The Story of Seven Years of Wandering

'After heaven's lords pleased to overthrow the state of Asia and Priam's guiltless people, and proud Ilium fell, and Neptunian Troy smokes all along the ground, we are driven by divine omens to seek distant places of exile in waste lands. Right under Antandros and the mountains of Phrygian Ida we build a fleet, uncertain whither the fates carry us or where a resting-place is given, and gather the people together. Scarcely had the first summer set in, when lord Anchises bids us spread our sails to fortune, and weeping I leave the shores and havens of my country, and the plains where once was Troy. I sail to sea an exile, with my comrades and son and the gods of household and state.

'After the gods chose to overthrow the kingdom of Asia and Priam's innocent people, proud Ilium fell. Neptune's Troy lay in ruins, smoking across the ground. Divine omens drove us to seek distant places of exile in barren lands. Below Antandros and the mountains of Phrygian Ida, we built a fleet and gathered our people. We did not know where the fates would carry us or where we would find a place to rest. Summer had barely begun when lord Anchises told us to set sail and trust our fortunes. Weeping, I left the shores and harbors of my country and the plains where Troy once stood. I sailed into exile with my comrades, my son, and the gods of our household and state.

'A land of vast plains lies apart, the home of Mavors, in Thracian tillage, and sometime under warrior Lycurgus' reign; friendly of old to Troy, and their gods in alliance while our fortune lasted. Hither I pass, and on the winding shore I lay under thwarting fates the first foundations of a city, and from my own name fashion its name, Aeneadae.

'A land of vast plains lies apart in Thrace, home to Mavors. It was once ruled by the warrior Lycurgus. Thrace had long been friendly to Troy, and their gods were allies while our good fortune lasted. I sail there and, despite the opposition of fate, lay the first foundations of a city on the winding shore. I name it Aeneadae, after myself.

'I was paying sacrifice to my mother, daughter of Dione, and to all the gods, so to favour the work begun, and slew a shining bull on the shore to the high lord of the heavenly people. Haply there lay a mound hard at hand, crowned with cornel thickets and bristling dense with shafts of myrtle. I drew near; and essaying to tear up the green wood from the soil, that I might cover the altar with leafy boughs, I see a portent ominous and wonderful to tell. For from the first tree whose roots are rent away and broken from the ground, drops of black blood trickle, and gore stains the earth. An icy shudder shakes my limbs, and my blood curdles chill with terror. Yet from another I go on again to tear away a tough shoot, fully to fathom its secret; yet from another black blood follows out of the bark. With many searchings of heart I prayed the woodland nymphs, and lord Gradivus, who rules in the Getic fields, to make the sight propitious as was meet and lighten the omen. But when I assail a third spearshaft with a stronger effort, pulling with knees pressed against the sand; shall I speak or be silent? from beneath the mound is heard a pitiable moan, and a voice is uttered to my ears: "Woe's me, why rendest thou me, Aeneas? spare me at last in the tomb, spare pollution to thine innocent hands. Troy bore me; not alien to thee am I, nor this blood that oozes from the stem. Ah, fly the cruel land, fly the greedy shore! For I am Polydorus; here the iron harvest of weapons hath covered my pierced body, and shot up in sharp javelins." Then indeed, borne down with dubious terror, I was motionless, my hair stood up, and the accents faltered on my tongue.

'I was offering sacrifices to my mother, the daughter of Dione, and to all the gods. I wanted them to favor the work we had begun. On the shore, I killed a shining bull as a sacrifice to the high lord of the heavenly gods. As it happened, a mound lay nearby, covered with cornel thickets and dense, spear-like myrtle shoots. I went toward it and tried to pull some green branches from the ground to cover the altar. Then I saw a terrible sign, strange to tell. From the first tree I tore from the ground, drops of black blood trickled, staining the earth. An icy shudder shook my limbs, and my blood ran cold with terror. Yet I went on to tear a tough shoot from another tree, hoping to understand the mystery. Again, black blood flowed from the bark. Deeply troubled, I prayed to the woodland nymphs and to lord Gradivus, who rules in the Getic fields. I asked them to make the sight favorable, as was right, and ease the warning. But when I attacked a third spear-like shoot, pulling harder with my knees pressed against the sand, a pitiful moan came from beneath the mound. Should I speak of it or keep silent? A voice reached my ears: "Alas, why are you tearing at me, Aeneas? Spare me at last in my tomb, and do not stain your innocent hands. Troy gave me birth. I am no stranger to you, nor is this blood that flows from the stem. Ah, flee this cruel land, flee this greedy shore! For I am Polydorus. Here a harvest of iron weapons covered my pierced body and grew into sharp javelins." Then I was overcome by fearful uncertainty and stood motionless. My hair stood on end, and my voice faltered.

