Breezes blow into the night, and the white moonshine speeds them
on; the sea glitters in her quivering radiance.
on; the sea glitters in her quivering radiance.
Virgil - Aeneid
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! none had faced him unscathed in armed
shock, whether he met the foe on foot, or ran his spurs into the flanks
of his foaming horse. Ah me, the pity of thee, O boy! if in any wise
thou breakest the grim bar of fate, thou shalt be Marcellus. Give me
lilies in full hands; let me strew bright blossoms, and these gifts at
least let me lavish on my descendant's soul, and do the unavailing
service. '
Thus they wander up and down over the whole region of broad vaporous
plains, and scan all the scene. And when Anchises had led his son over
it, each point by each, and kindled his spirit with passion for the
glories on their way, he tells him thereafter of the war he next must
wage, and instructs him of the Laurentine peoples and the city of
Latinus, and in what wise each task may be turned aside or borne.
There are twin portals of Sleep, whereof the one is fabled of horn, and
by it real shadows are given easy outlet; the other shining white of
polished ivory, but false visions issue upward from the ghostly world.
With these words then Anchises follows forth his son and the Sibyl
together there, and dismisses them by the ivory gate. He pursues his way
to the ships and revisits his comrades; then bears on to Caieta's haven
straight along the shore. The anchor is cast from the prow; the sterns
are grounded on the beach.
BOOK SEVENTH
THE LANDING IN LATIUM, AND THE ROLL OF THE ARMIES OF ITALY
Thou also, Caieta, nurse of Aeneas, gavest our shores an everlasting
renown in death; and still thine honour haunts thy resting-place, and a
name in broad Hesperia, if that be glory, marks thy dust. But when the
last rites are duly paid, and the mound smoothed over the grave, good
Aeneas, now the high seas are hushed, bears on under sail and leaves his
haven.
Breezes blow into the night, and the white moonshine speeds them
on; the sea glitters in her quivering radiance. Soon they skirt the
shores of Circe's land, where the rich daughter of the Sun makes her
untrodden groves echo with ceaseless song; and her stately house glows
nightlong with burning odorous cedarwood, as she runs over her delicate
web with the ringing comb. Hence are heard afar angry cries of lions
chafing at their fetters and roaring in the deep night; bears and
bristly swine rage in their pens, and vast shapes of wolves howl; whom
with her potent herbs the deadly divine Circe had disfashioned, face and
body, into wild beasts from the likeness of men. But lest the good
Trojans might suffer so dread a change, might enter her haven or draw
nigh the ominous shores, Neptune filled [23-55]their sails with
favourable winds, and gave them escape, and bore them past the seething
shallows.
And now the sea reddened with shafts of light, and high in heaven the
yellow dawn shone rose-charioted; when the winds fell, and every breath
sank suddenly, and the oar-blades toil through the heavy ocean-floor.
And on this Aeneas descries from sea a mighty forest. Midway in it the
pleasant Tiber stream breaks to sea in swirling eddies, laden with
yellow sand. Around and above fowl many in sort, that haunt his banks
and river-channel, solaced heaven with song and flew about the forest.
He orders his crew to bend their course and turn their prows to land,
and glides joyfully into the shady river.
* * * * *
Forth now, Erato! and I will unfold who were the kings, what the tides
of circumstance, how it was with ancient Latium when first that foreign
army drew their fleet ashore on Ausonia's coast; I will recall the
preluding of battle. Thou, divine one, inspire thou thy poet. I will
tell of grim wars, tell of embattled lines, of kings whom honour drove
on death, of the Tyrrhenian forces, and all Hesperia enrolled in arms. A
greater history opens before me, a greater work I essay.
Latinus the King, now growing old, ruled in a long peace over quiet
tilth and town. He, men say, was sprung of Faunus and the nymph Marica
of Laurentum.
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! none had faced him unscathed in armed
shock, whether he met the foe on foot, or ran his spurs into the flanks
of his foaming horse. Ah me, the pity of thee, O boy! if in any wise
thou breakest the grim bar of fate, thou shalt be Marcellus. Give me
lilies in full hands; let me strew bright blossoms, and these gifts at
least let me lavish on my descendant's soul, and do the unavailing
service. '
Thus they wander up and down over the whole region of broad vaporous
plains, and scan all the scene. And when Anchises had led his son over
it, each point by each, and kindled his spirit with passion for the
glories on their way, he tells him thereafter of the war he next must
wage, and instructs him of the Laurentine peoples and the city of
Latinus, and in what wise each task may be turned aside or borne.
There are twin portals of Sleep, whereof the one is fabled of horn, and
by it real shadows are given easy outlet; the other shining white of
polished ivory, but false visions issue upward from the ghostly world.
With these words then Anchises follows forth his son and the Sibyl
together there, and dismisses them by the ivory gate. He pursues his way
to the ships and revisits his comrades; then bears on to Caieta's haven
straight along the shore. The anchor is cast from the prow; the sterns
are grounded on the beach.
BOOK SEVENTH
THE LANDING IN LATIUM, AND THE ROLL OF THE ARMIES OF ITALY
Thou also, Caieta, nurse of Aeneas, gavest our shores an everlasting
renown in death; and still thine honour haunts thy resting-place, and a
name in broad Hesperia, if that be glory, marks thy dust. But when the
last rites are duly paid, and the mound smoothed over the grave, good
Aeneas, now the high seas are hushed, bears on under sail and leaves his
haven.
Breezes blow into the night, and the white moonshine speeds them
on; the sea glitters in her quivering radiance. Soon they skirt the
shores of Circe's land, where the rich daughter of the Sun makes her
untrodden groves echo with ceaseless song; and her stately house glows
nightlong with burning odorous cedarwood, as she runs over her delicate
web with the ringing comb. Hence are heard afar angry cries of lions
chafing at their fetters and roaring in the deep night; bears and
bristly swine rage in their pens, and vast shapes of wolves howl; whom
with her potent herbs the deadly divine Circe had disfashioned, face and
body, into wild beasts from the likeness of men. But lest the good
Trojans might suffer so dread a change, might enter her haven or draw
nigh the ominous shores, Neptune filled [23-55]their sails with
favourable winds, and gave them escape, and bore them past the seething
shallows.
And now the sea reddened with shafts of light, and high in heaven the
yellow dawn shone rose-charioted; when the winds fell, and every breath
sank suddenly, and the oar-blades toil through the heavy ocean-floor.
And on this Aeneas descries from sea a mighty forest. Midway in it the
pleasant Tiber stream breaks to sea in swirling eddies, laden with
yellow sand. Around and above fowl many in sort, that haunt his banks
and river-channel, solaced heaven with song and flew about the forest.
He orders his crew to bend their course and turn their prows to land,
and glides joyfully into the shady river.
* * * * *
Forth now, Erato! and I will unfold who were the kings, what the tides
of circumstance, how it was with ancient Latium when first that foreign
army drew their fleet ashore on Ausonia's coast; I will recall the
preluding of battle. Thou, divine one, inspire thou thy poet. I will
tell of grim wars, tell of embattled lines, of kings whom honour drove
on death, of the Tyrrhenian forces, and all Hesperia enrolled in arms. A
greater history opens before me, a greater work I essay.
Latinus the King, now growing old, ruled in a long peace over quiet
tilth and town. He, men say, was sprung of Faunus and the nymph Marica
of Laurentum.
