Aeneas Arrives in Carthage

I sing of arms and the man who of old from the coasts of Troy came, an exile of fate, to Italy and the shore of Lavinium; hard driven on land and on the deep by the violence of heaven, for cruel Juno's unforgetful anger, and hard bestead in war also, ere he might found a city and carry his gods into Latium; from whom is the Latin race, the lords of Alba, and the stately city Rome.

I sing of war and the man who long ago came from the shores of Troy. Fate drove him into exile in Italy, on the shore of Lavinium. The gods' power battered him on land and sea because of cruel Juno's lasting anger. He also suffered greatly in war before he could found a city and bring his gods to Latium. From him came the Latin race, the lords of Alba, and the grand city of Rome.

Muse, tell me why, for what attaint of her deity, or in what vexation, did the Queen of heaven drive one so excellent in goodness to circle through so many afflictions, to face so many toils? Is anger so fierce in celestial spirits?

Muse, tell me why the Queen of heaven drove such a good man through so much suffering and hardship. How had her divinity been offended, or what had upset her? Can heavenly spirits feel such fierce anger?

There was a city of ancient days that Tyrian settlers dwelt in, Carthage, over against Italy and the Tiber mouths afar; rich of store, and mighty in war's fierce pursuits; wherein, they say, alone beyond all other lands had Juno her seat, and held Samos itself less dear. Here was her armour, here her chariot; even now, if fate permit, the goddess strives to nurture it for queen of the nations. Nevertheless she had heard a race was issuing of the blood of Troy, which sometime should overthrow her Tyrian citadel; from it should come a people, lord of lands and tyrannous in war, the destroyer of Libya: so rolled the destinies. Fearful of that, the daughter of Saturn, the old war in her remembrance that she fought at Troy for her beloved Argos long ago,—nor had the springs of her anger nor the bitterness of her vexation yet gone out of mind: deep stored in her soul lies the judgment of Paris, the insult of her slighted beauty, the hated race and the dignities of ravished Ganymede; fired with this also, she tossed all over ocean the Trojan remnant left of the Greek host and merciless Achilles, and held them afar from Latium; and many a year were they wandering driven of fate around all the seas. Such work was it to found the Roman people.

In ancient times, Tyrian settlers lived in a city called Carthage, far across the sea from Italy and the Tiber mouths. It was rich in resources and powerful in the fierce pursuits of war. They say that Juno favored Carthage above all other lands, even her beloved Samos. Her armor and chariot were there. Even now, the goddess strives to make Carthage queen of the nations, if fate permits. Nevertheless, she had heard that a race was emerging from the blood of Troy. One day it would overthrow her Tyrian citadel. From that race would come a people who would rule the lands, dominate in war, and destroy Libya. So the destinies had decreed. The daughter of Saturn feared this fate. She remembered the old war she had fought at Troy long ago for her beloved Argos. Nor had she forgotten the causes of her anger or the bitterness of her resentment. Deep in her soul lay the judgment of Paris and the insult to her slighted beauty. There too lay the hated race and the honors given to the abducted Ganymede. Inflamed by all this, she tossed the Trojan survivors of the Greek host and merciless Achilles across the ocean. She kept them far from Latium. For many years, fate drove them wandering over every sea. Such was the labor of founding the Roman people.

Hardly out of sight of the land of Sicily did they set their sails to sea, and merrily upturned the salt foam with brazen prow, when Juno, the undying wound still deep in her heart, thus broke out alone:

They had barely sailed out of sight of Sicily, happily churning up the salty foam with their bronze prow. Then Juno, the undying wound still deep in her heart, spoke out to herself:

'Am I then to abandon my baffled purpose, powerless to keep the Teucrian king from Italy? and because fate forbids me? Could Pallas lay the Argive fleet in ashes, and sink the Argives in the sea, for one man's guilt, mad Oïlean Ajax? Her hand darted Jove's flying fire from the clouds, scattered their ships, upturned the seas in tempest; him, his pierced breast yet breathing forth the flame, she caught in a whirlwind and impaled on a spike of rock. But I, who move queen among immortals, I sister and wife of Jove, wage warfare all these years with a single people; and is there any who still adores Juno's divinity, or will kneel to lay sacrifice on her altars?'

'Am I to give up my thwarted plan, unable to keep the Teucrian king from Italy? Must I give up because fate forbids me? Could Pallas burn the Argive fleet and sink the Argives in the sea for one man's crime? That man was mad Oïlean Ajax. She hurled Jove's lightning from the clouds, scattered their ships, and whipped the sea into a storm. Ajax's pierced chest was still breathing out flames when she caught him in a whirlwind. She impaled him on a sharp rock. But I am queen among the immortals, the sister and wife of Jove. Yet I have waged war against a single people for all these years. Does anyone still worship Juno's divine power or kneel to offer sacrifices on her altars?'

Such thoughts inly revolving in her kindled bosom, the goddess reaches Aeolia, the home of storm-clouds, the land laden with furious southern gales. Here in a desolate cavern Aeolus keeps under royal dominion and yokes in dungeon fetters the struggling winds and loud storms. They with mighty moan rage indignant round their mountain barriers. In his lofty citadel Aeolus sits sceptred, assuages their temper and soothes their rage; else would they carry with them seas and lands, and the depth of heaven, and sweep them through space in their flying course. But, fearful of this, the lord omnipotent hath hidden them in caverned gloom, and laid a mountain mass high over them, and appointed them a ruler, who should know by certain law to strain and slacken the reins at command. To him now Juno spoke thus in suppliant accents:

Turning these thoughts over in her inflamed heart, the goddess reaches Aeolia. It is the home of storm clouds, a land swept by fierce southern winds. Here, in a desolate cave, Aeolus rules over the struggling winds and raging storms, keeping them chained like prisoners. They roar and rage against the mountain walls that hold them captive. Aeolus sits high in his fortress, holding his scepter, calming their temper and soothing their rage. Otherwise, they would carry off the seas, the lands, and the depths of heaven, sweeping them through space. Fearing this, the almighty lord hid them in the darkness of a cave and piled a massive mountain over them. He also appointed a ruler to control them, following fixed laws to tighten or loosen their reins on command. Now Juno spoke to Aeolus in pleading tones:

'Aeolus—for to thee hath the father of gods and king of men given the wind that lulls and that lifts the waves—a people mine enemy sails the Tyrrhene sea, carrying into Italy the conquered gods of their Ilian home. Rouse thy winds to fury, and overwhelm their sinking vessels, or drive them asunder and strew ocean with their bodies. Mine are twice seven nymphs of passing loveliness; her who of them all is most excellent in beauty, Deïopea, I will unite to thee in wedlock to be thine for ever; that for this thy service she may fulfil all her years at thy side, and make thee father of a beautiful race.'

'Aeolus, the father of gods and king of men has given you power over the winds that calm and raise the waves. A people who are my enemies sail the Tyrrhene sea, carrying their conquered Ilian household gods to Italy. Stir your winds to fury and overwhelm their sinking ships, or scatter them and cover the ocean with their bodies. I have fourteen nymphs of surpassing beauty. I will give you the most beautiful of them, Deïopea, as your wife forever. In return for your service, she may spend all her years at your side and make you father of a beautiful race.'

Aeolus thus returned: 'Thine, O queen, the task to search whereto thou hast desire; for me it is right to do thy bidding. From thee have I this poor kingdom, from thee my sceptre and Jove's grace; thou dost grant me to take my seat at the feasts of the gods, and makest me sovereign over clouds and storms.'

Aeolus replied: 'It is for you, O queen, to decide what you desire. My duty is to obey you. From you I have this poor kingdom, my scepter, and Jove's favor. You allow me to sit at the feasts of the gods and make me ruler over clouds and storms.'

Even with these words, turning his spear, he struck the side of the hollow hill, and the winds, as in banded array, pour where passage is given them, and cover earth with eddying blasts. East wind and west wind together, and the gusty south-wester, falling prone on the sea, stir it up from its lowest chambers, and roll vast billows to the shore. Behind rises shouting of men and whistling of cordage. In a moment clouds blot sky and daylight from the Teucrians' eyes; black night broods over the deep. Pole thunders to pole, and the air quivers with incessant flashes; all menaces them with instant death. Straightway Aeneas' frame grows unnerved and chill, and stretching either hand to heaven, he cries thus aloud: 'Ah, thrice and four times happy they who found their doom under high Troy town before their fathers' faces! Ah, son of Tydeus, bravest of the Grecian race, that I could not have fallen on the Ilian plains, and gasped out this my life beneath thine hand! where under the spear of Aeacides lies fierce Hector, lies mighty Sarpedon; where Simoïs so often bore beneath his whirling wave shields and helmets and brave bodies of men.'