'This Polydorus once with great weight of gold had hapless Priam sent in secret to the nurture of the Thracian king, when now he was losing trust in the arms of Dardania, and saw his city leaguered round about. The king, when the Teucrian power was broken and fortune withdrew, following Agamemnon's estate and triumphant arms, severs every bond of duty; murders Polydorus, and lays strong hands on the gold. O accursed hunger of gold, to what dost thou not compel human hearts! When the terror left my senses, I lay the divine tokens before the chosen princes of the people, with my father at their head, and demand their judgment. All are of one mind, to leave the guilty land, and abandoning a polluted home, to let the gales waft our fleets. So we bury Polydorus anew, and the earth is heaped high over his mound; altars are reared to his ghost, sad with dusky chaplets and black cypress; and around are the Ilian women with hair unbound in their fashion. We offer bubbling bowls of warm milk and cups of consecrated blood, and lay the spirit to rest in her tomb, and with loud voice utter the last call.

'Unhappy Priam had once sent Polydorus secretly to the Thracian king to be raised, along with a great weight of gold. Priam was losing faith in the arms of Dardania and saw his city surrounded. But when the Teucrian power was broken and fortune turned against them, the king sided with Agamemnon and his victorious forces. He cast aside every bond of duty, murdered Polydorus, and seized the gold. O cursed hunger for gold, what will you not drive human hearts to do! When my terror subsided, I showed the divine signs to the chosen princes of the people, led by my father. I asked for their judgment. All agreed that we should leave the guilty land and abandon our polluted home. We would let the winds carry our fleet away. So we buried Polydorus again and piled the earth high over his grave. We raised altars to his spirit, made mournful with dark garlands and black cypress. Around them stood the Ilian women, their hair loose as was their custom. We offered bubbling bowls of warm milk and cups of sacred blood. We laid the spirit to rest in her tomb and called out our final farewell.

'Thereupon, so soon as ocean may be trusted, and the winds leave the seas in quiet, and the soft whispering south wind calls seaward, my comrades launch their ships and crowd the shores. We put out from harbour, and lands and towns sink away. There lies in mid sea a holy land, most dear to the mother of the Nereids and Neptune of Aegae, which strayed about coast and strand till the Archer god in his affection chained it fast from high Myconos and Gyaros, and made it lie immoveable and slight the winds. Hither I steer; and it welcomes my weary crew to the quiet shelter of a safe haven. We disembark and worship Apollo's town. Anius the king, king at once of the people and priest of Phoebus, his brows garlanded with fillets and consecrated laurel, comes to meet us; he knows Anchises, his friend of old; we clasp hands in welcome, and enter his palace. I worshipped the god's temple, an ancient pile of stone. "Lord of Thymbra, give us an enduring dwelling-place; grant a house and family to thy weary servants, and a city to abide: keep Troy's second fortress, the remnant left of the Grecians and merciless Achilles. Whom follow we? or whither dost thou bid us go, where fix our seat? Grant an omen, O lord, and inspire our minds."

As soon as the sea is safe, the winds have calmed, and the gentle south wind calls us seaward, my comrades launch their ships and crowd the shore. We sail out of the harbor, and the lands and towns fade from view. In the middle of the sea lies a sacred island, dearly loved by the mother of the Nereids and Neptune of Aegae. It once wandered among the coasts and shores. But the Archer god, who loved the island, anchored it between lofty Myconos and Gyaros. He made it stay in place and defy the winds. I steer there, and the island welcomes my weary crew to the quiet shelter of a safe harbor. We disembark and pay our respects to Apollo's town. Anius comes to meet us. He is both king of the people and priest of Phoebus, and his brow is crowned with sacred ribbons and laurel. He recognizes Anchises, his old friend. We clasp hands in welcome and enter his palace. I worshipped at the god's temple, an ancient stone building. "Lord of Thymbra, give us a lasting home. Grant your weary servants a house and family, and a city where we can stay. Protect Troy's second fortress, and those left after the Grecians and merciless Achilles. Whom should we follow? Where do you command us to go, and where should we settle? Give us a sign, lord, and guide our thoughts."

'Scarcely had I spoken thus; suddenly all seemed to shake, all the courts and laurels of the god, the whole hill to be stirred round about, and the cauldron to moan in the opening sanctuary. We sink low on the ground, and a voice is borne to our ears: "Stubborn race of Dardanus, the same land that bore you by parentage of old shall receive you again on her bountiful breast. Seek out your ancient mother; hence shall the house of Aeneas sway all regions, his children's children and they who shall be born of them." Thus Phoebus; and mingled outcries of great gladness uprose; all ask, what is that city? whither calls Phoebus our wandering, and bids us return? Then my father, unrolling the records of men of old, "Hear, O princes," says he, "and learn your hopes. In mid ocean lies Crete, the island of high Jove, wherein is mount Ida, the cradle of our race. An hundred great towns are inhabited in that opulent realm; from it our forefather Teucer of old, if I recall the tale aright, sailed to the Rhoetean coasts and chose a place for his kingdom. Not yet was Ilium nor the towers of Pergama reared; they dwelt in the valley bottoms. Hence came our Lady, haunter of Cybele, the Corybantic cymbals and the grove of Ida; hence the rites of inviolate secrecy, and the lions yoked under the chariot of their mistress. Up then, and let us follow where divine commandments lead; let us appease the winds, and seek the realm of Gnosus. Nor is it a far journey away. Only be Jupiter favourable, the third day shall bring our fleet to anchor on the Cretan coast." So spoke he, and slew fit sacrifice on the altars, a bull to Neptune, a bull to thee, fair Apollo, a black sheep to Tempest, a white to the prosperous West winds.

