His pow'r to hollow caverns is confin'd:
There let him reign, the jailer of the wind,
With
hoarse commands his breathing subjects call,
And boast and
bluster in his empty hall."
He spoke; and, while he spoke, he smooth'd the sea,
Dispell'd the darkness, and restor'd the day.
Cymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train
Of
beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main,
Clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands:
The god himself with ready trident stands,
And opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands;
Then heaves them off the shoals. Where'er he guides
His finny coursers and in
triumph rides,
The waves unruffle and the sea subsides.
As, when in tumults rise th'
ignoble crowd,
Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud;
And stones and brands in rattling volleys fly,
And all the
rustic arms that fury can supply:
If then some grave and pious man appear,
They hush their noise, and lend a list'ning ear;
He soothes with sober words their angry mood,
And quenches their innate desire of blood:
So, when the Father of the Flood appears,
And o'er the seas his sov'reign trident rears,
Their fury falls: he skims the
liquid plains,
High on his
chariot, and, with loosen'd reins,
Majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains.
The weary Trojans ply their shatter'd oars
To nearest land, and make the Libyan shores.
Within a long
recess there lies a bay:
An island shades it from the rolling sea,
And forms a port secure for ships to ride;
Broke by the jutting land, on either side,
In double streams the briny waters glide.
Betwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene
Appears above, and groves for ever green:
A 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, al
mighty Jove surveys
Earth, air, and shores, and
navigable seas,
At length on Libyan realms he fix'd his eyes-
Whom, 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 fate Aeneas calls,
Then shalt thou bear him up,
sublime, to me:
No councils have revers'd my firm decree.
And, lest new fears
disturb thy happy state,
Know, I have search'd the
mystic rolls of Fate:
Thy son (nor is th' appointed season far)
In Italy shall wage successful war,
Shall tame
fierce nations in the
bloody field,
And sov'reign laws
impose, and cities build,
Till, after ev'ry foe subdued, the sun
Thrice thro' the signs his
annual race shall run:
This is his time prefix'd. Ascanius then,
Now call'd Iulus, shall begin his reign.
He thirty rolling years the crown shall wear,
Then from Lavinium shall the seat transfer,
And, with hard labor, Alba Longa build.
The
throne with his
succession shall be fill'd
Three hundred circuits more: then shall be seen
Ilia the fair, a priestess and a queen,
Who, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes,
Shall at a birth two
goodly boys disclose.
The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain:
Then Romulus his grandsire's
throne shall gain,
Of
martial tow'rs the
founder shall become,
The people Romans call, the city Rome.
To them no bounds of empire I assign,
Nor term of years to their
immortal line.
Ev'n
haughty Juno, who, with endless broils,
Earth, seas, and heav'n, and Jove himself turmoils;
At length aton'd, her friendly pow'r shall join,
To
cherish and advance the Trojan line.
The subject world shall Rome's
dominion own,
And,
prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown.
An age is ripening in revolving fate
When Troy shall
overturn the Grecian state,
And sweet
revenge her conqu'ring sons shall call,
To crush the people that conspir'd her fall.
Then Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise,
Whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies
Alone shall bound; whom,
fraught with eastern spoils,
Our heav'n, the just
reward of human toils,
Securely shall repay with rites divine;
And
incense shall
ascend before his
sacred shrine.
Then dire
debate and
impious war shall cease,
And the stern age be soften'd into peace:
Then banish'd Faith shall once again return,