As he spoke, he turned his spear and struck the side of the hollow hill. The winds poured out through the opening like an army in formation. Their swirling blasts swept over the earth. The east wind, west wind, and gusty southwest wind all struck the sea together. They churned it from its deepest depths and rolled vast waves toward the shore. Behind them came the shouts of men and the whistling of ropes. In a moment, clouds hid the sky and daylight from the Teucrians. Black night hung over the sea. Thunder rolled from one pole to the other, and the air shook with endless flashes of lightning. Everything threatened them with immediate death. At once, Aeneas felt weak and cold. He stretched both hands toward heaven and cried aloud: 'Ah, three and four times blessed were those who died beneath the high walls of Troy, before their fathers' eyes! Ah, son of Tydeus, bravest of the Grecian race, if only I had fallen on the Ilian plains! If only I had breathed my last at your hand, where fierce Hector and mighty Sarpedon fell beneath the spear of Aeacides. There the Simoïs so often carried shields, helmets, and the bodies of brave men beneath its swirling waters.'

As the cry leaves his lips, a gust of the shrill north strikes full on the sail and raises the waves up to heaven. The oars are snapped; the prow swings away and gives her side to the waves; down in a heap comes a broken mountain of water. These hang on the wave's ridge; to these the yawning billow shows ground amid the surge, where the sea churns with sand. Three ships the south wind catches and hurls on hidden rocks, rocks amid the waves which Italians call the Altars, a vast reef banking the sea. Three the east forces from the deep into shallows and quicksands, piteous to see, dashes on shoals and girdles with a sandbank. One, wherein loyal Orontes and his Lycians rode, before their lord's eyes a vast sea descending strikes astern. The helmsman is dashed away and rolled forward headlong; her as she lies the billow sends spinning thrice round with it, and engulfs in the swift whirl. Scattered swimmers appear in the vast eddy, armour of men, timbers and Trojan treasure amid the water. Ere now the stout ship of Ilioneus, ere now of brave Achates, and she wherein Abas rode, and she wherein aged Aletes, have yielded to the storm; through the shaken fastenings of their sides they all draw in the deadly water, and their opening seams give way.

As the cry leaves his lips, a blast of the shrill north wind strikes the sail and sends waves toward heaven. The oars snap, and the prow swings away, leaving the ship broadside to the waves. A broken mountain of water crashes down on it. Some ships hang on the crest of a wave. For others, a gaping wave reveals the bottom amid the surging water, where the sea churns with sand. The south wind catches three ships and hurls them onto hidden rocks amid the waves. Italians call these rocks the Altars, a vast reef rising from the sea. The east wind drives three more ships from the deep into shallows and quicksand. It dashes them onto shoals and traps them in a sandbank, a pitiful sight. A huge wave crashes down on the stern of one ship before its lord's eyes. Loyal Orontes and his Lycians are aboard. The helmsman is thrown forward headfirst. The wave spins the ship around three times and swallows it in a swift whirlpool. Scattered swimmers appear in the vast whirlpool, along with men's armor, timbers, and Trojan treasure. By now, the storm has overcome the sturdy ship of Ilioneus and that of brave Achates. It has also overcome the ships carrying Abas and aged Aletes. Deadly water pours into them all through their loosened fastenings, and their seams split open.

Meanwhile Neptune discerned with astonishment the loud roaring of the vexed sea, the tempest let loose from prison, and the still water boiling up from its depths, and lifting his head calm above the waves, looked forth across the deep. He sees all ocean strewn with Aeneas' fleet, the Trojans overwhelmed by the waves and the ruining heaven. Juno's guile and wrath lay clear to her brother's eye; east wind and west he calls before him, and thereon speaks thus:

Meanwhile, Neptune heard the raging sea roar and saw the storm, released from its prison, churn the calm waters from the depths. Astonished, he raised his head calmly above the waves and looked out across the sea. He saw Aeneas' entire fleet scattered across the ocean, the Trojans overwhelmed by the waves and the violent storm. Juno's brother could clearly see her deceit and anger. He called the east and west winds before him and spoke:

'Stand you then so sure in your confidence of birth? Careless, O winds, of my deity, dare you confound sky and earth, and raise so huge a coil? you whom I—But better to still the aroused waves; for a second sin you shall pay me another penalty. Speed your flight, and say this to your king: not to him but to me was allotted the stern trident of ocean empire. His fastness is on the monstrous rocks where thou and thine, east wind, dwell: there let Aeolus glory in his palace and reign over the barred prison of his winds.'

'Are you so confident in your noble birth? Winds, do you dare disregard my divine power, throw sky and earth into chaos, and stir up such turmoil? I will... But it is better first to calm the raging waves. If you offend again, you will pay another penalty. Fly quickly and tell your king this: the mighty trident of ocean rule was given to me, not him. His stronghold is among the monstrous rocks where you and your kind live, east wind. Let Aeolus boast in his palace there and rule over the locked prison of his winds.'

Thus he speaks, and ere the words are done he soothes the swollen seas, chases away the gathered clouds, and restores the sunlight. Cymothoë and Triton together push the ships strongly off the sharp reef; himself he eases them with his trident, channels the vast quicksands, and assuages the sea, gliding on light wheels along the water. Even as when oft in a throng of people strife hath risen, and the base multitude rage in their minds, and now brands and stones are flying; madness lends arms; then if perchance they catch sight of one reverend for goodness and service, they are silent and stand by with attentive ear; he with speech sways their temper and soothes their breasts; even so hath fallen all the thunder of ocean, when riding forward beneath a cloudless sky the lord of the sea wheels his coursers and lets his gliding chariot fly with loosened rein.

He speaks, and before he has finished, he calms the swollen seas, scatters the gathered clouds, and brings back the sunlight. Cymothoë and Triton push the ships hard, freeing them from the sharp reef. He himself helps them with his trident, opens channels through the vast quicksands, and calms the sea. He glides over the water on light wheels. Just as often happens when a fight breaks out in a crowd, the common mob grows furious. Soon torches and stones are flying, as madness puts weapons in their hands. But if they happen to see a man respected for his goodness and service, they fall silent and listen. His words calm their tempers and soothe their hearts. In the same way, all the thunder of the ocean dies down. The lord of the sea rides forward beneath a cloudless sky, turns his horses, and loosens the reins, sending his chariot gliding swiftly over the water.

The outworn Aeneadae hasten to run for the nearest shore, and turn to the coast of Libya. There lies a spot deep withdrawn; an island forms a harbour with outstretched sides, whereon all the waves break from the open sea and part into the hollows of the bay. On this side and that enormous cliffs rise threatening heaven, and twin crags beneath whose crest the sheltered water lies wide and calm; above hangs a background of flickering forest, and the dark shade of rustling groves. Beneath the seaward brow is a rock-hung cavern, within it fresh springs and seats in the living stone, a haunt of nymphs; where tired ships need no fetters to hold nor anchor to fasten them with crooked bite. Here with seven sail gathered of all his company Aeneas enters; and disembarking on the land of their desire the Trojans gain the chosen beach, and set their feet dripping with brine upon the shore. At once Achates struck a spark from the flint and caught the fire on leaves, and laying dry fuel round kindled it into flame. Then, weary of fortune, they fetch out corn spoiled by the sea and weapons of corn-dressing, and begin to parch over the fire and bruise in stones the grain they had rescued.

The exhausted Aeneadae hurry toward the nearest shore and turn to the coast of Libya. There, deep in a sheltered inlet, an island forms a harbor with its outstretched sides. The waves from the open sea break against the island and divide into the curves of the bay. On either side, enormous cliffs rise toward the sky. Beneath their twin peaks, the sheltered water lies wide and calm. Above it, a forest flickers in the light, and rustling groves cast dark shadows. Beneath the cliff facing the sea is a cave overhung with rock. Inside are fresh springs and seats carved from the natural stone. Nymphs make their home there. In this harbor, weary ships need no ropes or anchors to hold them. Aeneas enters the harbor with seven ships, all he has gathered from his fleet. The Trojans land on the beach they have longed for and set their saltwater-soaked feet on shore. At once, Achates strikes a spark from a flint and catches it on leaves. He lays dry fuel around the leaves and starts a fire. Then, worn out by their misfortunes, they bring out their sea-soaked grain and the tools for preparing it. They begin to roast the grain they have saved over the fire and grind it between stones.