I had scarcely finished speaking when everything suddenly seemed to shake. The god's courts and laurels trembled, and the whole hill seemed to move around us. The cauldron moaned inside the opening sanctuary. We sank to the ground, and a voice reached our ears: "Stubborn race of Dardanus, the land that gave birth to your ancestors long ago will welcome you back to her generous breast. Seek out your ancient mother. From there, the house of Aeneas will rule all regions, as will his children's children and their descendants." So spoke Phoebus, and cries of great joy rose from all sides. Everyone asked, what is that city? Where does Phoebus call us wanderers to go, and where does he tell us to return? Then my father recalled the records of ancient times. "Listen, princes," he said, "and learn what you may hope for. Crete lies in the middle of the sea. It is the island of high Jove, and there stands mount Ida, the cradle of our race. A hundred great towns are inhabited in that rich realm. Long ago our ancestor Teucer sailed from Crete to the Rhoetean coasts, if I remember the story correctly. There he chose a place for his kingdom. Ilium and the towers of Pergama had not yet been built. The people lived in the valleys. From Crete came our Lady, who haunts Cybele, the Corybantic cymbals and the grove of Ida. From there came the sacred rites, kept strictly secret, and the lions yoked to their mistress's chariot. Come, then, let us follow where the gods command us to go. Let us calm the winds and seek the realm of Gnosus. It is not a long journey. If only Jupiter favors us, our fleet will anchor on the Cretan coast on the third day." So he spoke, and killed fitting sacrifices on the altars: a bull for Neptune, a bull for you, fair Apollo, a black sheep for Tempest, and a white sheep for the favorable West winds.

'Rumour flies that Idomeneus the captain is driven forth of his father's realm, and the shores of Crete are abandoned, that the houses are void of foes and the dwellings lie empty to our hand. We leave the harbour of Ortygia, and fly along the main, by the revel-trod ridges of Naxos, by green Donusa, Olearos and snow-white Paros, and the sea-strewn Cyclades, threading the racing channels among the crowded lands. The seamen's clamour rises in emulous dissonance; each cheers his comrade: Seek we Crete and our forefathers. A wind rising astern follows us forth on our way, and we glide at last to the ancient Curetean coast. So I set eagerly to work on the walls of my chosen town, and call it Pergamea, and exhort my people, joyful at the name, to cherish their homes and rear the castle buildings. And even now the ships were drawn up on the dry beach; the people were busy in marriages and among their new fields; I was giving statutes and homesteads; when suddenly from a tainted space of sky came, noisome on men's bodies and pitiable on trees and crops, pestilence and a year of death. They left their sweet lives or dragged themselves on in misery; Sirius scorched the fields into barrenness; the herbage grew dry, and the sickly harvest denied sustenance. My father counsels to remeasure the sea and go again to Phoebus in his Ortygian oracle, to pray for grace and ask what issue he ordains to our exhausted state; whence he bids us search for aid to our woes, whither bend our course.

'Rumor has it that Captain Idomeneus has been driven from his father's kingdom. The shores of Crete are deserted, and its houses and dwellings are free of enemies and ready for us to claim. We leave the harbor of Ortygia and sail swiftly across the sea. We pass the ridges of Naxos, where revelers dance, green Donusa, Olearos, and snow-white Paros. We pass the Cyclades scattered across the sea, threading the swift channels between the closely packed islands. The sailors shout in a jumble of competing voices. Each cheers his comrade: Let us seek Crete and the land of our forefathers. A wind rises behind us and carries us onward. At last we glide to the ancient Curetean coast. I eagerly begin building the walls of the town I have chosen and name it Pergamea. My people rejoice at the name, and I urge them to cherish their homes and build the fortress. By now, the ships have been pulled up on the dry beach. The people are busy marrying and working their new fields, while I give them laws and plots of land. Then suddenly, from a diseased patch of sky, a plague brings a year of death. It ravages people's bodies and blights the trees and crops. People lose their sweet lives or drag themselves on in misery. Sirius scorches the fields until they are barren. The grass dries up, and the sickly harvest yields no food. My father advises us to cross the sea again and return to Phoebus at his oracle on Ortygia. We must pray for his favor and ask what end he ordains for our exhausted people. We must ask where he tells us to seek help for our troubles and where to steer our course.

'Night fell, and sleep held all things living on the earth. The sacred images of the gods and the household deities of Phrygia, that I had borne with me from Troy out of the midst of the burning city, seemed to stand before mine eyes as I lay sleepless, clear in the broad light where the full moon poured through the latticed windows; then thus addressed me, and with this speech allayed my distresses: "What Apollo hath to tell thee when thou dost reach Ortygia, he utters here, and sends us unsought to thy threshold. We who followed thee and thine arms when Dardania went down in fire; we who under thee have traversed on shipboard the swelling sea; we in like wise will exalt to heaven thy children to be, and give empire to their city. Do thou prepare a mighty town for a mighty people, nor draw back from the long wearisome chase. Thou must change thy dwelling. Not to these shores did the god at Delos counsel thee, or Apollo bid thee find rest in Crete. There is a region Greeks name Hesperia, an ancient land, mighty in arms and foison of the clod; Oenotrian men dwell therein; now rumour is that a younger race have called it Italy after their captain's name. This is our true dwelling place; hence is Dardanus sprung, and lord Iasius, the first source of our race. Up, arise, and tell with good cheer to thine aged parent this plain tale, to seek Corythus and the lands of Ausonia. Jupiter denies thee the Dictaean fields."

