The Aeneid | Page 5

grot is form'd beneath, with mossy seats,

To rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats.
Down thro' the crannies of
the living walls
The crystal streams descend in murm'ring falls:
No
haulsers need to bind the vessels here,
Nor bearded anchors; for no
storms they fear.
Sev'n ships within this happy harbor meet,
The
thin remainders of the scatter'd fleet.
The Trojans, worn with toils,
and spent with woes,
Leap on the welcome land, and seek their
wish'd repose.
First, good Achates, with repeated strokes
Of clashing flints, their
hidden fire provokes:
Short flame succeeds; a bed of wither'd leaves

The dying sparkles in their fall receives:
Caught into life, in fiery
fumes they rise,
And, fed with stronger food, invade the skies.
The
Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around
The cheerful blaze, or lie
along the ground:
Some dry their corn, infected with the brine,

Then grind with marbles, and prepare to dine.
Aeneas climbs the
mountain's airy brow,
And takes a prospect of the seas below,
If
Capys thence, or Antheus he could spy,
Or see the streamers of
Caicus fly.
No vessels were in view; but, on the plain,
Three beamy
stags command a lordly train
Of branching heads: the more ignoble
throng
Attend their stately steps, and slowly graze along.
He stood;
and, while secure they fed below,
He took the quiver and the trusty
bow
Achates us'd to bear: the leaders first
He laid along, and then
the vulgar pierc'd;
Nor ceas'd his arrows, till the shady plain
Sev'n
mighty bodies with their blood distain.
For the sev'n ships he made an
equal share,
And to the port return'd, triumphant from the war.
The
jars of gen'rous wine (Acestes' gift,
When his Trinacrian shores the
navy left)
He set abroach, and for the feast prepar'd,
In equal
portions with the ven'son shar'd.
Thus while he dealt it round, the
pious chief
With cheerful words allay'd the common grief:
"Endure,
and conquer! Jove will soon dispose
To future good our past and

present woes.
With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;
Th'
inhuman Cyclops and his den defied.
What greater ills hereafter can
you bear?
Resume your courage and dismiss your care,
An hour
will come, with pleasure to relate
Your sorrows past, as benefits of
Fate.
Thro' various hazards and events, we move
To Latium and the
realms foredoom'd by Jove.
Call'd to the seat (the promise of the
skies)
Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise,
Endure the
hardships of your present state;
Live, and reserve yourselves for
better fate."
These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart;
His outward
smiles conceal'd his inward smart.
The jolly crew, unmindful of the
past,
The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste.
Some strip the
skin; some portion out the spoil;
The limbs, yet trembling, in the
caldrons boil;
Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil.
Stretch'd
on the grassy turf, at ease they dine,
Restore their strength with meat,
and cheer their souls with wine.
Their hunger thus appeas'd, their care
attends
The doubtful fortune of their absent friends:
Alternate hopes
and fears their minds possess,
Whether to deem 'em dead, or in
distress.
Above the rest, Aeneas mourns the fate
Of brave Orontes,
and th' uncertain state
Of Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus.
The day,
but not their sorrows, ended thus.
When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys
Earth, air, and shores, and
navigable seas,
At length on Libyan realms he fix'd his eyesWhom,

pond'ring thus on human miseries,
When Venus saw, she with a
lowly look,
Not free from tears, her heav'nly sire bespoke:
"O King of Gods and Men! whose awful hand
Disperses thunder on
the seas and land,
Disposing all with absolute command;
How
could my pious son thy pow'r incense?
Or what, alas! is vanish'd
Troy's offense?
Our hope of Italy not only lost,
On various seas by
various tempests toss'd,
But shut from ev'ry shore, and barr'd from
ev'ry coast.
You promis'd once, a progeny divine
Of Romans, rising

from the Trojan line,
In after times should hold the world in awe,

And to the land and ocean give the law.
How is your doom revers'd,
which eas'd my care
When Troy was ruin'd in that cruel war?
Then
fates to fates I could oppose; but now,
When Fortune still pursues her
former blow,
What can I hope? What worse can still succeed?
What
end of labors has your will decreed?
Antenor, from the midst of
Grecian hosts,
Could pass secure, and pierce th' Illyrian coasts,

Where, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves
And thro' nine
channels disembogues his waves.
At length he founded Padua's
happy seat,
And gave his Trojans a secure retreat;
There fix'd their
arms, and there renew'd their name,
And there in quiet rules, and
crown'd with fame.
But we, descended from your sacred line,

Entitled to your heav'n and rites divine,
Are banish'd earth; and, for
the wrath of one,
Remov'd from Latium and the promis'd throne.

Are these our scepters? these our due rewards?
And is it thus that
Jove his plighted faith regards?"
To whom the Father of th' immortal race,
Smiling with that serene
indulgent face,
With which he drives the clouds and clears the skies,

First gave a holy kiss; then thus replies:
"Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire
The fates of thine are fix'd,
and stand entire.
Thou shalt behold thy wish'd Lavinian walls;
And,
ripe for heav'n, when