A father to his son’s embrace?’
With that he wakes the slumbering fire,
Adores the home- god of his sire,
And worships Vesta’s awful power
With frankincense and wheaten flour.
Acestes and his comrades tried,
Jove’s mandate and his sire’s unfolds,
And how at length his purpose holds.
No long debates the deed delay,
Nor good Acestes says him nay.
Forthwith the matrons they enrol,
First dwellers in the new-planned town,
And disembark each weary soul
That thirsts no more for high renown.
Themselves the fire-charred planks renew,
The benches and the decks repair,
Equip with oars each vessel’s crew,
And rig the masts with studious care,
A gallant band, in number few,
In spirit resolute to dare.
Of the new town, its homes assigns:
Each place receives a name to bear,
And here ’tis Troy, and Ilium there.
Acestes, genuine son of Troy,
Assumes the sovereignty with joy,
Holds trial of each doubtful cause,
And gives the infant senate laws.
On Eryx’ top a fane they raise,
To mate the stars, in Venus’ praise,
And with a priest and grove they grace
Anchises’ hallowed resting-place.
The sacred rites complete;
The hushed gales smooth the watery floor;
The south-wind, freshening from the shore,
Invites the lingering fleet.
Along the winding coast arise
Loud sounds of grief and tearful cries.
Locked in each other’s arms they stay,
And clog the wheels of night and day.
Nay, e’en the matrons, e’en the crew
Who shuddered at the ocean’s view
And loathed its name, now fain would flee
And brave the hardships of the sea.
With kindliness of gentle speech
The good Æneas comforts each,
And to their kinsman prince commends
With tears his subjects and his friends.
Three calves to Eryx next he kills;
A lambkin’s blood to Tempest spills,
And bids them loose from land:
With olive leaves he binds his brow,
Then takes his station on the prow,
A charger in his hand,
Flings out the entrails on the brine,
And pours a sacred stream of wine.
Fair winds escort them o’er the deep:
With emulous stroke the waves they sweep.
Thus breathes her plaint in Neptune’s ear:
‘Fell Juno’s persecuting ire,
Still raging with unsated fire,
Compels me, Neptune, to abase
My pride, and humbly sue for grace.
No lapse of time, how long soe’er,
Nor all the force of duteous prayer,
Nor hest of Jove, nor will of Fate
That changeless rancour can abate.
’Tis not enough to have devoured
A queenly city, walled and towered,
And made the wretched captives drain
E’en to its dregs the cup of pain:
She still pursues the flying rout,
And strives to stamp the last spark out;—
Strange mystery of hatred, known
To none but to herself alone!
Thyself wast there when lately she
Raised tumult in the Libyan sea;
Thou saw’st in what confusion blent
She mingled main and firmament,
Armed with Æolian storms in vain,
In bold defiance of thy reign.
Now, working on the Trojan dames,
She foully wraps our fleet in flames,
And drives the crews, their vessels lost,
To settle on an unknown coast.
Thus then, for what remains, I crave
Thine own safe conduct o’er the wave,
That so, emerging from the main,
Laurentian Tiber they may gain,
If what I ask is ruled in Heaven,
If there the city Fate has given.’
Great Ocean’s lord replied: ‘’Tis just
Cythera’s queen my realm should trust,
Which erst her being gave:
And ofttimes too has Neptune won
Her confidence by service done
In calming wind and wave:
Nor e’en on earth (let Xanthus speak
And Simois) has my arm been weak
Thy gallant son to save.
When fierce Achilles from the coast
Drove to their walls Troy’s panting host,
While the choked rivers gasped for breath,
And gave whole multitudes to death,
And labouring Xanthus strove in vain
To roll his waters to the main,
Then, as Æneas, undismayed,
With weaker strength and feebler aid
Pelides met, I barred the fray,
And bore him in a cloud away,
Though all my will was to destroy
My own creation, perjured Troy.
And now as then my heart is set
To work him good: thy fears forget.
Avernus’ haven he shall see
In safety, where he fain would be.
One life alone shall glut the wave;
One head shall fall the rest to save.’
His fiery steeds the Father pairs,
With foamy bit each fierce mouth checks,
Then flings the reins upon their necks.
Along the surface of the tides
His sea-green chariot smoothly glides:
Hushed by his wheels the billows lie;
The storm-clouds vanish from the sky.
His vassals follow in his wake,
Sea-monsters of enormous make,
Palæmon, child of Ino’s strain,
With Glaucus’ venerable
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