Night fell, and sleep held all living things on earth. I lay sleepless as the full moon poured through the latticed windows. In its broad light, the sacred images of the gods and the household deities of Phrygia seemed to stand clearly before me. I had carried them from Troy, out of the burning city. Then they spoke to me and eased my distress: "What Apollo has to tell you when you reach Ortygia, he tells you here. He sends us to your door, though you did not ask for us. We followed you and your arms when Dardania fell in flames. Under your command, we crossed the swelling sea aboard your ships. In the same way, we will raise your future children to heaven and give their city an empire. Prepare a mighty city for a mighty people. Do not turn back from your long, weary search. "You must find a new home. The god at Delos did not direct you to these shores, nor did Apollo tell you to settle in Crete. There is a region the Greeks call Hesperia, an ancient land, mighty in arms and rich in fertile soil. Oenotrian men live there. Now people say that a younger race has named it Italy after their leader. This is our true home. Dardanus and lord Iasius came from there, the first ancestors of our race. Rise, and tell your aged father this clear message with good cheer: seek Corythus and the lands of Ausonia. Jupiter denies you the Dictaean fields."

'Astonished at this vision and divine utterance (nor was that slumber; but openly I seemed to know their countenances, their veiled hair and gracious faces, and therewith a cold sweat broke out all over me) I spring from my bed and raise my voice and upturned hands skyward and pay pure offering on the hearth. The sacrifice done, I joyfully tell Anchises, and relate all in order. He recognises the double descent and twofold parentage, and the later wanderings that had deceived him among ancient lands. Then he speaks: "O son, hard wrought by the destinies of Ilium, Cassandra only foretold me this fortune. Now I recall how she prophesied this was fated to our race, and often cried of Hesperia, often of an Italian realm. But who was to believe that Teucrians should come to Hesperian shores? or whom might Cassandra then move by prophecy? Yield we to Phoebus, and follow the better way he counsels." So says he, and we all rejoicingly obey his speech. This dwelling likewise we abandon; and leaving some few behind, spread our sails and run over the waste sea in our hollow wood.

Astonished by this vision and divine message, I sprang from my bed. (I had not been asleep. I seemed to see their features, their veiled hair and their gracious faces clearly, and a cold sweat broke out all over me.) I raised my voice and my hands toward the sky and made a pure offering on the hearth. When the sacrifice was done, I joyfully told Anchises everything in order. He recognized our double descent and twofold ancestry. He also understood how the later wanderings had misled him about the ancient lands. Then he said: "O son, so cruelly tested by the fate of Ilium, only Cassandra foretold this fortune to me. Now I remember how she prophesied that this was destined for our race. She often spoke of Hesperia and often of a kingdom in Italy. But who would have believed that Teucrians would reach Hesperia's shores? Or whom could Cassandra have persuaded with her prophecy then? Let us obey Phoebus and follow the better course he advises." So he spoke, and we all joyfully obeyed him. We left this home too, leaving a few people behind. Then we spread our sails and crossed the vast sea in our hollow wooden ships.

'After our ships held the high seas, nor any land yet appears, the sky all round us and all round us the deep, a dusky shower drew up overhead carrying night and tempest, and the wave shuddered and gloomed. Straightway the winds upturn the main, and great seas rise; we are tossed asunder over the dreary gulf. Stormclouds enwrap the day, and rainy gloom blots out the sky; out of the clouds bursts fire fast upon fire. Driven from our course, we go wandering on the blind waves. Palinurus himself professes he cannot tell day from night on the sky, nor remember the way amid the waters. Three dubious days of blind darkness we wander on the deep, as many nights without a star. Not till the fourth day was land at last seen to rise, discovering distant hills and sending up wreaths of smoke. The sails drop; we swing back to the oars; without delay the sailors strongly toss up the foam, and sweep through the green water. The shores of the Strophades first receive me thus won from the waves, Strophades the Greek name they bear, islands lying in the great Ionian sea, which boding Celaeno and the other Harpies inhabit since Phineus' house was shut on them, and they fled in terror from the board of old. Than these no deadlier portent nor any fiercer plague of divine wrath hath issued from the Stygian waters; winged things with maidens' countenance, bellies dropping filth, and clawed hands and faces ever wan with hunger. . . .