Meanwhile Aeneas scales the crag, and seeks the whole view wide over ocean, if he may see aught of Antheus storm-tossed with his Phrygian galleys, aught of Capys or of Caïcus' armour high astern. Ship in sight is none; three stags he espies straying on the shore; behind whole herds follow, and graze in long train across the valley. Stopping short, he snatched up a bow and swift arrows, the arms trusty Achates was carrying; and first the leaders, their stately heads high with branching antlers, then the common herd fall to his hand, as he drives them with his shafts in a broken crowd through the leafy woods. Nor stays he till seven great victims are stretched on the sod, fulfilling the number of his ships. Thence he seeks the harbour and parts them among all his company. The casks of wine that good Acestes had filled on the Trinacrian beach, the hero's gift at their departure, he thereafter shares, and calms with speech their sorrowing hearts:

Meanwhile, Aeneas climbs the crag and surveys the wide ocean. He hopes to see Antheus and his storm-tossed Phrygian galleys, Capys, or Caïcus’ armor high on the stern. No ship is in sight. He spots three stags wandering on the shore. Whole herds follow behind them, grazing in a long line across the valley. He stops and snatches up the bow and swift arrows carried by his faithful companion Achates. First he shoots the leaders, with their proud heads and branching antlers. Then he shoots the rest of the herd, driving them in a scattered crowd through the leafy woods. He does not stop until seven great animals lie dead on the grass, one for each of his ships. Then he goes to the harbor and divides the meat among all his companions. He also shares the casks of wine that good Acestes had filled on the Trinacrian beach. They were the hero’s gift to the Trojans when they departed. Aeneas then speaks to comfort his grieving companions:

'O comrades, for not now nor aforetime are we ignorant of ill, O tried by heavier fortunes, unto this last likewise will God appoint an end. The fury of Scylla and the roaring recesses of her crags you have been anigh; the rocks of the Cyclops you have trodden. Recall your courage, put dull fear away. This too sometime we shall haply remember with delight. Through chequered fortunes, through many perilous ways, we steer for Latium, where destiny points us a quiet home. There the realm of Troy may rise again unforbidden. Keep heart, and endure till prosperous fortune come.'

'O comrades, we have known hardship before, and we know it now. You have endured worse, and God will bring this hardship to an end too. You have faced the fury of Scylla and come near the roaring caverns in her cliffs. You have walked among the rocks of the Cyclops. Take courage again, and put aside your heavy fear. Perhaps someday we will even remember this with pleasure. Through changing fortunes and many dangers, we sail toward Latium. There, destiny promises us a peaceful home. There the kingdom of Troy may rise again without hindrance. Keep heart, and endure until good fortune comes.'

Such words he utters, and sick with deep distress he feigns hope on his face, and keeps his anguish hidden deep in his breast. The others set to the spoil they are to feast upon, tear chine from ribs and lay bare the flesh; some cut it into pieces and pierce it still quivering with spits; others plant cauldrons on the beach and feed them with flame. Then they repair their strength with food, and lying along the grass take their fill of old wine and fat venison. After hunger is driven from the banquet, and the board cleared, they talk with lingering regret of their lost companions, swaying between hope and fear, whether they may believe them yet alive, or now in their last agony and deaf to mortal call. Most does good Aeneas inly wail the loss now of valiant Orontes, now of Amycus, the cruel doom of Lycus, of brave Gyas, and brave Cloanthus. And now they ceased; when from the height of air Jupiter looked down on the sail-winged sea and outspread lands, the shores and broad countries, and looking stood on the cope of heaven, and cast down his eyes on the realm of Libya. To him thus troubled at heart Venus, her bright eyes brimming with tears, sorrowfully speaks:

He speaks these words, and though sick with distress, he puts on a hopeful face. Deep in his heart, he hides his anguish. The others prepare their game for the feast. They tear the backbone from the ribs and strip the flesh from the bones. Some cut the meat into pieces and put it on spits while it still quivers. Others set cauldrons on the beach and feed the fires beneath them. Then they restore their strength with food. Lying on the grass, they eat their fill of rich venison and drink old wine. After they have satisfied their hunger and cleared the meal away, they speak sadly of their lost companions. They waver between hope and fear. Can they believe their companions are still alive, or are they dying and unable to hear human voices? Above all, good Aeneas mourns inwardly for valiant Orontes and Amycus, for the cruel fate of Lycus, and for brave Gyas and brave Cloanthus. At last they fall silent. High above, Jupiter looks down on the sea dotted with sails, the spread of land, the shores and wide countries. Standing at the top of heaven, he turns his gaze toward the realm of Libya. His heart is troubled, and Venus speaks to him sorrowfully, her bright eyes filling with tears:

'O thou who dost sway mortal and immortal things with eternal command and the terror of thy thunderbolt, how can my Aeneas have transgressed so grievously against thee? how his Trojans? on whom, after so many deaths outgone, all the world is barred for Italy's sake. From them sometime in the rolling years the Romans were to arise indeed; from them were to be rulers who, renewing the blood of Teucer, should hold sea and land in universal lordship. This thou didst promise: why, O father, is thy decree reversed? This was my solace for the wretched ruin of sunken Troy, doom balanced against doom. Now so many woes are spent, and the same fortune still pursues them; Lord and King, what limit dost thou set to their agony? Antenor could elude the encircling Achaeans, could thread in safety the Illyrian bays and inmost realms of the Liburnians, could climb Timavus' source, whence through nine mouths pours the bursting tide amid dreary moans of the mountain, and covers the fields with hoarse waters. Yet here did he set Patavium town, a dwelling-place for his Teucrians, gave his name to a nation and hung up the armour of Troy; now settled in peace, he rests and is in quiet. We, thy children, we whom thou beckonest to the heights of heaven, our fleet miserably cast away for a single enemy's anger, are betrayed and severed far from the Italian coasts. Is this the reward of goodness? Is it thus thou dost restore our throne?'

'You who rule mortal and immortal things with eternal authority and the terror of your thunderbolt, how has my Aeneas offended you so greatly? How have his Trojans offended you? After so many deaths, they are shut out of the whole world for Italy's sake. You promised that, in years to come, the Romans would arise from them. Their rulers, renewing the blood of Teucer, would rule all lands and seas. Why, father, have you reversed your decree? That promise was my comfort for the miserable destruction of fallen Troy. One fate balanced another. Yet after so many hardships, the same fate still pursues them. Lord and King, when will you end their suffering? Antenor escaped the Achaeans surrounding him. He sailed safely through the Illyrian bays and into the innermost lands of the Liburnians. He reached the source of the Timavus. There the rushing water pours through nine mouths, amid the mournful sounds of the mountain. Its roaring waters cover the fields. Yet Antenor founded the city of Patavium there as a home for his Teucrians. He gave his name to a nation and hung up the armor of Troy. Now he lives in peace and rests quietly. But we are your children, whom you summon to the heights of heaven. Yet our fleet has been miserably wrecked because of one enemy's anger. We have been betrayed and driven far from the Italian coasts. Is this the reward for goodness? Is this how you restore our throne?'

Smiling on her with that look which clears sky and storms, the parent of men and gods lightly kissed his daughter's lips; then answered thus:

The father of men and gods smiled at her with a look that clears the sky and calms storms. He gently kissed his daughter's lips, then answered:

'Spare thy fear, Cytherean; thy people's destiny abides unshaken. Thine eyes shall see the city Lavinium, their promised home; thou shalt exalt to the starry heaven thy noble Aeneas; nor is my decree reversed. He thou lovest (for I will speak, since this care keeps torturing thee, and will unroll further the secret records of fate) shall wage a great war in Italy, and crush warrior nations; he shall appoint his people a law and a city; till the third summer see him reigning in Latium, and three winters' camps pass over the conquered Rutulians. But the boy Ascanius, whose surname is now Iülus—Ilus he was while the Ilian state stood sovereign—thirty great circles of rolling months shall he fulfil in government; he shall carry the kingdom from its fastness in Lavinium, and make a strong fortress of Alba the Long. Here the full space of thrice an hundred years shall the kingdom endure under the race of Hector's kin, till the royal priestess Ilia from Mars' embrace shall give birth to a twin progeny. Thence shall Romulus, gay in the tawny hide of the she-wolf that nursed him, take up their line, and name them Romans after his own name. I appoint to these neither period nor boundary of empire: I have given them dominion without end. Nay, harsh Juno, who in her fear now troubles earth and sea and sky, shall change to better counsels, and with me shall cherish the lords of the world, the gowned race of Rome. Thus is it willed. A day will come in the lapse of cycles, when the house of Assaracus shall lay Phthia and famed Mycenae in bondage, and reign over conquered Argos. From the fair line of Troy a Caesar shall arise, who shall limit his empire with ocean, his glory with the firmament, Julius, inheritor of great Iülus' name. Him one day, thy care done, thou shalt welcome to heaven loaded with Eastern spoils; to him too shall vows be addressed. Then shall war cease, and the iron ages soften. Hoar Faith and Vesta, Quirinus and Remus brothers again, shall deliver statutes. The dreadful steel-riveted gates of war shall be shut fast; on murderous weapons the inhuman Fury, his hands bound behind him with an hundred fetters of brass, shall sit within, shrieking with terrible blood-stained lips.'

