid;And, that her pleasing speech his mind may move,Inspires each accent with the charms of love:“While cruel fate conspir’d with Grecian pow’rs,To level with the ground the Trojan tow’rs,I ask’d not aid th’ unhappy to restore,Nor did the succour of thy skill implore;Nor urg’d the labours of my lord in vain,A sinking empire longer to sustain,Tho’ much I ow’d to Priam’s house, and moreThe dangers of Aeneas did deplore.But now, by Jove’s command, and fate’s decree,His race is doom’d to reign in Italy:With humble suit I beg thy needful art,O still propitious pow’r, that rules my heart!A mother kneels a suppliant for her son.By Thetis and Aurora thou wert wonTo forge impenetrable shields, and graceWith fated arms a less illustrious race.Behold, what haughty nations are combin’dAgainst the relics of the Phrygian kind,With fire and sword my people to destroy,And conquer Venus twice, in conqu’ring Troy.”She said; and straight her arms, of snowy hue,About her unresolving husband threw.Her soft embraces soon infuse desire;His bones and marrow sudden warmth inspire;And all the godhead feels the wonted fire.Not half so swift the rattling thunder flies,Or forky lightnings flash along the skies.The goddess, proud of her successful wiles,And conscious of her form, in secret smiles.
Then thus the pow’r, obnoxious to her charms,Panting, and half dissolving in her arms:“Why seek you reasons for a cause so just,Or your own beauties or my love distrust?Long since, had you requir’d my helpful hand,Th’ artificer and art you might command,To labour arms for Troy: nor Jove, nor fate,Confin’d their empire to so short a date.And, if you now desire new wars to wage,My skill I promise, and my pains engage.Whatever melting metals can conspire,Or breathing bellows, or the forming fire,Is freely yours: your anxious fears remove,And think no task is difficult to love.”Trembling he spoke; and, eager of her charms,He snatch’d the willing goddess to his arms;Till in her lap infus’d, he lay possess’dOf full desire, and sunk to pleasing rest.Now when the night her middle race had rode,And his first slumber had refresh’d the god—The time when early housewives leave the bed;When living embers on the hearth they spread,Supply the lamp, and call the maids to rise;—With yawning mouths, and with half-open’d eyes,They ply the distaff by the winking light,And to their daily labour add the night:Thus frugally they earn their children’s bread,And uncorrupted keep the nuptial bed—Not less concern’d, nor at a later hour,Rose from his downy couch the forging pow’r.
Sacred to Vulcan’s name, an isle there lay,Betwixt Sicilia’s coasts and Lipare,Rais’d high on smoking rocks; and, deep below,In hollow caves the fires of Aetna glow.The Cyclops here their heavy hammers deal;Loud strokes, and hissings of tormented steel,Are heard around; the boiling waters roar,And smoky flames thro’ fuming tunnels soar.Hither the Father of the Fire, by night,Thro’ the brown air precipitates his flight.On their eternal anvils here he foundThe brethren beating, and the blows go round.A load of pointless thunder now there liesBefore their hands, to ripen for the skies:These darts, for angry Jove, they daily cast;Consum’d on mortals with prodigious waste.Three rays of writhen rain, of fire three more,Of winged southern winds and cloudy storeAs many parts, the dreadful mixture frame;And fears are added, and avenging flame.Inferior ministers, for Mars, repairHis broken axletrees and blunted war,And send him forth again with furbish’d arms,To wake the lazy war with trumpets’ loud alarms.The rest refresh the scaly snakes that foldThe shield of Pallas, and renew their gold.Full on the crest the Gorgon’s head they place,With eyes that roll in death, and with distorted face.
“My sons,” said Vulcan, “set your tasks aside;Your strength and master-skill must now be tried.Arms for a hero forge; arms that requireYour force, your speed, and all your forming fire.”He said. They set their former work aside,And their new toils with eager haste divide.A flood of molten silver, brass, and gold,And deadly steel, in the large furnace roll’d;Of this, their artful hands a shield prepare,Alone sufficient to sustain the war.Sev’n orbs within a spacious round they close:One stirs the fire, and one the bellows blows.The hissing steel is in the smithy drown’d;The grot with beaten anvils groans around.By turns their arms advance, in equal time;By turns their hands descend, and hammers chime.They turn the glowing mass with crooked tongs;The fiery work proceeds, with rustic songs.
