“Then to Chaonia’s port our course we bend,And, landed, to Buthrotus’ heights ascend.Here wondrous things were loudly blaz’d fame:How Helenus reviv’d the Trojan name,And reign’d in Greece; that Priam’s captive sonSucceeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne;And fair Andromache, restor’d by fate,Once more was happy in a Trojan mate.I leave my galleys riding in the port,And long to see the new Dardanian court.By chance, the mournful queen, before the gate,Then solemniz’d her former husband’s fate.Green altars, rais’d of turf, with gifts she crown’d,And sacred priests in order stand around,And thrice the name of hapless Hector sound.The grove itself resembles Ida’s wood;And Simois seem’d the well-dissembled flood.But when at nearer distance she beheldMy shining armour and my Trojan shield,Astonish’d at the sight, the vital heatForsakes her limbs; her veins no longer beat:She faints, she falls, and scarce recov’ring strength,Thus, with a falt’ring tongue, she speaks at length:
“‘Are you alive, O goddess-born?’ she said,‘Or if a ghost, then where is Hector’s shade?’At this, she cast a loud and frightful cry.With broken words I made this brief reply:‘All of me that remains appears in sight;I live, if living be to loathe the light.No phantom; but I drag a wretched life,My fate resembling that of Hector’s wife.What have you suffer’d since you lost your lord?By what strange blessing are you now restor’d?Still are you Hector’s? or is Hector fled,And his remembrance lost in Pyrrhus’ bed?’With eyes dejected, in a lowly tone,After a modest pause she thus begun:
“‘O only happy maid of Priam’s race,Whom death deliver’d from the foes’ embrace!Commanded on Achilles’ tomb to die,Not forc’d, like us, to hard captivity,Or in a haughty master’s arms to lie.In Grecian ships unhappy we were borne,Endur’d the victor’s lust, sustain’d the scorn:Thus I submitted to the lawless prideOf Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride.Cloy’d with possession, he forsook my bed,And Helen’s lovely daughter sought to wed;Then me to Trojan Helenus resign’d,And his two slaves in equal marriage join’d;Till young Orestes, pierc’d with deep despair,And longing to redeem the promis’d fair,Before Apollo’s altar slew the ravisher.By Pyrrhus’ death the kingdom we regain’d:At least one half with Helenus remain’d.Our part, from Chaon, he Chaonia calls,And names from Pergamus his rising walls.But you, what fates have landed on our coast?What gods have sent you, or what storms have toss’d?Does young Ascanius life and health enjoy,Sav’d from the ruins of unhappy Troy?O tell me how his mother’s loss he bears,What hopes are promis’d from his blooming years,How much of Hector in his face appears?’She spoke; and mix’d her speech with mournful cries,And fruitless tears came trickling from her eyes.
“At length her lord descends upon the plain,In pomp, attended with a num’rous train;Receives his friends, and to the city leads,And tears of joy amidst his welcome sheds.Proceeding on, another Troy I see,Or, in less compass, Troy’s epitome.A riv’let by the name of Xanthus ran,And I embrace the Scaean gate again.My friends in porticoes were entertain’d,And feasts and pleasures thro’ the city reign’d.The tables fill’d the spacious hall around,And golden bowls with sparkling wine were crown’d.Two days we pass’d in mirth, till friendly gales,Blown from the south supplied our swelling sails.Then to the royal seer I thus began:‘O thou, who know’st, beyond the reach of man,The laws of heav’n, and what the stars decree;Whom Phoebus taught unerring prophecy,From his own tripod, and his holy tree;Skill’d in the wing’d inhabitants of air,What auspices their notes and flights declare:O say; for all religious rites portendA happy voyage, and a prosp’rous end;And ev’ry power and omen of the skyDirect my course for destin’d Italy;But only dire Celaeno, from the gods,A dismal famine fatally forebodes:O say what dangers I am first to shun,What toils vanquish, and what course to run.’