'Do not be afraid, Cytherean. Your people's destiny remains secure. You will see Lavinium, their promised city, and you will raise your noble Aeneas to the starry heavens. My decree has not changed. Your concern still torments you, so I will speak and reveal more of fate's secret records. Aeneas, whom you love, will wage a great war in Italy and crush warrior nations. He will give his people laws and a city. He will reign in Latium until the third summer, and three winters will pass with his army camped among the conquered Rutulians. But the boy Ascanius, whose surname is now Iülus, will rule for thirty full years. He was called Ilus while the Ilian state remained independent. He will move the kingdom from its stronghold in Lavinium and build a strong fortress at Alba the Long. There the kingdom will endure for three hundred years under the descendants of Hector's kin. Then the royal priestess Ilia will bear twins by Mars. From them will come Romulus, proudly wearing the tawny hide of the she-wolf that nursed him. He will carry on their line and name his people Romans after himself. I set no limit in time or space to their empire. I have given them dominion without end. Even harsh Juno, who now troubles earth, sea, and sky in her fear, will change her mind for the better. She will join me in caring for the lords of the world, the gowned race of Rome. This is my will. As the ages pass, a day will come when the house of Assaracus will bring Phthia and famed Mycenae into bondage. It will rule over conquered Argos. From Troy's noble line a Caesar will arise. His empire will reach the ocean, and his glory the heavens. He will be Julius, heir to the name of great Iülus. One day, when your cares are over, you will welcome him to heaven, laden with Eastern spoils. People will also address vows to him. Then war will cease, and the iron ages will soften. Aged Faith and Vesta will give laws, together with Quirinus and Remus, brothers once more. The dreadful gates of war, fastened with steel, will be shut tight. Inside, the inhuman Fury will sit on murderous weapons, his hands bound behind him with a hundred brass chains. He will shriek through terrible, blood-stained lips.'

So speaking, he sends Maia's son down from above, that the land and towers of Carthage, the new town, may receive the Trojans with open welcome; lest Dido, ignorant of doom, might debar them her land. Flying through the depth of air on winged oarage, the fleet messenger alights on the Libyan coasts. At once he does his bidding; at once, for a god willed it, the Phoenicians allay their haughty temper; the queen above all takes to herself grace and compassion towards the Teucrians.

After speaking, he sends Maia's son down from above. He sends him so that the land and towers of the new city of Carthage will welcome the Trojans. Otherwise, Dido, unaware of fate, might keep them out of her land. Flying through the deep air on his winged oars, the swift messenger lands on the Libyan coast. He carries out his orders at once. At once, because a god willed it, the Phoenicians soften their proud temper. The queen above all becomes gracious and compassionate toward the Teucrians.

But good Aeneas, nightlong revolving many and many a thing, issues forth, so soon as bountiful light is given, to explore the strange country; to what coasts the wind has borne him, who are their habitants, men or wild beasts, for all he sees is wilderness; this he resolves to search, and bring back the certainty to his comrades. The fleet he hides close in embosoming groves beneath a caverned rock, amid shivering shadow of the woodland; himself, Achates alone following, he strides forward, clenching in his hand two broad-headed spears. And amid the forest his mother crossed his way, wearing the face and raiment of a maiden, the arms of a maiden of Sparta, or like Harpalyce of Thrace when she tires her coursers and outstrips the winged speed of Hebrus in her flight. For huntress fashion had she slung the ready bow from her shoulder, and left her blown tresses free, bared her knee, and knotted together her garments' flowing folds. 'Ha! my men,' she begins, 'shew me if haply you have seen a sister of mine straying here girt with quiver and a lynx's dappled fell, or pressing with shouts on the track of a foaming boar.'

But good Aeneas spent the whole night turning many thoughts over in his mind. As soon as daylight came, he set out to explore the strange country. He wanted to learn what shores the wind had brought him to and who lived there, people or wild beasts. All he could see was wilderness. He resolved to find out and bring the news back to his comrades. He hid the fleet deep in a sheltered grove beneath a hollowed rock, among the trembling shadows of the trees. Then he strode forward with only Achates following him, gripping two broad-headed spears. In the forest, his mother crossed his path. She looked and dressed like a young woman and carried the weapons of a maiden of Sparta. She also looked like Harpalyce of Thrace, who wears out her horses and outruns the swift Hebrus in flight. Like a huntress, she had slung a bow over her shoulder, ready for use. Her hair blew loose, her knees were bare, and the flowing folds of her clothes were knotted together. 'Hey, men,' she began, 'tell me if you have seen a sister of mine wandering here. She wears a quiver and a spotted lynx skin. Or perhaps you have seen her shouting as she pursues a foaming boar.'

Thus Venus, and Venus' son answering thus began:

So Venus spoke, and her son began his reply:

'Sound nor sight have I had of sister of thine, O maiden unnamed; for thy face is not mortal, nor thy voice of human tone; O goddess assuredly! sister of Phoebus perchance, or one of the nymphs' blood? Be thou gracious, whoso thou art, and lighten this toil of ours; deign to instruct us beneath what skies, on what coast of the world, we are thrown. Driven hither by wind and desolate waves, we wander in a strange land among unknown men. Many a sacrifice shall fall by our hand before thine altars.'

'I have neither seen nor heard your sister, unnamed maiden. For your face is not mortal, and your voice does not sound human. You must be a goddess! Perhaps you are Phoebus's sister, or one of the nymphs? Whoever you are, be gracious and lighten our burden. Please tell us under what skies and on what coast of the world we have been cast. Driven here by wind and desolate waves, we wander in a strange land among unknown people. We will offer many sacrifices at your altars.'

Then Venus: 'Nay, to no such offerings do I aspire. Tyrian maidens are wont ever to wear the quiver, to tie the purple buskin high above their ankle. Punic is the realm thou seest, Tyrian the people, and the city of Agenor's kin; but their borders are Libyan, a race unassailable in war. Dido sways the sceptre, who flying her brother set sail from the Tyrian town. Long is the tale of crime, long and intricate; but I will briefly follow its argument. Her husband was Sychaeus, wealthiest in lands of the Phoenicians, and loved of her with ill-fated passion; to whom with virgin rites her father had given her maidenhood in wedlock. But the kingdom of Tyre was in her brother Pygmalion's hands, a monster of guilt unparalleled. Between these madness came; the unnatural brother, blind with lust of gold, and reckless of his sister's love, lays Sychaeus low before the altars with stealthy unsuspected weapon; and for long he hid the deed, and by many a crafty pretence cheated her love-sickness with hollow hope. But in slumber came the very ghost of her unburied husband; lifting up a face pale in wonderful wise, he exposed the merciless altars and his breast stabbed through with steel, and unwove all the blind web of household guilt. Then he counsels hasty flight out of the country, and to aid her passage discloses treasures long hidden underground, an untold mass of silver and gold. Stirred thereby, Dido gathered a company for flight. All assemble in whom hatred of the tyrant was relentless or fear keen; they seize on ships that chanced to lie ready, and load them with the gold. Pygmalion's hoarded wealth is borne overseas; a woman leads the work. They came at last to the land where thou wilt descry a city now great, New Carthage, and her rising citadel, and bought ground, called thence Byrsa, as much as a bull's hide would encircle. But who, I pray, are you, or from what coasts come, or whither hold you your way?'

Then Venus said: 'No, I do not expect such offerings. Tyrian maidens always wear quivers and lace purple boots high above their ankles. The kingdom you see is Punic, its people are Tyrian, and its city belongs to the descendants of Agenor. But the surrounding lands are Libyan, and their people cannot be defeated in war. Dido rules here. She fled her brother and sailed from the city of Tyre. The story of the crime is long and complicated, but I will tell it briefly. Her husband was Sychaeus, the wealthiest of the Phoenicians in land, and she loved him with a doomed passion. Her father had given her to him in marriage while she was still a virgin, with the proper wedding rites. But her brother Pygmalion ruled Tyre. He was a monster whose crimes had no equal. Madness drove the two men apart. Blinded by greed for gold and careless of his sister's love, her unnatural brother murdered Sychaeus before the altars. He struck him secretly, without warning. For a long time Pygmalion hid the crime. With many clever lies, he gave the grieving Dido false hope. But the ghost of her unburied husband came to her in sleep. He raised his face, which was strangely pale, and showed her the merciless altars and his chest pierced by a blade. He revealed the whole tangled web of hidden crime within her family. Then he urged her to flee the country at once. To help her escape, he revealed treasures long hidden underground, a vast store of silver and gold. Moved by this, Dido gathered a company to flee with her. All those whose hatred of the tyrant was relentless or whose fear was sharp joined her. They seized ships that happened to be ready and loaded them with the gold. Pygmalion's hoarded wealth was carried across the sea, and a woman led the undertaking. At last they reached the land where you will see a great city, New Carthage, and its rising citadel. There they bought as much land as a bull's hide could encircle. The land was called Byrsa for that reason. But tell me, who are you, where have you come from, and where are you going?'

At her question he, sighing and drawing speech deep from his breast, thus replied:

At her question, he sighed and spoke from deep within his chest:

'Ah goddess, should I go on retracing from the fountain head, were time free to hear the history of our woes, sooner would the evening star lay day asleep in the closed gates of heaven. Us, as from ancient Troy (if the name of Troy hath haply passed through your ears) we sailed over alien seas, the tempest at his own wild will hath driven on the Libyan coast. I am Aeneas the good, who carry in my fleet the household gods I rescued from the enemy; my fame is known high in heaven. I seek Italy my country, my kin of Jove's supreme blood. With twenty sail did I climb the Phrygian sea; oracular tokens led me on; my goddess mother pointed the way; scarce seven survive the shattering of wave and wind. Myself unknown, destitute, driven from Europe and Asia, I wander over the Libyan wilderness.'