'Once our ships reached the open sea, no land was yet in sight. Sky and deep water surrounded us on every side. A dark raincloud gathered overhead, bringing night and a storm. The waves shuddered and darkened. At once the winds churned the sea, and great waves rose. We were scattered across the bleak waters. Storm clouds enveloped the day, and rainy darkness blotted out the sky. Flash after flash of lightning burst from the clouds. Driven off course, we wandered over the sightless waves. Even Palinurus admitted he could not tell day from night by the sky. Nor could he find his way across the waters. For three uncertain days we wandered the sea in utter darkness, and for three nights without a star. Only on the fourth day did land finally rise into view. Distant hills appeared, with wreaths of smoke rising from them. We lowered the sails and turned to the oars. Without delay, the sailors churned up foam with powerful strokes and swept through the green water. The shores of the Strophades were the first to welcome me after I escaped the waves. The Strophades, as the Greeks call them, are islands in the great Ionian sea. There live the ominous Celaeno and the other Harpies. They have lived there since Phineus' house was closed to them and they fled in terror from his table long ago. No deadlier creature or fiercer plague of divine anger has ever come from the Stygian waters. They are winged creatures with the faces of young women, bellies dripping filth, clawed hands, and faces always pale with hunger. . . .

'When borne hitherward we enter the haven, lo! we see goodly herds of oxen scattered on the plains, and goats flocking untended over the grass. We attack them with the sword, and call the gods and Jove himself to share our spoil. Then we build seats on the winding shore and banquet on the dainty food. But suddenly the Harpies are upon us, swooping awfully from the mountains, and shaking their wings with loud clangour, plunder the feast, and defile everything with unclean touch, spreading a foul smell, and uttering dreadful cries. Again, in a deep recess under a caverned rock, shut in with waving shadows of woodland, we array the board and renew the altar fires; again, from their blind ambush in diverse quarters of the sky, the noisy crowd flutter with clawed feet around their prey, defiling the feast with their lips. Then I bid my comrades take up arms, and proclaim war on the accursed race. Even as I bade they do, range their swords in cover among the grass, and hide their shields out of sight. So when they swooped clamorously down along the winding shore, Misenus from his watch-tower on high signals on the hollow brass; my comrades rush in and essay the strange battle, to set the stain of steel on the winged horrors of the sea. But they take no violence on their plumage, nor wounds on their bodies; and soaring into the firmament with rapid flight, leave their foul traces on the spoil they had half consumed. Celaeno alone, prophetess of ill, alights on a towering cliff, and thus breaks forth in deep accents:

'When we reach the harbor, we see fine herds of cattle scattered across the plains. Goats graze unattended on the grass. We attack them with our swords and call on the gods, and Jove himself, to share our spoils. Then we make seats on the curving shore and feast on the delicious food. But suddenly the Harpies swoop down on us from the mountains. They shake their wings with a terrible clamor, plunder the feast, and defile everything with their filthy touch. They spread a foul smell and utter dreadful cries. Once more, we lay out the feast and relight the altar fires. This time we are in a deep recess under a hollowed rock, enclosed by the shifting shadows of the woods. Again, the noisy flock swoops from hidden ambushes in different parts of the sky. They flutter around their prey on clawed feet, defiling the feast with their lips. Then I order my comrades to take up arms and declare war on the accursed race. They do as I command, placing their swords under cover in the grass and hiding their shields from sight. When the Harpies swoop noisily down along the curving shore, Misenus sounds his hollow brass horn from his high lookout. My comrades rush in and attempt a strange battle, trying to strike the winged horrors of the sea with steel. But their blows cannot harm the Harpies' feathers or wound their bodies. The Harpies soar swiftly into the sky, leaving their foul traces on the food they have half eaten. Only Celaeno, a prophetess of evil, lands on a towering cliff. Then she speaks in a deep voice:

'"War is it for your slaughtered oxen and steers cut down, O children of Laomedon, war is it you would declare, and drive the guiltless Harpies from their ancestral kingdom? Take then to heart and fix fast these words of mine; which the Lord omnipotent foretold to Phoebus, Phoebus Apollo to me, I eldest born of the Furies reveal to you. Italy is your goal; wooing the winds you shall go to Italy, and enter her harbours unhindered. Yet shall you not wall round your ordained city, ere this murderous outrage on us compel you, in portentous hunger, to eat your tables with gnawing teeth."

'"Will you declare war over your slaughtered oxen and steers, children of Laomedon? Will you drive the innocent Harpies from their ancestral kingdom? Then take my words to heart and remember them. The Lord omnipotent foretold them to Phoebus, and Phoebus Apollo told them to me. I, the eldest of the Furies, reveal them to you. Italy is your goal. You will seek favorable winds, sail to Italy, and enter its harbors unhindered. But you will not build walls around your destined city until you suffer a terrible hunger for your murderous attack on us. That hunger will force you to gnaw and eat your tables."

'She spoke, and winged her way back to the shelter of the wood. But my comrades' blood froze chill with sudden affright; their spirits fell; and no longer with arms, nay with vows and prayers they bid me entreat favour, whether these be goddesses, or winged things ill-ominous and foul. And lord Anchises from the beach calls with outspread hands on the mighty gods, ordering fit sacrifices: "Gods, avert their menaces! Gods, turn this woe away, and graciously save the righteous!" Then he bids pluck the cable from the shore and shake loose the sheets. Southern winds stretch the sails; we scud over the foam-flecked waters, whither wind and pilot called our course. Now wooded Zacynthos appears amid the waves, and Dulichium and Same and Neritos' sheer rocks. We fly past the cliffs of Ithaca, Laërtes' realm, and curse the land, fostress of cruel Ulysses. Soon too Mount Leucata's cloudy peaks are sighted, and Apollo dreaded of sailors. Hither we steer wearily, and stand in to the little town. The anchor is cast from the prow; the sterns are grounded on the beach.

