thou art he, the most mighty, the
one man whose lingering retrieves our State.
one man whose lingering retrieves our State.
Virgil - Aeneid
yet howsoever posterity shall take the deed, love of country
and limitless passion for honour shall prevail. Nay, behold apart the
Decii and the Drusi, Torquatus with his cruel axe, and Camillus
returning with the standards. Yonder souls likewise, whom thou
discernest gleaming in equal arms, at one now, while shut in Night, ah
me! what mutual war, what battle-lines and bloodshed shall they arouse,
so they attain the light of the living! father-in-law descending from
the Alpine barriers and the fortress of the Dweller Alone, son-in-law
facing him with the embattled East. Nay, O my children, harden not your
hearts to such warfare, neither turn upon her own heart the mastering
might of your country; and thou, be thou first to forgive, who drawest
thy descent from heaven; cast down the weapons from thy hand, O blood of
mine. . . . He shall drive his conquering chariot to the Capitoline
height triumphant over Corinth, glorious in Achaean slaughter. He shall
uproot Argos and Agamemnonian Mycenae, and the Aeacid's own heir, the
seed of Achilles mighty in arms, avenging his ancestors in Troy and
Minerva's polluted temple. Who might leave thee, lordly Cato, or thee,
Cossus, to silence? who the Gracchan family, or these two sons of the
Scipios, a double thunderbolt of war, Libya's bale? and Fabricius potent
in poverty, or [844-875]thee, Serranus, sowing in the furrow? Whither
whirl you me all breathless, O Fabii?
thou art he, the most mighty, the
one man whose lingering retrieves our State. Others shall beat out the
breathing bronze to softer lines, I believe it well; shall draw living
lineaments from the marble; the cause shall be more eloquent on their
lips; their pencil shall portray the pathways of heaven, and tell the
stars in their arising: be thy charge, O Roman, to rule the nations in
thine empire; this shall be thine art, to lay down the law of peace, to
be merciful to the conquered and beat the haughty down. '
Thus lord Anchises, and as they marvel, he so pursues: 'Look how
Marcellus the conqueror marches glorious in the splendid spoils,
towering high above them all! He shall stay the Roman State, reeling
beneath the invading shock, shall ride down Carthaginian and insurgent
Gaul, and a third time hang up the captured armour before lord
Quirinus. '
And at this Aeneas, for he saw going by his side one excellent in beauty
and glittering in arms, but his brow had little cheer, and his eyes
looked down:
'Who, O my father, is he who thus attends him on his way? son, or other
of his children's princely race? How his comrades murmur around him! how
goodly of presence he is! but dark Night flutters round his head with
melancholy shade. '
Then lord Anchises with welling tears began: 'O my son, ask not of the
great sorrow of thy people. Him shall fate but shew to earth, and suffer
not to stay further. Too mighty, lords of heaven, did you deem the brood
of Rome, had this your gift been abiding. What moaning of men shall
arise from the Field of Mavors by the imperial city! what a funeral
train shalt thou see, O Tiber, as thou flowest by the new-made grave!
Neither shall the boyhood of any [876-901]of Ilian race raise his Latin
forefathers' hope so high; nor shall the land of Romulus ever boast of
any fosterling like this. Alas his goodness, alas his antique honour,
and right hand invincible in war!
and limitless passion for honour shall prevail. Nay, behold apart the
Decii and the Drusi, Torquatus with his cruel axe, and Camillus
returning with the standards. Yonder souls likewise, whom thou
discernest gleaming in equal arms, at one now, while shut in Night, ah
me! what mutual war, what battle-lines and bloodshed shall they arouse,
so they attain the light of the living! father-in-law descending from
the Alpine barriers and the fortress of the Dweller Alone, son-in-law
facing him with the embattled East. Nay, O my children, harden not your
hearts to such warfare, neither turn upon her own heart the mastering
might of your country; and thou, be thou first to forgive, who drawest
thy descent from heaven; cast down the weapons from thy hand, O blood of
mine. . . . He shall drive his conquering chariot to the Capitoline
height triumphant over Corinth, glorious in Achaean slaughter. He shall
uproot Argos and Agamemnonian Mycenae, and the Aeacid's own heir, the
seed of Achilles mighty in arms, avenging his ancestors in Troy and
Minerva's polluted temple. Who might leave thee, lordly Cato, or thee,
Cossus, to silence? who the Gracchan family, or these two sons of the
Scipios, a double thunderbolt of war, Libya's bale? and Fabricius potent
in poverty, or [844-875]thee, Serranus, sowing in the furrow? Whither
whirl you me all breathless, O Fabii?
thou art he, the most mighty, the
one man whose lingering retrieves our State. Others shall beat out the
breathing bronze to softer lines, I believe it well; shall draw living
lineaments from the marble; the cause shall be more eloquent on their
lips; their pencil shall portray the pathways of heaven, and tell the
stars in their arising: be thy charge, O Roman, to rule the nations in
thine empire; this shall be thine art, to lay down the law of peace, to
be merciful to the conquered and beat the haughty down. '
Thus lord Anchises, and as they marvel, he so pursues: 'Look how
Marcellus the conqueror marches glorious in the splendid spoils,
towering high above them all! He shall stay the Roman State, reeling
beneath the invading shock, shall ride down Carthaginian and insurgent
Gaul, and a third time hang up the captured armour before lord
Quirinus. '
And at this Aeneas, for he saw going by his side one excellent in beauty
and glittering in arms, but his brow had little cheer, and his eyes
looked down:
'Who, O my father, is he who thus attends him on his way? son, or other
of his children's princely race? How his comrades murmur around him! how
goodly of presence he is! but dark Night flutters round his head with
melancholy shade. '
Then lord Anchises with welling tears began: 'O my son, ask not of the
great sorrow of thy people. Him shall fate but shew to earth, and suffer
not to stay further. Too mighty, lords of heaven, did you deem the brood
of Rome, had this your gift been abiding. What moaning of men shall
arise from the Field of Mavors by the imperial city! what a funeral
train shalt thou see, O Tiber, as thou flowest by the new-made grave!
Neither shall the boyhood of any [876-901]of Ilian race raise his Latin
forefathers' hope so high; nor shall the land of Romulus ever boast of
any fosterling like this. Alas his goodness, alas his antique honour,
and right hand invincible in war!