'Ah, goddess, if I told our story from the beginning, and you had time to hear all our woes, the evening star would close heaven's gates on the day before I finished. We sailed from ancient Troy, if you have perhaps heard its name, across foreign seas. A storm, following its own wild will, drove us onto the Libyan coast. I am Aeneas the good. I carry in my fleet the household gods I rescued from the enemy. My fame is known high in heaven. I seek Italy, my homeland, and my kin, who descend from Jove himself. I set out across the Phrygian sea with twenty ships. Prophetic signs led me on, and my goddess mother showed me the way. But barely seven ships survived the battering of wind and waves. Now, unknown and destitute, driven from Europe and Asia, I wander through the Libyan wilderness.'

But staying longer complaint, Venus thus broke in on his half-told sorrows:

But Venus stopped him from complaining further, interrupting him before he had finished telling his sorrows:

'Whoso thou art, not hated I think of the immortals dost thou draw the breath of life, who hast reached the Tyrian city. Only go on, and betake thee hence to the courts of the queen. For I declare to thee thy comrades are restored, thy fleet driven back into safety by the shifted northern gales, except my parents were pretenders, and unavailing the augury they taught me. Behold these twelve swans in joyous line, whom, stooping from the tract of heaven, the bird of Jove fluttered over the open sky; now in long train they seem either to take the ground or already to look down on the ground they took. As they again disport with clapping wings, and utter their notes as they circle the sky in company, even so do these ships and crews of thine either lie fast in harbour or glide under full sail into the harbour mouth. Only go on, and turn thy steps where the pathway leads thee.'

'Whoever you are, I think you are not hated by the immortals, since you have reached the Tyrian city alive. Go on now, and make your way to the queen’s palace. I tell you that your comrades have been brought back to you. The shifting north winds have driven your fleet to safety. This must be true, unless my parents were impostors and the augury they taught me is worthless. Look at those twelve swans in a joyful line. Jove’s bird swooped down from the heavens and scattered them across the open sky. Now they seem to be landing in a long line or looking down at the ground where they have landed. Once more they play, clapping their wings and calling as they circle the sky together. Just like them, your ships and crews are either safely in harbor or sailing at full sail into the harbor mouth. Go on now, and follow the path where it leads you.'

Speaking she turned away, and her neck shone roseate, her immortal tresses breathed the fragrance of deity; her raiment fell flowing down to her feet, and the godhead was manifest in her tread. He knew her for his mother, and with this cry pursued her flight: 'Thou also merciless! Why mockest thou thy son so often in feigned likeness? Why is it forbidden to clasp hand in hand, to hear and utter true speech?' Thus reproaching her he bends his steps towards the city. But Venus girt them in their going with dull mist, and shed round them a deep divine clothing of cloud, that none might see them, none touch them, or work delay, or ask wherefore they came. Herself she speeds through the sky to Paphos, and joyfully revisits her habitation, where the temple and its hundred altars steam with Sabaean incense, and are fresh with fragrance of chaplets in her worship.

As she spoke, she turned away. Her neck glowed rosy, and her immortal hair breathed a divine fragrance. Her robe flowed down to her feet, and her walk revealed that she was a goddess. He recognized his mother and called after her as she fled: 'You are cruel too! Why do you so often deceive your son by taking another form? Why can't we clasp hands and speak truthfully to each other?' With these reproaches, he headed toward the city. But Venus wrapped them in a dim mist as they went. She surrounded them with a thick, divine cloud so that no one could see or touch them. No one could delay them or ask why they had come. She flew through the sky to Paphos and joyfully returned to her home. There, her temple and its hundred altars steamed with Sabaean incense and were fragrant with garlands placed in her honor.

They meantime have hasted along where the pathway points, and now were climbing the hill which hangs enormous over the city, and looks down on its facing towers. Aeneas marvels at the mass of building, pastoral huts once of old, marvels at the gateways and clatter of the pavements. The Tyrians are hot at work to trace the walls, to rear the citadel, and roll up great stones by hand, or to choose a spot for their dwelling and enclose it with a furrow. They ordain justice and magistrates, and the august senate. Here some are digging harbours, here others lay the deep foundations of their theatre, and hew out of the cliff vast columns, the lofty ornaments of the stage to be: even as bees when summer is fresh over the flowery country ply their task beneath the sun, when they lead forth their nation's grown brood, or when they press the liquid honey and strain their cells with nectarous sweets, or relieve the loaded incomers, or in banded array drive the idle herd of drones far from their folds; they swarm over their work, and the odorous honey smells sweet of thyme. 'Happy they whose city already rises!' cries Aeneas, looking on the town roofs below. Girt in the cloud he passes amid them, wonderful to tell, and mingling with the throng is descried of none.

Meanwhile, they hurried along the path. They were now climbing the huge hill that loomed over the city and looked down on its towers. Aeneas marveled at the great buildings, where shepherds' huts had once stood. He marveled at the gates and the clatter on the paved streets. The Tyrians were hard at work marking out the walls, raising the citadel, and rolling great stones uphill by hand. Others chose sites for their homes and marked them off with furrows. They established laws, appointed magistrates, and formed the honored senate. Some were digging harbors. Others laid deep foundations for their theater and cut huge columns from the cliff. The columns would stand high above the stage. They worked like bees in early summer, busy in the sun over the flower-filled countryside. The bees lead their grown young out of the hive. They pack liquid honey into the cells, filling them with sweet nectar. They take the loads from bees returning to the hive. They also join forces to drive the idle drones far from their homes. The bees swarm over their work, and the fragrant honey smells sweetly of thyme. 'Happy are those whose city is already rising!' cried Aeneas, looking down at the roofs. Still wrapped in the cloud, he passed among the people. Strange to tell, he mingled with the crowd, but no one saw him.

In the heart of the town was a grove deep with luxuriant shade, wherein first the Phoenicians, buffeted by wave and whirlwind, dug up the token Queen Juno had appointed, the head of a war horse: thereby was their race to be through all ages illustrious in war and opulent in living. Here to Juno was Sidonian Dido founding a vast temple, rich with offerings and the sanctity of her godhead: brazen steps rose on the threshold, brass clamped the pilasters, doors of brass swung on grating hinges. First in this grove did a strange chance meet his steps and allay his fears; first here did Aeneas dare to hope for safety and have fairer trust in his shattered fortunes. For while he closely scans the temple that towers above him, while, awaiting the queen, he admires the fortunate city, the emulous hands and elaborate work of her craftsmen, he sees ranged in order the battles of Ilium, that war whose fame was already rumoured through all the world, the sons of Atreus and Priam, and Achilles whom both found pitiless. He stopped and cried weeping, 'What land is left, Achates, what tract on earth that is not full of our agony? Behold Priam! Here too is the meed of honour, here mortal estate touches the soul to tears. Dismiss thy fears; the fame of this will somehow bring thee salvation.'

In the heart of the town stood a grove with deep, lush shade. There the Phoenicians, battered by waves and storms, had first dug up the sign Queen Juno had promised them: a warhorse’s head. This sign meant that their people would be famous in war and rich in life through all ages. Here Sidonian Dido was building a vast temple to Juno, rich with offerings and made sacred by the goddess’s presence. Bronze steps led up to the entrance, bronze covered the pillars, and bronze doors swung on creaking hinges. In this grove, an unexpected sight first eased Aeneas’s fears. Here he first dared to hope for safety and to trust that his ruined fortunes might improve. As he waited for the queen, he studied the temple towering above him. He admired the prosperous city and the skilled hands and intricate work of its rival craftsmen. Then he saw, arranged in order, scenes of the battles of Ilium. News of that war had already spread throughout the world. He saw the sons of Atreus and Priam, and Achilles, who had shown no mercy to either side. He stopped and cried out in tears, ‘What land is left, Achates? What place on earth is not filled with our suffering? Look at Priam! Here too honor has its reward, and the troubles of human life move people to tears. Put aside your fears. The fame of our suffering will somehow bring you safety.’

So speaks he, and fills his soul with the painted show, sighing often the while, and his face wet with a full river of tears. For he saw, how warring round the Trojan citadel here the Greeks fled, the men of Troy hard on their rear; here the Phrygians, plumed Achilles in his chariot pressing their flight. Not far away he knows the snowy canvas of Rhesus' tents, which, betrayed in their first sleep, the blood-stained son of Tydeus laid desolate in heaped slaughter, and turns the ruddy steeds away to the camp ere ever they tasted Trojan fodder or drunk of Xanthus. Elsewhere Troïlus, his armour flung away in flight—luckless boy, no match for Achilles to meet!—is borne along by his horses, and thrown back entangled with his empty chariot, still clutching the reins; his neck and hair are dragged over the ground, and his reversed spear scores the dust. Meanwhile the Ilian women went with disordered tresses to unfriendly Pallas' temple, and bore the votive garment, sadly beating breast with palm: the goddess turning away held her eyes fast on the ground. Thrice had Achilles whirled Hector round the walls of Troy, and was selling the lifeless body for gold; then at last he heaves a loud and heart-deep groan, as the spoils, as the chariot, as the dear body met his gaze, and Priam outstretching unarmed hands. Himself too he knew joining battle with the foremost Achaeans, knew the Eastern ranks and swart Memnon's armour. Penthesilea leads her crescent-shielded Amazonian columns in furious heat with thousands around her; clasping a golden belt under her naked breast, the warrior maiden clashes boldly with men.