She spoke and flew back to the shelter of the woods. But my comrades’ blood ran cold with sudden fear, and their courage failed. They no longer urged me to fight, but to seek favor through vows and prayers. They did not know whether these creatures were goddesses or foul, winged signs of evil. On the beach, lord Anchises stretched out his hands and called on the mighty gods. He ordered fitting sacrifices and cried: "Gods, turn aside their threats! Gods, turn this disaster away and graciously save the righteous!" Then he ordered us to cast off the cable and loosen the sails. Southern winds filled the sails, and we sped over the foaming water, following the wind and our pilot. Soon wooded Zacynthos appeared among the waves, along with Dulichium, Same, and the sheer rocks of Neritos. We sailed swiftly past the cliffs of Ithaca, Laërtes’ realm, and cursed the land that had raised cruel Ulysses. Soon we also saw the cloud-covered peaks of Mount Leucata and Apollo, whom sailors fear. Weary, we steered toward the little town there. We dropped anchor from the bow and beached the sterns.

'So at last having attained to land beyond our hopes, we purify ourselves in Jove's worship, and kindle altars of offering, and make the Actian shore gay with the games of Ilium. My comrades strip, and, slippery with oil, exercise their ancestral contests; glad to have got past so many Argive towns, and held on their flight through the encircling foe. Meanwhile the sun rounds the great circle of the year, and icy winter ruffles the waters with Northern gales. I fix against the doorway a hollow shield of brass, that tall Abas had borne, and mark the story with a verse: These arms Aeneas from the conquering Greeks. Then I bid leave the harbour and sit down at the thwarts; emulously my comrades strike the water, and sweep through the seas. Soon we see the cloud-capped Phaeacian towers sink away, skirt the shores of Epirus, and enter the Chaonian haven and approach high Buthrotum town.

'At last, beyond all hope, we reached land. We purified ourselves in worship of Jove and lit sacrificial fires on the altars. We made the Actian shore festive with the games of Ilium. My comrades stripped, rubbed themselves with oil, and competed in the contests of their ancestors. They were glad to have passed so many Argive towns and continued their flight through the enemies surrounding them. Meanwhile, a full year passed, and northern gales stirred the waters in the icy winter. I fixed a hollow brass shield to the doorway. Tall Abas had carried it, and I marked its story with a verse: These arms Aeneas took from the conquering Greeks. Then I ordered my comrades to leave the harbor and take their seats at the oars. Eager to outdo one another, they struck the water and swept through the seas. Soon we saw the cloud-capped Phaeacian towers disappear behind us. We sailed along the shores of Epirus, entered the Chaonian harbor, and approached the town of high Buthrotum.

'Here the rumour of a story beyond belief comes on our ears; Helenus son of Priam is reigning over Greek towns, master of the bride and sceptre of Pyrrhus the Aeacid; and Andromache hath again fallen to a husband of her people. I stood amazed; and my heart kindled with marvellous desire to accost him and learn of so strange a fortune. I advance from the harbour, leaving the fleet ashore; just when haply Andromache, in a grove before the town, by the waters of a feigned Simoïs, was pouring libation to the dust, and calling Hector's ghost to a tomb with his name, on an empty turfed green with two altars that she had consecrated, a wellspring of tears. When she caught sight of me coming, and saw distractedly the encircling arms of Troy, terror-stricken at the vision marvellously shewn, her gaze fixed, and the heat left her frame. She swoons away, and hardly at last speaks after long interval: "Comest thou then a real face, a real messenger to me, goddess-born? livest thou? or if sweet light is fled, ah, where is Hector?" She spoke, and bursting into tears filled all the place with her crying. Just a few words I force up, and deeply moved gasp out in broken accents: "I live indeed, I live on through all extremities; doubt not, for real are the forms thou seest . . . Alas! after such an husband, what fate receives thy fall? or what worthier fortune revisits thee? Dost thou, Hector's Andromache, keep bonds of marriage with Pyrrhus?" She cast down her countenance, and spoke with lowered voice:

Here we heard a story that seemed impossible to believe. Helenus, son of Priam, was ruling over Greek towns. He had the bride and scepter of Pyrrhus the Aeacid, and Andromache had married a man of her own people again. I was astonished, and my heart burned with a great desire to speak to him and learn about this strange turn of fortune. I left the fleet at the shore and made my way from the harbor. By chance, Andromache was in a grove outside the town, beside the waters of an imitation Simoïs. She was pouring an offering to the dead and calling on Hector's ghost. She stood before an empty, grass-covered tomb bearing his name, with two altars she had dedicated there. It was a place where her tears flowed freely. When she saw me approaching, she was overwhelmed at the sight of the Trojan arms around me. Terrified by the astonishing sight, she stared, and the warmth left her body. She fainted, and only after a long time could she speak. "Are you really here before me, a real messenger, goddess-born? Are you alive? Or, if the sweet light of life has left you, ah, where is Hector?" She spoke, then burst into tears and filled the whole place with her cries. Deeply moved, I managed to gasp out only a few broken words: "I am alive indeed. I have lived through every hardship. Do not doubt it, for what you see is real . . . Alas! After losing such a husband, what fate has befallen you? Or has some better fortune come to you again? Are you, Hector's Andromache, married to Pyrrhus?" She lowered her face and spoke in a quiet voice:

'"O single in happy eminence that maiden daughter of Priam, sentenced to die under high Troy town at an enemy's grave, who never bore the shame of the lot, nor came a captive to her victorious master's bed! We, sailing over alien seas from our burning land, have endured the haughty youthful pride of Achilles' seed, and borne children in slavery: he thereafter, wooing Leda's Hermione and a Lacedaemonian marriage, passed me over to Helenus' keeping, a bondwoman to a bondman. But him Orestes, aflame with passionate desire for his stolen bride, and driven by the furies of crime, catches unguarded and murders at his ancestral altars. At Neoptolemus' death a share of his realm fell to Helenus' hands, who named the plains Chaonian, and called all the land Chaonia after Chaon of Troy, and built withal a Pergama and this Ilian citadel on the hills. But to thee how did winds, how fates give passage? or whose divinity landed thee all unwitting on our coasts? what of the boy Ascanius? lives he yet, and draws breath, thy darling, whom Troy's . . . Yet hath the child affection for his lost mother? is he roused to the valour of old and the spirit of manhood by his father Aeneas, by his uncle Hector?"

'"How fortunate above all others was that young daughter of Priam, sentenced to die beneath the walls of Troy at an enemy's grave! She never suffered the shame of being awarded by lot to a victor. She never came as a captive to her master's bed! But we sailed across foreign seas from our burning land. We endured the arrogant pride of Achilles' young son and bore children in slavery. Later, he sought to marry Leda's Hermione, a Lacedaemonian bride. He handed me over to Helenus, a bondwoman given to a bondman. But Orestes burned with desire for his stolen bride and was driven by the furies of his crime. He caught Neoptolemus off guard and murdered him at the altars of his ancestors. When Neoptolemus died, part of his kingdom passed to Helenus. He named the plains Chaonian and called the whole land Chaonia after Chaon of Troy. He also built a Pergama and this Ilian citadel on the hills. But how did the winds and the fates bring you here? Or what god brought you to our shores without your knowing? What of the boy Ascanius? Is he still alive and breathing, your darling, whom Troy's . . . Does the child still love his lost mother? Do his father Aeneas and his uncle Hector inspire him to the courage of old and the spirit of manhood?"

'Such words she poured forth weeping, and prolonged the vain wail; when the hero Helenus son of Priam approaches from the town with a great company, knows us for his kin, and leads us joyfully to his gates, shedding a many tears at every word. I advance and recognise a little Troy, and a copy of the great Pergama, and a dry brook with the name of Xanthus, and clasp a Scaean gateway. Therewithal my Teucrians make holiday in the friendly town. The king entertained them in his spacious colonnades; in the central hall they poured goblets of wine in libation, and held the cups while the feast was served on gold.

'She spoke these words through tears and went on with her helpless lament. Then the hero Helenus, son of Priam, came from the town with a large company. He recognized us as his kin and joyfully led us to his gates, shedding many tears as he spoke. I went forward and recognized a little Troy, a copy of the great Pergama, and a dry stream called Xanthus. I embraced a Scaean gateway. Meanwhile, my Teucrians celebrated in the friendly town. The king entertained them in his spacious colonnades. In the central hall, they poured out cups of wine as offerings and held their cups as the feast was served on gold.

'And now a day and another day hath sped; the breezes woo our sails, and the canvas blows out to the swelling south. With these words I accost the prophet, and thus make request:

'Now one day has passed, and then another. Breezes beckon our sails, and the canvas billows in the rising south wind. I approach the prophet and make this request:

'"Son of Troy, interpreter of the gods, whose sense is open to Phoebus' influences, his tripods and laurels, to stars and tongues of birds and auguries of prosperous flight, tell me now,—for the voice of revelation was all favourable to my course, and all divine influence counselled me to seek Italy and explore remote lands; only Celaeno the Harpy prophesies of strange portents, a horror to tell, and cries out of wrath and bale and foul hunger,—what perils are the first to shun? or in what guidance may I overcome these sore labours?"

'"Son of Troy, interpreter of the gods, you understand the signs sent by Phoebus. You read his tripods and laurels, the stars, the voices of birds, and the omens of favorable flights. Tell me now, what dangers must I avoid first? How may I be guided through these terrible trials? For every revelation favored my course, and all divine signs urged me to seek Italy and explore distant lands. Only Celaeno the Harpy foretells strange omens, too horrible to describe. She cries out about divine anger, misery, and dreadful hunger."