“The prophet first with sacrifice adoresThe greater gods; their pardon then implores;Unbinds the fillet from his holy head;To Phoebus, next, my trembling steps he led,Full of religious doubts and awful dread.Then, with his god possess’d, before the shrine,These words proceeded from his mouth divine:‘O goddess-born, (for Heav’n’s appointed will,With greater auspices of good than ill,Foreshows thy voyage, and thy course directs;Thy fates conspire, and Jove himself protects,)Of many things some few I shall explain,Teach thee to shun the dangers of the main,And how at length the promis’d shore to gain.The rest the fates from Helenus conceal,And Juno’s angry pow’r forbids to tell.First, then, that happy shore, that seems so nigh,Will far from your deluded wishes fly;Long tracts of seas divide your hopes from Italy:For you must cruise along Sicilian shores,And stem the currents with your struggling oars;Then round th’ Italian coast your navy steer;And, after this, to Circe’s island veer;And, last, before your new foundations rise,Must pass the Stygian lake, and view the nether skies.Now mark the signs of future ease and rest,And bear them safely treasur’d in thy breast.When, in the shady shelter of a wood,And near the margin of a gentle flood,Thou shalt behold a sow upon the ground,With thirty sucking young encompass’d round;The dam and offspring white as falling snow:These on thy city shall their name bestow,And there shall end thy labours and thy woe.Nor let the threaten’d famine fright thy mind,For Phoebus will assist, and Fate the way will find.Let not thy course to that ill coast be bent,Which fronts from far th’ Epirian continent:Those parts are all by Grecian foes possess’d;The salvage Locrians here the shores infest;There fierce Idomeneus his city builds,And guards with arms the Salentinian fields;And on the mountain’s brow Petilia stands,Which Philoctetes with his troops commands.Ev’n when thy fleet is landed on the shore,And priests with holy vows the gods adore,Then with a purple veil involve your eyes,Lest hostile faces blast the sacrifice.These rites and customs to the rest commend,That to your pious race they may descend.
‘When, parted hence, the wind, that ready waitsFor Sicily, shall bear you to the straitsWhere proud Pelorus opes a wider way,Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea:Veer starboard sea and land. Th’ Italian shoreAnd fair Sicilia’s coast were one, beforeAn earthquake caus’d the flaw: the roaring tidesThe passage broke that land from land divides;And where the lands retir’d, the rushing ocean rides.Distinguish’d by the straits, on either hand,Now rising cities in long order stand,And fruitful fields: so much can time invadeThe mould’ring work that beauteous Nature made.Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:Charybdis roaring on the left presides,And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;Then spouts them from below: with fury driv’n,The waves mount up and wash the face of heav’n.But Scylla from her den, with open jaws,The sinking vessel in her eddy draws,Then dashes on the rocks. A human face,And virgin bosom, hides her tail’s disgrace:Her parts obscene below the waves descend,With dogs inclos’d, and in a dolphin end.’Tis safer, then, to bear aloof to sea,And coast Pachynus, tho’ with more delay,Than once to view misshapen Scylla near,And the loud yell of wat’ry wolves to hear.
“‘Besides, if faith to Helenus be due,And if prophetic Phoebus tell me true,Do not this precept of your friend forget,Which therefore more than once I must repeat:Above the rest, great Juno’s name adore;Pay vows to Juno; Juno’s aid implore.Let gifts be to the mighty queen design’d,And mollify with pray’rs her haughty mind.Thus, at the length, your passage shall be free,And you shall safe descend on Italy.Arriv’d at Cumae, when you view the floodOf black Avernus, and the sounding wood,The mad prophetic Sibyl you shall find,Dark in a cave, and on a rock reclin’d.She sings the fates, and, in her frantic fits,The notes and names, inscrib’d, to leafs commits.What she commits to leafs, in order laid,Before the cavern’s entrance are display’d:Unmov’d they lie; but, if a blast of windWithout, or vapours issue from behind,The leafs are borne aloft in liquid air,And she resumes no more her museful care,Nor gathers from the rocks her scatter’d verse,Nor sets in order what the winds disperse.Thus, many not succeeding, most upbraidThe madness of the visionary maid,And with loud curses leave the mystic shade.
