No More Learning

Only go
on, and turn thy steps where the pathway leads thee. '

Speaking she turned away, and her neck shone roseate, her immortal
tresses breathed the fragrance of deity; her raiment fell flowing down
to her feet, and the godhead was manifest in her tread. He knew her for
his mother, and with this cry pursued her flight: 'Thou also merciless!
Why mockest thou thy son so often in feigned likeness? Why is it
forbidden to clasp hand in hand, to hear and utter true speech? ' Thus
reproaching her he bends his steps towards the city. But Venus girt them
in their going with dull mist, and shed round them a deep divine
clothing of cloud, that none might see them, none touch them, or work
delay, or ask wherefore they came. Herself she speeds through the sky to
Paphos, and joyfully revisits her habitation, where the temple and its
hundred altars steam with Sabaean incense, and are fresh with fragrance
of chaplets in her worship.

They meantime have hasted along where the pathway points, and now were
climbing the hill which hangs enormous over the city, and looks down on
its facing towers. [421-456]Aeneas marvels at the mass of building,
pastoral huts once of old, marvels at the gateways and clatter of the
pavements. The Tyrians are hot at work to trace the walls, to rear the
citadel, and roll up great stones by hand, or to choose a spot for their
dwelling and enclose it with a furrow. They ordain justice and
magistrates, and the august senate. Here some are digging harbours, here
others lay the deep foundations of their theatre, and hew out of the
cliff vast columns, the lofty ornaments of the stage to be: even as bees
when summer is fresh over the flowery country ply their task beneath the
sun, when they lead forth their nation's grown brood, or when they press
the liquid honey and strain their cells with nectarous sweets, or
relieve the loaded incomers, or in banded array drive the idle herd of
drones far from their folds; they swarm over their work, and the odorous
honey smells sweet of thyme. 'Happy they whose city already rises! '
cries Aeneas, looking on the town roofs below.
Girt in the cloud he
passes amid them, wonderful to tell, and mingling with the throng is
descried of none.

In the heart of the town was a grove deep with luxuriant shade, wherein
first the Phoenicians, buffeted by wave and whirlwind, dug up the token
Queen Juno had appointed, the head of a war horse: thereby was their
race to be through all ages illustrious in war and opulent in living.
Here to Juno was Sidonian Dido founding a vast temple, rich with
offerings and the sanctity of her godhead: brazen steps rose on the
threshold, brass clamped the pilasters, doors of brass swung on grating
hinges. First in this grove did a strange chance meet his steps and
allay his fears; first here did Aeneas dare to hope for safety and have
fairer trust in his shattered fortunes. For while he closely scans the
temple that towers above him, while, awaiting the queen, he admires the
fortunate city, the emulous hands and elaborate work of her craftsmen,
he sees ranged in order the [457-491]battles of Ilium, that war whose
fame was already rumoured through all the world, the sons of Atreus and
Priam, and Achilles whom both found pitiless. He stopped and cried
weeping, 'What land is left, Achates, what tract on earth that is not
full of our agony? Behold Priam! Here too is the meed of honour, here
mortal estate touches the soul to tears. Dismiss thy fears; the fame of
this will somehow bring thee salvation. '

So speaks he, and fills his soul with the painted show, sighing often
the while, and his face wet with a full river of tears. For he saw, how
warring round the Trojan citadel here the Greeks fled, the men of Troy
hard on their rear; here the Phrygians, plumed Achilles in his chariot
pressing their flight. Not far away he knows the snowy canvas of Rhesus'
tents, which, betrayed in their first sleep, the blood-stained son of
Tydeus laid desolate in heaped slaughter, and turns the ruddy steeds
away to the camp ere ever they tasted Trojan fodder or drunk of Xanthus.
Elsewhere Troilus, his armour flung away in flight--luckless boy, no
match for Achilles to meet! --is borne along by his horses, and thrown
back entangled with his empty chariot, still clutching the reins; his
neck and hair are dragged over the ground, and his reversed spear scores
the dust. Meanwhile the Ilian women went with disordered tresses to
unfriendly Pallas' temple, and bore the votive garment, sadly beating
breast with palm: the goddess turning away held her eyes fast on the
ground. Thrice had Achilles whirled Hector round the walls of Troy, and
was selling the lifeless body for gold; then at last he heaves a loud
and heart-deep groan, as the spoils, as the chariot, as the dear body
met his gaze, and Priam outstretching unarmed hands.