Hither I steer; and it
welcomes
my weary crew to
the quiet shelter of a safe haven.
the quiet shelter of a safe haven.
Virgil - Aeneid
spare me at last in the
tomb, spare pollution to thine innocent hands. Troy bore me; not alien
to thee am I, nor this blood that oozes from the stem. Ah, fly the cruel
land, fly the greedy shore! For I am Polydorus; here the iron harvest of
weapons hath covered my pierced body, and shot up in sharp javelins. "
Then indeed, borne down with dubious terror, I was motionless, my hair
stood up, and the accents faltered on my tongue.
'This Polydorus once with great weight of gold had hapless Priam sent in
secret to the nurture of the Thracian king, when now he was losing trust
in the arms of Dardania, and saw his city leaguered round about. The
king, when the Teucrian power was broken and fortune withdrew, following
Agamemnon's estate and triumphant arms, [55-87]severs every bond of
duty; murders Polydorus, and lays strong hands on the gold. O accursed
hunger of gold, to what dost thou not compel human hearts! When the
terror left my senses, I lay the divine tokens before the chosen princes
of the people, with my father at their head, and demand their judgment.
All are of one mind, to leave the guilty land, and abandoning a polluted
home, to let the gales waft our fleets. So we bury Polydorus anew, and
the earth is heaped high over his mound; altars are reared to his ghost,
sad with dusky chaplets and black cypress; and around are the Ilian
women with hair unbound in their fashion. We offer bubbling bowls of
warm milk and cups of consecrated blood, and lay the spirit to rest in
her tomb, and with loud voice utter the last call.
'Thereupon, so soon as ocean may be trusted, and the winds leave the
seas in quiet, and the soft whispering south wind calls seaward, my
comrades launch their ships and crowd the shores. We put out from
harbour, and lands and towns sink away. There lies in mid sea a holy
land, most dear to the mother of the Nereids and Neptune of Aegae, which
strayed about coast and strand till the Archer god in his affection
chained it fast from high Myconos and Gyaros, and made it lie immoveable
and slight the winds.
Hither I steer; and it welcomes my weary crew to
the quiet shelter of a safe haven. We disembark and worship Apollo's
town. Anius the king, king at once of the people and priest of Phoebus,
his brows garlanded with fillets and consecrated laurel, comes to meet
us; he knows Anchises, his friend of old; we clasp hands in welcome, and
enter his palace. I worshipped the god's temple, an ancient pile of
stone. "Lord of Thymbra, give us an enduring dwelling-place; grant a
house and family to thy weary servants, and a city to abide: keep Troy's
second fortress, the remnant left of the Grecians and merciless
Achilles. Whom follow [88-121]we? or whither dost thou bid us go, where
fix our seat? Grant an omen, O lord, and inspire our minds. "
'Scarcely had I spoken thus; suddenly all seemed to shake, all the
courts and laurels of the god, the whole hill to be stirred round about,
and the cauldron to moan in the opening sanctuary. We sink low on the
ground, and a voice is borne to our ears: "Stubborn race of Dardanus,
the same land that bore you by parentage of old shall receive you again
on her bountiful breast. Seek out your ancient mother; hence shall the
house of Aeneas sway all regions, his children's children and they who
shall be born of them. " Thus Phoebus; and mingled outcries of great
gladness uprose; all ask, what is that city? whither calls Phoebus our
wandering, and bids us return? Then my father, unrolling the records of
men of old, "Hear, O princes," says he, "and learn your hopes. In mid
ocean lies Crete, the island of high Jove, wherein is mount Ida, the
cradle of our race. An hundred great towns are inhabited in that opulent
realm; from it our forefather Teucer of old, if I recall the tale
aright, sailed to the Rhoetean coasts and chose a place for his kingdom.
tomb, spare pollution to thine innocent hands. Troy bore me; not alien
to thee am I, nor this blood that oozes from the stem. Ah, fly the cruel
land, fly the greedy shore! For I am Polydorus; here the iron harvest of
weapons hath covered my pierced body, and shot up in sharp javelins. "
Then indeed, borne down with dubious terror, I was motionless, my hair
stood up, and the accents faltered on my tongue.
'This Polydorus once with great weight of gold had hapless Priam sent in
secret to the nurture of the Thracian king, when now he was losing trust
in the arms of Dardania, and saw his city leaguered round about. The
king, when the Teucrian power was broken and fortune withdrew, following
Agamemnon's estate and triumphant arms, [55-87]severs every bond of
duty; murders Polydorus, and lays strong hands on the gold. O accursed
hunger of gold, to what dost thou not compel human hearts! When the
terror left my senses, I lay the divine tokens before the chosen princes
of the people, with my father at their head, and demand their judgment.
All are of one mind, to leave the guilty land, and abandoning a polluted
home, to let the gales waft our fleets. So we bury Polydorus anew, and
the earth is heaped high over his mound; altars are reared to his ghost,
sad with dusky chaplets and black cypress; and around are the Ilian
women with hair unbound in their fashion. We offer bubbling bowls of
warm milk and cups of consecrated blood, and lay the spirit to rest in
her tomb, and with loud voice utter the last call.
'Thereupon, so soon as ocean may be trusted, and the winds leave the
seas in quiet, and the soft whispering south wind calls seaward, my
comrades launch their ships and crowd the shores. We put out from
harbour, and lands and towns sink away. There lies in mid sea a holy
land, most dear to the mother of the Nereids and Neptune of Aegae, which
strayed about coast and strand till the Archer god in his affection
chained it fast from high Myconos and Gyaros, and made it lie immoveable
and slight the winds.
Hither I steer; and it welcomes my weary crew to
the quiet shelter of a safe haven. We disembark and worship Apollo's
town. Anius the king, king at once of the people and priest of Phoebus,
his brows garlanded with fillets and consecrated laurel, comes to meet
us; he knows Anchises, his friend of old; we clasp hands in welcome, and
enter his palace. I worshipped the god's temple, an ancient pile of
stone. "Lord of Thymbra, give us an enduring dwelling-place; grant a
house and family to thy weary servants, and a city to abide: keep Troy's
second fortress, the remnant left of the Grecians and merciless
Achilles. Whom follow [88-121]we? or whither dost thou bid us go, where
fix our seat? Grant an omen, O lord, and inspire our minds. "
'Scarcely had I spoken thus; suddenly all seemed to shake, all the
courts and laurels of the god, the whole hill to be stirred round about,
and the cauldron to moan in the opening sanctuary. We sink low on the
ground, and a voice is borne to our ears: "Stubborn race of Dardanus,
the same land that bore you by parentage of old shall receive you again
on her bountiful breast. Seek out your ancient mother; hence shall the
house of Aeneas sway all regions, his children's children and they who
shall be born of them. " Thus Phoebus; and mingled outcries of great
gladness uprose; all ask, what is that city? whither calls Phoebus our
wandering, and bids us return? Then my father, unrolling the records of
men of old, "Hear, O princes," says he, "and learn your hopes. In mid
ocean lies Crete, the island of high Jove, wherein is mount Ida, the
cradle of our race. An hundred great towns are inhabited in that opulent
realm; from it our forefather Teucer of old, if I recall the tale
aright, sailed to the Rhoetean coasts and chose a place for his kingdom.