“‘Think it not loss of time a while to stay,Tho’ thy companions chide thy long delay;Tho’ summon’d to the seas, tho’ pleasing galesInvite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails:But beg the sacred priestess to relateWith willing words, and not to write thy fate.The fierce Italian people she will show,And all thy wars, and all thy future woe,And what thou may’st avoid, and what must undergo.She shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind,And teach thee how the happy shores to find.This is what Heav’n allows me to relate:Now part in peace; pursue thy better fate,And raise, by strength of arms, the Trojan state.’
“This when the priest with friendly voice declar’d,He gave me license, and rich gifts prepar’d:Bounteous of treasure, he supplied my wantWith heavy gold, and polish’d elephant;Then Dodonaean caldrons put on board,And ev’ry ship with sums of silver stor’d.A trusty coat of mail to me he sent,Thrice chain’d with gold, for use and ornament;The helm of Pyrrhus added to the rest,That flourish’d with a plume and waving crest.Nor was my sire forgotten, nor my friends;And large recruits he to my navy sends:Men, horses, captains, arms, and warlike stores;Supplies new pilots, and new sweeping oars.Meantime, my sire commands to hoist our sails,Lest we should lose the first auspicious gales.
“The prophet bless’d the parting crew, and last,With words like these, his ancient friend embrac’d:‘Old happy man, the care of gods above,Whom heav’nly Venus honour’d with her love,And twice preserv’d thy life, when Troy was lost,Behold from far the wish’d Ausonian coast:There land; but take a larger compass round,For that before is all forbidden ground.The shore that Phoebus has design’d for you,At farther distance lies, conceal’d from view.Go happy hence, and seek your new abodes,Blest in a son, and favour’d by the gods:For I with useless words prolong your stay,When southern gales have summon’d you away.’
“Nor less the queen our parting thence deplor’d,Nor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord.A noble present to my son she brought,A robe with flow’rs on golden tissue wrought,A phrygian vest; and loads with gifts besideOf precious texture, and of Asian pride.‘Accept,’ she said, ‘these monuments of love,Which in my youth with happier hands I wove:Regard these trifles for the giver’s sake;’Tis the last present Hector’s wife can make.Thou call’st my lost Astyanax to mind;In thee his features and his form I find:His eyes so sparkled with a lively flame;Such were his motions; such was all his frame;And ah! had Heav’n so pleas’d, his years had been the same.’
“With tears I took my last adieu, and said:‘Your fortune, happy pair, already made,Leaves you no farther wish. My diff’rent state,Avoiding one, incurs another fate.To you a quiet seat the gods allow:You have no shores to search, no seas to plow,Nor fields of flying Italy to chase:(Deluding visions, and a vain embrace!)You see another Simois, and enjoyThe labour of your hands, another Troy,With better auspice than her ancient tow’rs,And less obnoxious to the Grecian pow’rs.If e’er the gods, whom I with vows adore,Conduct my steps to Tiber’s happy shore;If ever I ascend the Latian throne,And build a city I may call my own;As both of us our birth from Troy derive,So let our kindred lines in concord live,And both in acts of equal friendship strive.Our fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same:The double Troy shall differ but in name;That what we now begin may never end,But long to late posterity descend.’
“Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore;The shortest passage to th’ Italian shore.Now had the sun withdrawn his radiant light,And hills were hid in dusky shades of night:We land, and, on the bosom of the ground,A safe retreat and a bare lodging found.Close by the shore we lay; the sailors keepTheir watches, and the rest securely sleep.The night, proceeding on with silent pace,Stood in her noon, and view’d with equal faceHer steepy rise and her declining race.Then wakeful Palinurus rose, to spyThe face of heav’n, and the nocturnal sky;And listen’d ev’ry breath of air to try;Observes the stars, and notes their sliding course,The Pleiads, Hyads, and their wat’ry force;And both the Bears is careful to behold,And bright Orion, arm’d with burnish’d gold.Then, when he saw no threat’ning tempest nigh,But a sure promise of a settled sky,He gave the sign to weigh; we break our sleep,Forsake the pleasing shore, and plow the deep.
“And now the rising morn with rosy lightAdorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight;When we from far, like bluish mists, descryThe hills, and then the plains, of Italy.Achates first pronounc’d the joyful sound;Then, ‘Italy!’ the cheerful crew rebound.My sire Anchises crown’d a cup with wine,And, off’ring, thus implor’d the pow’rs divine:‘Ye gods, presiding over lands and seas,And you who raging winds and waves appease,Breathe on our swelling sails a prosp’rous wind,And smooth our passage to the port assign’d!’The gentle gales their flagging force renew,And now the happy harbour is in view.Minerva’s temple then salutes our sight,Plac’d, as a landmark, on the mountain’s height.We furl our sails, and turn the prows to shore;The curling waters round the galleys roar.The land lies open to the raging east,Then, bending like a bow, with rocks compress’d,Shuts out the storms; the winds and waves complain,And vent their malice on the cliffs in vain.The port lies hid within; on either sideTwo tow’ring rocks the narrow mouth divide.The temple, which aloft we view’d before,To distance flies, and seems to shun the shore.Scarce landed, the first omens I beheldWere four white steeds that cropp’d the flow’ry field.‘War, war is threaten’d from this foreign ground,’My father cried, ‘where warlike steeds are found.Yet, since reclaim’d to chariots they submit,And bend to stubborn yokes, and champ the bit,Peace may succeed to war.’ Our way we bendTo Pallas, and the sacred hill ascend;There prostrate to the fierce Virago pray,Whose temple was the landmark of our way.Each with a Phrygian mantle veil’d his head,And all commands of Helenus obey’d,And pious rites to Grecian Juno paid.These dues perform’d, we stretch our sails, and standTo sea, forsaking that suspected land.
“From hence Tarentum’s bay appears in view,For Hercules renown’d, if fame be true.Just opposite, Lacinian Juno stands;Caulonian tow’rs, and Scylacaean strands,For shipwrecks fear’d. Mount Aetna thence we spy,Known by the smoky flames which cloud the sky.Far off we hear the waves with surly soundInvade the rocks, the rocks their groans rebound.The billows break upon the sounding strand,And roll the rising tide, impure with sand.Then thus Anchises, in experience old:‘’Tis that Charybdis which the seer foretold,And those the promis’d rocks! Bear off to sea!’With haste the frighted mariners obey.First Palinurus to the larboard veer’d;Then all the fleet by his example steer’d.To heav’n aloft on ridgy waves we ride,Then down to hell descend, when they divide;And thrice our galleys knock’d the stony ground,And thrice the hollow rocks return’d the sound,And thrice we saw the stars, that stood with dews around.The flagging winds forsook us, with the sun;And, wearied, on Cyclopian shores we run.The port capacious, and secure from wind,Is to the foot of thund’ring Aetna join’d.By turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high;By turns hot embers from her entrails fly,And flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky.Oft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown,And, shiver’d by the force, come piecemeal down.Oft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow,Fed from the fiery springs that boil below.Enceladus, they say, transfix’d by Jove,With blasted limbs came tumbling from above;And, where he fell, th’ avenging father drewThis flaming hill, and on his body threw.As often as he turns his weary sides,He shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides.In shady woods we pass the tedious night,Where bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright,Of which no cause is offer’d to the sight;For not one star was kindled in the sky,Nor could the moon her borrow’d light supply;For misty clouds involv’d the firmament,The stars were muffled, and the moon was pent.