So he speaks, and gazes with all his heart at the painted scenes. He sighs often, his face wet with streams of tears. He sees battles around the Trojan citadel. In one scene, the Greeks flee, with the men of Troy close behind. In another, the Phrygians flee as plumed Achilles pursues them in his chariot. Nearby, he recognizes the snowy canvas tents of Rhesus. The bloodstained son of Tydeus had caught the men in their first sleep and slaughtered them in heaps. He drove their reddish horses back to the camp before they could taste Trojan fodder or drink from Xanthus. Elsewhere, Troïlus has thrown away his armor in flight. The luckless boy was no match for Achilles! His horses carry him along, thrown backward and tangled in his empty chariot. He still clutches the reins. His neck and hair drag along the ground, and his backward-pointing spear scratches the dust. Meanwhile, the Ilian women go with disheveled hair to the temple of Pallas, who is hostile to them. They carry the promised garment and sadly beat their breasts with their hands. The goddess turns away, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground. Achilles has dragged Hector three times around the walls of Troy and is selling his lifeless body for gold. At last, he gives a loud groan from deep in his heart. He sees Hector's armor, the chariot, the dear body, and Priam reaching out his unarmed hands. He also recognizes himself fighting among the foremost Achaeans. He recognizes the Eastern ranks and the armor of swart Memnon. Penthesilea leads her columns of Amazons with crescent-shaped shields, fighting fiercely among the thousands around her. A golden belt fastened beneath her bare breast, the warrior maiden boldly clashes with men.

While these marvels meet Dardanian Aeneas' eyes, while he dizzily hangs rapt in one long gaze, Dido the queen entered the precinct, beautiful exceedingly, a youthful train thronging round her. Even as on Eurotas' banks or along the Cynthian ridges Diana wheels the dance, while behind her a thousand mountain nymphs crowd to left and right; she carries quiver on shoulder, and as she moves outshines them all in deity; Latona's heart is thrilled with silent joy; such was Dido, so she joyously advanced amid the throng, urging on the business of her rising empire. Then in the gates of the goddess, beneath the central vault of the temple roof, she took her seat girt with arms and high enthroned. And now she gave justice and laws to her people, and adjusted or allotted their taskwork in due portion; when suddenly Aeneas sees advancing with a great crowd about them Antheus and Sergestus and brave Cloanthus, and other of his Trojans, whom the black squall had sundered at sea and borne far away on the coast. Dizzy with the shock of joy and fear he and Achates together were on fire with eagerness to clasp their hands; but in confused uncertainty they keep hidden, and clothed in the sheltering cloud wait to espy what fortune befalls them, where they are leaving their fleet ashore, why they now come; for they advanced, chosen men from all the ships, praying for grace, and held on with loud cries towards the temple.

As Dardanian Aeneas gazed at these marvels, lost in wonder, Queen Dido entered the precinct. She was exceedingly beautiful, and a crowd of young attendants surrounded her. She was like Diana dancing on the banks of the Eurotas or along the Cynthian ridges. A thousand mountain nymphs crowd behind Diana, to her left and right. She carries a quiver on her shoulder, and as she moves, her divine beauty outshines them all. Latona's heart thrills with silent joy. Just so, Dido moved joyfully among the crowd, urging on the work of her growing empire. Then Dido took her seat at the entrance to the goddess's temple, beneath the central vault. She sat high on her throne, surrounded by armed guards. She administered justice and gave laws to her people. She also divided the work fairly among them, assigning each a proper share. Suddenly Aeneas saw Antheus, Sergestus, brave Cloanthus, and other Trojans approaching, surrounded by a great crowd. A black squall had separated them from Aeneas at sea and carried them far away along the coast. Overcome with joy and fear, Aeneas and Achates both longed to rush forward and clasp their hands. But, confused and uncertain, they stayed hidden in the sheltering cloud. They waited to see what would happen to the Trojans, where they had left their fleet, and why they had come. The men approaching had been chosen from all the ships. They were asking for mercy and moving toward the temple with loud cries.

After they entered in, and free speech was granted, aged Ilioneus with placid mien thus began:

After they entered and were allowed to speak freely, the elderly Ilioneus began calmly:

'Queen, to whom Jupiter hath given to found this new city, and lay the yoke of justice upon haughty tribes, we beseech thee, we wretched Trojans storm-driven over all the seas, stay the dreadful flames from our ships; spare a guiltless race, and bend a gracious regard on our fortunes. We are not come to deal slaughter through Libyan homes, or to drive plundered spoils to the coast. Such violence sits not in our mind, nor is a conquered people so insolent. There is a place Greeks name Hesperia, an ancient land, mighty in arms and foison of the clod; Oenotrian men dwelt therein; now rumour is that a younger race from their captain's name have called it Italy. Thither lay our course . . . when Orion rising on us through the cloudrack with sudden surf bore us on blind shoals, and scattered us afar with his boisterous gales and whelming brine over waves and trackless reefs. To these your coasts we a scanty remnant floated up. What race of men, what land how barbarous soever, allows such a custom for its own? We are debarred the shelter of the beach; they rise in war, and forbid us to set foot on the brink of their land. If you slight human kinship and mortal arms, yet look for gods unforgetful of innocence and guilt. Aeneas was our king, foremost of men in righteousness, incomparable in goodness as in warlike arms; whom if fate still preserves, if he draws the breath of heaven and lies not yet low in dispiteous gloom, fear we have none; nor mayest thou repent of challenging the contest of service. In Sicilian territory too is tilth and town, and famed Acestes himself of Trojan blood. Grant us to draw ashore our storm-shattered fleet, to shape forest trees into beams and strip them for oars; so, if to Italy we may steer with our king and comrades found, Italy and Latium shall we gladly seek; but if salvation is clean gone, if the Libyan gulf holds thee, dear lord of thy Trojans, and Iülus our hope survives no more, seek we then at least the straits of Sicily, the open homes whence we sailed hither, and Acestes for our king.' Thus Ilioneus, and all the Dardanian company murmured assent. . . . Then Dido, with downcast face, briefly speaks:

'Queen, Jupiter has granted you the power to found this new city and bring proud tribes under the rule of justice. We wretched Trojans, driven by storms across every sea, beg you to keep the deadly flames from our ships. Spare an innocent people and look kindly on our plight. We have not come to slaughter people in their Libyan homes or carry stolen goods to the coast. We have no such violence in mind, nor are a conquered people so bold. There is an ancient land the Greeks call Hesperia, rich in military strength and fertile soil. Oenotrian men once lived there. Now word is that a younger race has named it Italy after their leader. We were bound for Italy . . . when Orion rose against us through the storm clouds. Sudden surging waves drove us onto hidden shoals. Fierce winds and overwhelming seas scattered us across the waves and trackless reefs. Only a few of us have drifted to your shores. What race of men, what land, however barbarous, permits such treatment? We are denied shelter on the beach. Your people attack us and forbid us even to set foot on their shore. If you have no regard for human kinship or mortal weapons, remember that the gods do not forget innocence or guilt. Aeneas was our king, the most righteous of men, unequaled in goodness and in war. If fate still keeps him alive, if he still breathes the air of heaven and does not yet lie in pitiless darkness, we have nothing to fear. And you will not regret competing with him in acts of kindness. In Sicilian territory, too, we have farmland and a town. There also lives the famous Acestes, himself of Trojan blood. Let us draw our storm shattered fleet ashore. Let us cut forest trees into beams and strip them for oars. Then, if we find our king and comrades and can sail to Italy, we will gladly seek Italy and Latium. But if all hope of rescue is gone, if the Libyan gulf holds you, dear lord of your Trojans, and Iülus, our hope, is no longer alive, then let us at least seek the straits of Sicily. Let us return to the welcoming homes we sailed from and take Acestes as our king.' So spoke Ilioneus, and all the Dardanian company murmured their agreement. . . . Then Dido lowered her face and spoke briefly:

'Cheer your anxious hearts, O Teucrians; put by your care. Hard fortune in a strange realm forces me to this task, to keep watch and ward on my wide frontiers. Who can be ignorant of the race of Aeneas' people, who of Troy town and her men and deeds, or of the great war's consuming fire? Not so dull are the hearts of our Punic wearing, not so far doth the sun yoke his steeds from our Tyrian town. Whether your choice be broad Hesperia, the fields of Saturn's dominion, or Eryx for your country and Acestes for your king, my escort shall speed you in safety, my arsenals supply your need. Or will you even find rest here with me and share my kingdom? The city I establish is yours; draw your ships ashore; Trojan and Tyrian shall be held by me in even balance. And would that he your king, that Aeneas were here, storm-driven to this same haven! But I will send messengers along the coast, and bid them trace Libya to its limits, if haply he strays shipwrecked in forest or town.'

