because it
is good to think they were once raised up by my [539-570]succour, or
the grace of mine old kindness is fresh in their remembrance?
is good to think they were once raised up by my [539-570]succour, or
the grace of mine old kindness is fresh in their remembrance?
Virgil - Aeneid
.
.
[504-538]But the Queen, the pyre being built up of piled faggots and
sawn ilex in the inmost of her dwelling, hangs the room with chaplets
and garlands it with funeral boughs: on the pillow she lays the dress he
wore, the sword he left, and an image of him, knowing what was to come.
Altars are reared around, and the priestess, with hair undone, thrice
peals from her lips the hundred gods of Erebus and Chaos, and the
triform Hecate, the triple-faced maidenhood of Diana. Likewise she had
sprinkled pretended waters of Avernus' spring, and rank herbs are sought
mown by moonlight with brazen sickles, dark with milky venom, and sought
is the talisman torn from a horse's forehead at birth ere the dam could
snatch it. . . . Herself, the holy cake in her pure hands, hard by the
altars, with one foot unshod and garments flowing loose, she invokes the
gods ere she die, and the stars that know of doom; then prays to
whatsoever deity looks in righteousness and remembrance on lovers ill
allied.
Night fell; weary creatures took quiet slumber all over earth, and
woodland and wild waters had sunk to rest; now the stars wheel midway on
their gliding path, now all the country is silent, and beasts and gay
birds that haunt liquid levels of lake or thorny rustic thicket lay
couched asleep under the still night. But not so the distressed
Phoenician, nor does she ever sink asleep or take the night upon eyes or
breast; her pain redoubles, and her love swells to renewed madness, as
she tosses on the strong tide of wrath. Even so she begins, and thus
revolves with her heart alone:
'See, what do I? Shall I again make trial of mine old wooers that will
scorn me? and stoop to sue for a Numidian marriage among those whom
already over and over I have disdained for husbands? Then shall I follow
the Ilian fleets and the uttermost bidding of the Teucrians?
because it
is good to think they were once raised up by my [539-570]succour, or
the grace of mine old kindness is fresh in their remembrance? And how
should they let me, if I would? or take the odious woman on their
haughty ships? art thou ignorant, ah me, even in ruin, and knowest not
yet the forsworn race of Laomedon? And then? shall I accompany the
triumphant sailors, a lonely fugitive? or plunge forth girt with all my
Tyrian train? so hardly severed from Sidon city, shall I again drive
them seaward, and bid them spread their sails to the tempest? Nay die
thou, as thou deservest, and let the steel end thy pain. With thee it
began; overborne by my tears, thou, O my sister, dost load me with this
madness and agony, and layest me open to the enemy. I could not spend a
wild life without stain, far from a bridal chamber, and free from touch
of distress like this! O faith ill kept, that was plighted to Sychaeus'
ashes! ' Thus her heart broke in long lamentation.
Now Aeneas was fixed to go, and now, with all set duly in order, was
taking hasty sleep on his high stern. To him as he slept the god
appeared once again in the same fashion of countenance, and thus seemed
to renew his warning, in all points like to Mercury, voice and hue and
golden hair and limbs gracious in youth. 'Goddess-born, canst thou sleep
on in such danger?
[504-538]But the Queen, the pyre being built up of piled faggots and
sawn ilex in the inmost of her dwelling, hangs the room with chaplets
and garlands it with funeral boughs: on the pillow she lays the dress he
wore, the sword he left, and an image of him, knowing what was to come.
Altars are reared around, and the priestess, with hair undone, thrice
peals from her lips the hundred gods of Erebus and Chaos, and the
triform Hecate, the triple-faced maidenhood of Diana. Likewise she had
sprinkled pretended waters of Avernus' spring, and rank herbs are sought
mown by moonlight with brazen sickles, dark with milky venom, and sought
is the talisman torn from a horse's forehead at birth ere the dam could
snatch it. . . . Herself, the holy cake in her pure hands, hard by the
altars, with one foot unshod and garments flowing loose, she invokes the
gods ere she die, and the stars that know of doom; then prays to
whatsoever deity looks in righteousness and remembrance on lovers ill
allied.
Night fell; weary creatures took quiet slumber all over earth, and
woodland and wild waters had sunk to rest; now the stars wheel midway on
their gliding path, now all the country is silent, and beasts and gay
birds that haunt liquid levels of lake or thorny rustic thicket lay
couched asleep under the still night. But not so the distressed
Phoenician, nor does she ever sink asleep or take the night upon eyes or
breast; her pain redoubles, and her love swells to renewed madness, as
she tosses on the strong tide of wrath. Even so she begins, and thus
revolves with her heart alone:
'See, what do I? Shall I again make trial of mine old wooers that will
scorn me? and stoop to sue for a Numidian marriage among those whom
already over and over I have disdained for husbands? Then shall I follow
the Ilian fleets and the uttermost bidding of the Teucrians?
because it
is good to think they were once raised up by my [539-570]succour, or
the grace of mine old kindness is fresh in their remembrance? And how
should they let me, if I would? or take the odious woman on their
haughty ships? art thou ignorant, ah me, even in ruin, and knowest not
yet the forsworn race of Laomedon? And then? shall I accompany the
triumphant sailors, a lonely fugitive? or plunge forth girt with all my
Tyrian train? so hardly severed from Sidon city, shall I again drive
them seaward, and bid them spread their sails to the tempest? Nay die
thou, as thou deservest, and let the steel end thy pain. With thee it
began; overborne by my tears, thou, O my sister, dost load me with this
madness and agony, and layest me open to the enemy. I could not spend a
wild life without stain, far from a bridal chamber, and free from touch
of distress like this! O faith ill kept, that was plighted to Sychaeus'
ashes! ' Thus her heart broke in long lamentation.
Now Aeneas was fixed to go, and now, with all set duly in order, was
taking hasty sleep on his high stern. To him as he slept the god
appeared once again in the same fashion of countenance, and thus seemed
to renew his warning, in all points like to Mercury, voice and hue and
golden hair and limbs gracious in youth. 'Goddess-born, canst thou sleep
on in such danger?