While, at the Lemnian god’s command, they urgeTheir labours thus, and ply th’ Aeolian forge,The cheerful morn salutes Evander’s eyes,And songs of chirping birds invite to rise.He leaves his lowly bed: his buskins meetAbove his ankles; sandals sheathe his feet:He sets his trusty sword upon his side,And o’er his shoulder throws a panther’s hide.Two menial dogs before their master press’d.Thus clad, and guarded thus, he seeks his kingly guest.Mindful of promis’d aid, he mends his pace,But meets Aeneas in the middle space.Young Pallas did his father’s steps attend,And true Achates waited on his friend.They join their hands; a secret seat they choose;Th’ Arcadian first their former talk renews:“Undaunted prince, I never can believeThe Trojan empire lost, while you survive.Command th’ assistance of a faithful friend;But feeble are the succours I can send.Our narrow kingdom here the Tiber bounds;That other side the Latian state surrounds,Insults our walls, and wastes our fruitful grounds.But mighty nations I prepare, to joinTheir arms with yours, and aid your just design.You come, as by your better genius sent,And fortune seems to favour your intent.Not far from hence there stands a hilly town,Of ancient building, and of high renown,Torn from the Tuscans by the Lydian race,Who gave the name of Caere to the place,Once Agyllina call’d. It flourish’d long,In pride of wealth and warlike people strong,Till curs’d Mezentius, in a fatal hour,Assum’d the crown, with arbitrary pow’r.What words can paint those execrable times,The subjects’ suff’rings, and the tyrant’s crimes!That blood, those murders, O ye gods, replaceOn his own head, and on his impious race!The living and the dead at his commandWere coupled, face to face, and hand to hand,Till, chok’d with stench, in loath’d embraces tied,The ling’ring wretches pin’d away and died.Thus plung’d in ills, and meditating more—The people’s patience, tir’d, no longer boreThe raging monster; but with arms besetHis house, and vengeance and destruction threat.They fire his palace: while the flame ascends,They force his guards, and execute his friends.He cleaves the crowd, and, favour’d by the night,To Turnus’ friendly court directs his flight.By just revenge the Tuscans set on fire,With arms, their king to punishment require:Their num’rous troops, now muster’d on the strand,My counsel shall submit to your command.Their navy swarms upon the coasts; they cryTo hoist their anchors, but the gods deny.An ancient augur, skill’d in future fate,With these foreboding words restrains their hate:‘Ye brave in arms, ye Lydian blood, the flow’rOf Tuscan youth, and choice of all their pow’r,Whom just revenge against Mezentius arms,To seek your tyrant’s death by lawful arms;Know this: no native of our land may leadThis pow’rful people; seek a foreign head.’Aw’d with these words, in camps they still abide,And wait with longing looks their promis’d guide.Tarchon, the Tuscan chief, to me has sentTheir crown, and ev’ry regal ornament:The people join their own with his desire;And all my conduct, as their king, require.But the chill blood that creeps within my veins,And age, and listless limbs unfit for pains,And a soul conscious of its own decay,Have forc’d me to refuse imperial sway.My Pallas were more fit to mount the throne,And should, but he’s a Sabine mother’s son,And half a native; but, in you, combineA manly vigour, and a foreign line.Where Fate and smiling Fortune shew the way,Pursue the ready path to sov’reign sway.The staff of my declining days, my son,Shall make your good or ill success his own;In fighting fields from you shall learn to dare,And serve the hard apprenticeship of war;Your matchless courage and your conduct view,And early shall begin t’ admire and copy you.Besides, two hundred horse he shall command;Tho’ few, a warlike and well-chosen band.These in my name are listed; and my sonAs many more has added in his own.”