'Take heart, Teucrians, and put aside your worries. Hard circumstances in a strange land force me to guard my wide borders. Who does not know of Aeneas' people, of Troy and her men and deeds, or of the great war's consuming fire? We Punic people are not so dull, and our Tyrian city is not so far from where the sun harnesses his horses. You may choose broad Hesperia, the fields of Saturn's kingdom, or Eryx as your home and Acestes as your king. Whatever your choice, I will send an escort to see you safely there. My arsenals will supply what you need. Or would you rather settle here with me and share my kingdom? The city I am building is yours. Bring your ships ashore. I will treat Trojan and Tyrian alike. If only your king Aeneas had been driven by the storm to this same harbor! But I will send messengers along the coast and order them to search Libya from end to end. Perhaps he is wandering shipwrecked in a forest or a town.'

Stirred by these words brave Achates and lord Aeneas both ere now burned to break through the cloud. Achates first accosts Aeneas: 'Goddess-born, what purpose now rises in thy spirit? Thou seest all is safe, our fleet and comrades are restored. One only is wanting, whom our eyes saw whelmed amid the waves; all else is answerable to thy mother's words.'

Stirred by these words, brave Achates and lord Aeneas were already eager to break through the cloud. Achates spoke to Aeneas first: 'Son of a goddess, what are you thinking now? You see that all is safe. Our fleet and comrades have been restored. Only one is missing. We saw him swallowed by the waves. Everything else is just as your mother said.'

Scarce had he spoken when the encircling cloud suddenly parts and melts into clear air. Aeneas stood discovered in sheen of brilliant light, like a god in face and shoulders; for his mother's self had shed on her son the grace of clustered locks, the radiant light of youth, and the lustre of joyous eyes; as when ivory takes beauty under the artist's hand, or when silver or Parian stone is inlaid in gold. Then breaking in on all with unexpected speech he thus addresses the queen:

He had scarcely spoken when the cloud around him suddenly parted and dissolved into clear air. Aeneas stood revealed in brilliant light, his face and shoulders like a god’s. His mother herself had given her son graceful curls, the glow of youth, and bright, joyful eyes. It was like ivory made beautiful by an artist’s hand, or silver or Parian stone set in gold. Then he interrupted everyone and unexpectedly addressed the queen:

'I whom you seek am here before you, Aeneas of Troy, snatched from the Libyan waves. O thou who alone hast pitied Troy's untold agonies, thou who with us the remnant of the Grecian foe, worn out ere now by every suffering land and sea can bring, with us in our utter want dost share thy city and home! to render meet recompense is not possible for us, O Dido, nor for all who scattered over the wide world are left of our Dardanian race. The gods grant thee worthy reward, if their deity turn any regard on goodness, if aught avails justice and conscious purity of soul. What happy ages bore thee? what mighty parents gave thy virtue birth? While rivers run into the sea, while the mountain shadows move across their slopes, while the stars have pasturage in heaven, ever shall thine honour, thy name and praises endure in the unknown lands that summon me.' With these words he advances his right hand to dear Ilioneus, his left to Serestus; then to the rest, brave Gyas and brave Cloanthus.

‘The man you seek is here before you. I am Aeneas of Troy, rescued from the Libyan waves. You alone have pitied Troy’s countless sufferings. You share your city and home with us, the survivors of the Grecian foe. We have endured every suffering that land and sea can bring, and we have nothing left. O Dido, we cannot repay you as you deserve. Nor can all who remain of our Dardanian race, scattered across the wide world. May the gods give you a worthy reward, if they care at all for goodness, if justice and a pure conscience count for anything. What blessed age brought you into the world? What great parents gave birth to such virtue? As long as rivers run into the sea, as long as mountain shadows move across their slopes, and as long as the stars roam the heavens, your honor, name, and praises will endure in the unknown lands that call me.’ With these words, he reaches out his right hand to dear Ilioneus and his left to Serestus. Then he greets the others, brave Gyas and brave Cloanthus.

Dido the Sidonian stood astonished, first at the sight of him, then at his strange fortunes; and these words left her lips:

Dido the Sidonian was astonished, first by the sight of him, then by his strange fortunes. She said:

'What fate follows thee, goddess-born, through perilous ways? what violence lands thee on this monstrous coast? Art thou that Aeneas whom Venus the bountiful bore to Dardanian Anchises by the wave of Phrygian Simoïs? And well I remember how Teucer came to Sidon, when exiled from his native land he sought Belus' aid to gain new realms; Belus my father even then ravaged rich Cyprus and held it under his conquering sway. From that time forth have I known the fall of the Trojan city, known thy name and the Pelasgian princes. Their very foe would extol the Teucrians with highest praises, and boasted himself a branch of the ancient Teucrian stem. Come therefore, O men, and enter our house. Me too hath a like fortune driven through many a woe, and willed at last to find my rest in this land. Not ignorant of ill do I learn to succour the afflicted.'

'What fate has driven you through such dangerous paths, son of a goddess? What violence has brought you to this monstrous coast? Are you the Aeneas whom generous Venus bore to Dardanian Anchises by the waters of the Phrygian Simoïs? I remember well when Teucer came to Sidon. Exiled from his homeland, he sought Belus' help in gaining new lands. At that time, my father Belus was ravaging rich Cyprus and held it under his rule. Since then, I have known of the fall of Troy, your name, and the Pelasgian princes. Teucer, though their enemy, praised the Teucrians highly. He also boasted that he himself was descended from the ancient Teucrian line. Come, then, men, and enter our house. A similar fate has driven me through many hardships and finally brought me to rest in this land. Having known suffering myself, I have learned to help those who suffer.'

With such speech she leads Aeneas into the royal house, and orders sacrifice in the gods' temples. Therewith she sends his company on the shore twenty bulls, an hundred great bristly-backed swine, an hundred fat lambs and their mothers with them, gifts of the day's gladness. . . . But the palace within is decked with splendour of royal state, and a banquet made ready amid the halls. The coverings are curiously wrought in splendid purple; on the tables is massy silver and deeds of ancestral valour graven in gold, all the long course of history drawn through many a heroic name from the nation's primal antiquity.

With these words, she leads Aeneas into the royal house and orders sacrifices in the gods' temples. She also sends gifts to his companions on the shore to celebrate the happy day. These are twenty bulls, a hundred large, bristly-backed pigs, and a hundred fat lambs with their mothers. . . . Inside, the palace is decorated with royal splendor, and a banquet is prepared in the halls. The coverings are elaborately woven in splendid purple. On the tables are heavy silver pieces and gold engraved with the brave deeds of their ancestors. The engravings trace the whole long history of the nation through many heroic names, starting with its earliest days.

Aeneas—for a father's affection denied his spirit rest—sends Achates speeding to his ships, to carry this news to Ascanius, and lead him to the town: in Ascanius is fixed all the parent's loving care. Presents likewise he bids him bring saved from the wreck of Ilium, a mantle stiff with gold embroidery, and a veil with woven border of yellow acanthus-flower, that once decked Helen of Argos, the marvel of her mother Leda's giving; Helen had borne them from Mycenae, when she sought Troy towers and a lawless bridal; the sceptre too that Ilione, Priam's eldest daughter, once had worn, a beaded necklace, and a double circlet of jewelled gold. Achates, hasting on his message, bent his way towards the ships.

Aeneas could find no rest because of his love for his son. He sent Achates quickly to the ships to tell Ascanius the news and bring him to the town. All of Aeneas's loving care was fixed on Ascanius. He also told Achates to bring gifts saved from the ruins of Ilium. These included a cloak richly embroidered with gold and a veil bordered with woven yellow acanthus flowers. Both had once adorned Helen of Argos, a wondrous gift from her mother Leda. Helen had brought them from Mycenae when she went to Troy for an unlawful marriage. The gifts also included the sceptre once carried by Ilione, Priam's eldest daughter, a beaded necklace, and a double circlet of jewelled gold. Achates hurried toward the ships to carry out his task.

