The Aeneid of Virgil | Page 7

raise such hubbub in my
realm? Beware--
Yet first 'twere best these billows to allay.
Far
other coin hereafter ye shall pay
For crimes like these. Presumptuous
winds, begone,
And take your king this message, that the sway
Of
Ocean and the sceptre and the throne
Fate gave to me, not him; the
trident is my own.
XX. "He holds huge rocks; these, Eurus, are for thee,
There let him glory in his hall and reign,
But keep his winds close
prisoners." Thus he,
And, ere his speech was ended, smoothed the
main,
And chased the clouds and brought the sun again.
Triton,
Cymothoe from the rock's sharp brow
Push off the vessels. Neptune
plies amain
His trident-lever, lays the sandbanks low,
On light
wheels shaves the deep, and calms the billowy flow.
XXI. As when in mighty multitudes bursts out
Sedition, and the wrathful rabble rave;
Rage finds them arms; stones,
firebrands fly about,
Then if some statesman reverend and grave,

Stand forth conspicuous, and the tumult brave
All, hushed, attend; his
guiding words restrain
Their angry wills; so sank the furious wave,

When through the clear sky looking o'er the main,
The sea-king
lashed his steeds and slacked the favouring rein.

XXII. Tired out, the Trojans seek the nearest land
And turn to Libya.--In a far retreat
There lies a haven; towards the
deep doth stand
An island, on whose jutting headlands beat
The
broken billows, shivered into sleet.
Two towering crags, twin giants,
guard the cove,
And threat the skies. The waters at their feet
Sleep
hushed, and, like a curtain, frowns above,
Mixt with the glancing
green, the darkness of the grove.
XXIII. Beneath a precipice, that fronts the wave,
With limpid springs inside, and many a seat
Of living marble, lies a
sheltered cave,
Home of the Sea-Nymphs. In this haven sweet

Cable nor biting anchor moors the fleet.
Here with seven ships, the
remnant of his band,
AEneas enters. Glad at length to greet
The
welcome earth, the Trojans leap to land,
And lay their weary limbs
still dripping on the sand.
XXIV. First from a flint a spark Achates drew,
And lit the leaves and dry wood heaped with care
And set the fuel
flaming, as he blew.
Then, tired of toiling, from the ships they bear

The sea-spoiled corn, and Ceres' tools prepare,
And 'twixt the
millstones grind the rescued grain
And roast the pounded morsels for
their fare:
While up the crag AEneas climbs, to gain
Full prospect
far and wide, and scan the distant main.
XXV. If aught of Phrygian biremes he discern
Antheus or Capys, tost upon the seas,
Or arms of brave Caicus high
astern.
No sail, but wandering on the shore he sees
Three stags, and,
grazing up the vale at ease,
The whole herd troops behind them in a
row.
He stops, and from Achates hastes to seize
His chance-brought
arms, the arrows and the bow,
The branching antlers smites, and lays
the leader low.

XXVI. Next fall the herd; and through the leafy glade
In mingled rout he drives the scattered train,
Plying his shafts, nor
stays his conquering raid
Till seven huge bodies on the ground lie
slain,
The number of his vessels; then again
He seeks the crews,
and gives a deer to each,
Then opes the casks, which good Acestes,
fain
At parting, filled on the Trinacrian beach,
And shares the wine,
and soothes their drooping hearts with speech.
XXVII. "Comrades! of ills not ignorant; far more
Than these ye suffered, and to these as well
Will Jove give ending, as
he gave before.
Ye know mad Scylla, and her monsters' yell,
And
the dark caverns where the Cyclops dwell.
Fear not; take heart;
hereafter, it may be
These too will yield a pleasant tale to tell.

Through shifting hazards, by the Fates' decree,
To Latin shores we
steer, our promised land to see.
XXVIII. "There quiet settlements the Fates display,
There Troy her ruined fortunes shall repair.
Bear up; reserve you for a
happier day."
He spake, and heart-sick with a load of care,

Suppressed his grief, and feigned a cheerful air.
All straightway gird
them to the feast. These flay
The ribs and thighs, and lay the entrails
bare.
Those slice the flesh, and split the quivering prey,
And tend
the fires and set the cauldrons in array.
XXIX. So wine and venison, to their hearts' desire,
Refreshed their strength. And when the feast was sped,
Their missing
friends in converse they require,
Doubtful to deem them, betwixt
hope and dread,
Alive or out of hearing with the dead.
All mourned,
but good AEneas mourned the most,
And bitter tears for Amycus he
shed,
Gyas, Cloanthus, bravest of his host,
Lycus, Orontes bold, all
counted with the lost.

XXX. Now came an end of mourning and of woe,
When Jove, surveying from his prospect high
Shore, sail-winged sea,
and peopled earth below,
Stood, musing, on the summit of the sky,

And on the Libyan kingdom fixed his eye,
To him, such cares
revolving in his breast,
Her shining eyes suffused with tears, came
nigh
Fair Venus, for her darling son distrest,
And thus in sorrowing
tones the Sire of heaven addressed;
XXXI. "O Thou, whose nod and awful bolts attest
O'er Gods and men thine everlasting