But in the Cytherean's breast new arts, new schemes revolve; if Cupid, changed in form and feature, may come in sweet Ascanius' room, and his gifts kindle the queen to madness and set her inmost sense aflame. Verily she fears the uncertain house, the double-tongued race of Tyre; cruel Juno frets her, and at nightfall her care floods back. Therefore to winged Love she speaks these words:

But the Cytherean turns over new plans and schemes in her heart. Perhaps Cupid can change his appearance and take sweet Ascanius' place. His gifts may drive the queen mad with love and set her heart aflame. She fears the uncertain household and the double-tongued race of Tyre. Cruel Juno troubles her, and at nightfall her worries return. So she speaks these words to winged Love:

'Son, who art alone my strength and sovereignty, son, who scornest the mighty father's Typhoïan shafts, to thee I fly for succour, and sue humbly to thy deity. How Aeneas thy brother is driven about all the sea-coasts by bitter Juno's malignity, this thou knowest, and hast often grieved in our grief. Now Dido the Phoenician holds him stayed with soft words, and I tremble to think how the welcome of Juno's house may issue; she will not be idle in this supreme turn of fortune. Wherefore I counsel to prevent her wiles and circle the queen with flame, that, unalterable by any deity, she may be held fast to me by passionate love for Aeneas. Take now my thought how to do this. The boy prince, my chiefest care, makes ready at his dear father's summons to go to the Sidonian city, carrying gifts that survive the sea and the flames of Troy. Him will I hide deep asleep in my holy habitation, high on Cythera's hills or in Idalium, that he may not know nor cross our wiles. Do thou but for one night feign his form, and, boy as thou art, put on the familiar face of a boy; so when in festal cheer, amid royal dainties and Bacchic juice, Dido shall take thee to her lap, shall fold thee in her clasp and kiss thee close and sweet, thou mayest imbreathe a hidden fire and unsuspected poison.'

'Son, you alone are my strength and power. You scorn the mighty father's Typhoïan thunderbolts. I turn to you for help and humbly appeal to your divine power. You know how bitter Juno's malice drives your brother Aeneas from shore to shore. You have often shared our sorrow. Now Dido the Phoenician keeps him with her gentle words. I fear how this welcome in Juno's house may end. Juno will not be idle at this crucial moment. So I plan to foil her schemes and surround the queen with fire. Then no god can change her, and her passionate love for Aeneas will bind her to me. Here is how I plan to do it. The young prince, my greatest concern, is preparing to go to the Sidonian city at his dear father's call. He is carrying gifts that survived the sea and the flames of Troy. I will hide him in a deep sleep in my sacred dwelling, high on Cythera's hills or in Idalium. Then he will not know of our plans or interfere with them. For just one night, take his form. You are a boy yourself, so put on the familiar face of a boy. Then Dido will take you onto her lap during the feast, amid royal delicacies and Bacchic wine. She will hold you in her arms and kiss you closely and tenderly. And you can breathe a hidden fire and unsuspected poison into her.'

Love obeys his dear mother's words, lays by his wings, and walks rejoicingly with Iülus' tread. But Venus pours gentle dew of slumber on Ascanius' limbs, and lifts him lulled in her lap to the tall Idalian groves of her deity, where soft amaracus folds him round with the shadowed sweetness of its odorous blossoms. And now, obedient to her words, Cupid went merrily in Achates' guiding, with the royal gifts for the Tyrians. Already at his coming the queen hath sate her down in the midmost on her golden throne under the splendid tapestries; now lord Aeneas, now too the men of Troy gather, and all recline on the strewn purple. Servants pour water on their hands, serve corn from baskets, and bring napkins with close-cut pile. Fifty handmaids are within, whose task is in their course to keep unfailing store and kindle the household fire. An hundred others, and as many pages all of like age, load the board with food and array the wine cups. Therewithal the Tyrians are gathered full in the wide feasting chamber, and take their appointed places on the broidered cushions. They marvel at Aeneas' gifts, marvel at Iülus, at the god's face aflame and forged speech, at the mantle and veil wrought with yellow acanthus-flower. Above all the hapless Phoenician, victim to coming doom, cannot satiate her soul, but, stirred alike by the boy and the gifts, she gazes and takes fire. He, when hanging clasped on Aeneas' neck he had satisfied all the deluded parent's love, makes his way to the queen; the queen clings to him with her eyes and all her soul, and ever and anon fondles him in her lap, ah, poor Dido! witless how mighty a deity sinks into her breast; but he, mindful of his mother the Acidalian, begins touch by touch to efface Sychaeus, and sows the surprise of a living love in the long-since-unstirred spirit and disaccustomed heart. Soon as the noise of banquet ceased and the board was cleared, they set down great bowls and enwreathe the wine. The house is filled with hum of voices eddying through the spacious chambers; lit lamps hang down by golden chainwork, and flaming tapers expel the night. Now the queen called for a heavy cup of jewelled gold, and filled it with pure wine; therewith was the use of Belus and all of Belus' race: then the hall was silenced. 'Jupiter,' she cries, 'for thou art reputed lawgiver of hospitality, grant that this be a joyful day to the Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy, a day to live in our children's memory. Bacchus, the giver of gladness, be with us, and Juno the bountiful; and you, O Tyrians, be favourable to our assembly.' She spoke, and poured liquid libation on the board, which done, she first herself touched it lightly with her lips, then handed it to Bitias and bade him speed; he valiantly drained the foaming cup, and flooded him with the brimming gold. The other princes followed. Long-haired Iopas on his gilded lyre fills the chamber with songs ancient Atlas taught; he sings of the wandering moon and the sun's travails; whence is the human race and the brute, whence water and fire; of Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, and the twin Oxen; why wintry suns make such haste to dip in ocean, or what delay makes the nights drag lingeringly. Tyrians and Trojans after them redouble applause. Therewithal Dido wore the night in changing talk, alas! and drank long draughts of love, asking many a thing of Priam, many a thing of Hector; now in what armour the son of the Morning came; now of what fashion were Diomede's horses; now of mighty Achilles. 'Nay, come,' she cries, 'tell to us, O guest, from their first beginning the treachery of the Grecians, thy people's woes, and thine own wanderings; for this is now the seventh summer that bears thee a wanderer over all the earth and sea.'

Love obeys his dear mother’s words, puts aside his wings, and walks joyfully with Iülus’ gait. But Venus pours the gentle dew of sleep over Ascanius’ limbs. She lifts him, sleeping, into her lap and carries him to the tall Idalian groves sacred to her. There soft amaracus surrounds him with the shaded sweetness of its fragrant blossoms. Meanwhile, Cupid obeys her words and goes merrily with Achates as his guide, carrying the royal gifts for the Tyrians. By the time he arrives, the queen is seated in the center on her golden throne beneath splendid tapestries. Now lord Aeneas and the men of Troy gather too, and all recline on purple coverings. Servants pour water over their hands, serve bread from baskets, and bring closely woven napkins. Inside are fifty handmaids, whose duty is to keep the stores supplied and tend the household fire. A hundred others, and as many pages of the same age, load the table with food and arrange the wine cups. The Tyrians also crowd into the spacious banquet hall and take their assigned places on embroidered cushions. They marvel at Aeneas’ gifts and at Iülus. They marvel at the god’s glowing face and his false words, and at the mantle and veil embroidered with yellow acanthus flowers. Above all, the unhappy Phoenician, doomed to disaster, cannot get enough. Stirred by both the boy and the gifts, she gazes at him and burns with love. He hangs on Aeneas’ neck and embraces him, satisfying all the love of the deceived father. Then he makes his way to the queen. The queen clings to him with her eyes and her whole soul, and again and again she holds him in her lap. Poor Dido! She does not know what a mighty god is entering her heart. But Cupid remembers his mother, the Acidalian. Little by little, he begins to erase Sychaeus from her memory. He plants the surprise of a living love in a spirit long undisturbed and a heart no longer used to love. When the noise of the banquet dies down and the table is cleared, they bring out great bowls and crown the wine with garlands. Voices fill the house, echoing through the spacious rooms. Lit lamps hang from golden chains, and blazing candles drive away the night. Now the queen calls for a heavy gold cup set with jewels and fills it with unmixed wine. Belus and all his descendants had used the cup in this way. Then the hall falls silent. “Jupiter,” she cries, “you are said to be the lawgiver of hospitality. Grant that this may be a joyful day for the Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy, a day our children will remember. May Bacchus, the giver of gladness, and generous Juno be with us. And you, Tyrians, look favorably on our gathering.” She speaks and pours a libation on the table. Then she touches the wine lightly with her lips and hands the cup to Bitias, urging him to drink. He bravely drains the foaming cup, flooding himself with the wine from the brimming gold. The other princes follow. Long-haired Iopas fills the room with songs on his gilded lyre, songs taught to him by ancient Atlas. He sings of the wandering moon and the labors of the sun. He sings of the origins of human beings and beasts, of water and fire. He sings of Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, and the twin Oxen. He sings of why winter suns hurry to sink into the ocean, and what delays make the nights drag on. The Tyrians applaud, and the Trojans join them, doubling the applause. Meanwhile, Dido passes the night in conversation, turning from one subject to another. Alas, she drinks deep draughts of love. She asks many things about Priam and many about Hector. She asks what armor the son of the Morning wore, what Diomede’s horses were like, and about mighty Achilles. “Come,” she cries, “tell us, guest, from the very beginning, about the treachery of the Grecians, your people’s troubles, and your own wanderings. This is now the seventh summer that has found you wandering over all the earth and sea.”