'Hereat Helenus, first suing for divine favour with fit sacrifice of steers, and unbinding from his head the chaplets of consecration, leads me in his hand to thy courts, O Phoebus, thrilled with the fulness of the deity, and then utters these prophetic words from his augural lips:

'Then Helenus sacrificed steers to seek the gods' favor and removed the sacred garlands from his head. He took me by the hand and led me to your courts, O Phoebus. Filled with the god's presence, he spoke these prophetic words:

'"Goddess-born: since there is clear assurance that under high omens thou dost voyage through the deep; so the king of the gods allots destiny and unfolds change; this is the circle of ordinance; a few things out of many I will unfold to thee in speech, that so thou mayest more safely traverse the seas of thy sojourn, and find rest in the Ausonian haven; for Helenus is forbidden by the destinies to know, and by Juno daughter of Saturn to utter more: first of all, the Italy thou deemest now nigh, and close at hand, unwitting! the harbours thou wouldst enter, far are they sundered by a long and trackless track through length of lands. First must the Trinacrian wave clog thine oar, and thy ships traverse the salt Ausonian plain, by the infernal pools and Aeaean Circe's isle, ere thou mayest build thy city in safety on a peaceful land. I will tell thee the token, and do thou keep it close in thine heart. When in thy perplexity, beside the wave of a sequestered river, a great sow shall be discovered lying under the oaks on the brink, with her newborn litter of thirty, couched white on the ground, her white brood about her teats; that shall be the place of the city, that the appointed rest from thy toils. Neither shrink thou at the gnawn tables that await thee; the fates will find a way, and Apollo aid thy call. These lands moreover, on this nearest border of the Italian shore that our own sea's tide washes, flee thou: evil Greeks dwell in all their towns. Here the Locrians of Narycos have set their city, and here Lyctian Idomeneus beset the Sallentine plains with soldiery; here is the town of the Meliboean captain, Philoctetes' little Petelia fenced by her wall. Nay, when thy fleets have crossed overseas and lie at anchor, when now thou rearest altars and payest vows on the beach, veil thine hair with a purple garment for covering, that no hostile face at thy divine worship may meet thee amid the holy fires and make void the omens. This fashion of sacrifice keep thou, thyself and thy comrades, and let thy children abide in this pure observance. But when at thy departure the wind hath borne thee to the Sicilian coast, and the barred straits of Pelorus open out, steer for the left-hand country and the long circuit of the seas on the left hand; shun the shore and water on thy right. These lands, they say, of old broke asunder, torn and upheaved by vast force, when either country was one and undivided; the ocean burst in between, cutting off with its waves the Hesperian from the Sicilian coast, and with narrow tide washes tilth and town along the severance of shore. On the right Scylla keeps guard, on the left unassuaged Charybdis, who thrice swallows the vast flood sheer down her swirling gulf, and ever again hurls it upward, lashing the sky with water. But Scylla lies prisoned in her cavern's blind recesses, thrusting forth her mouth and drawing ships upon the rocks. In front her face is human, and her breast fair as a maiden's to the waist down; behind she is a sea-dragon of monstrous frame, with dolphins' tails joined on her wolf-girt belly. Better to track the goal of Trinacrian Pachynus, lingering and wheeling round through long spaces, than once catch sight of misshapen Scylla deep in her dreary cavern, and of the rocks that ring to her sea-coloured hounds. Moreover, if Helenus hath aught of foresight or his prophecy of assurance, if Apollo fills his spirit with the truth, this one thing, goddess-born, one thing for all will I foretell thee, and again and again repeat my counsel: to great Juno's deity be thy first prayer and worship; to Juno utter thy willing vows, and overcome thy mighty mistress with gifts and supplications; so at last thou shalt leave Trinacria behind, and be sped in triumph to the Italian borders. When borne hither thou drawest nigh the Cymaean city, the haunted lakes and rustling woods of Avernus, thou shalt behold the raving prophetess who deep in the rock chants of fate, and marks down her words on leaves. What verses she writes down on them, the maiden sorts into order and shuts behind her in the cave; they stay in their places unstirred and quit not their rank. But when at the turn of the hinge the light wind from the doorway stirs them, and disarranges the delicate foliage, never after does she trouble to capture them as they flutter about the hollow rock, nor restore their places or join the verses; men depart without counsel, and hate the Sibyl's dwelling. Here let no waste in delay be of such account to thee (though thy company chide, and the passage call thy sails strongly to the deep, and thou mayest fill out their folds to thy desire) that thou do not approach the prophetess, and plead with prayers that she herself utter her oracles and deign to loose the accents from her lips. The nations of Italy and the wars to come, and the fashion whereby every toil may be avoided or endured, she shall unfold to thee, and grant her worshipper prosperous passage. Thus far is our voice allowed to counsel thee: go thy way, and exalt Troy to heaven by thy deeds."

'"Son of a goddess, it is clear that you sail the deep under favorable omens. So the king of the gods assigns our destinies and brings about change. This is how fate works. I will tell you a few things out of many, so you may travel more safely over the seas of your wanderings and find rest in the Ausonian harbor. For the destinies forbid Helenus to know more, and Juno, daughter of Saturn, forbids him to say more. First of all, you think Italy is near, but you do not know how far away it is. A long, trackless journey across many lands separates you from the harbors you seek. First you must row through the Trinacrian waters, which will slow your oars. Your ships must cross the salt Ausonian plain and pass the infernal pools and the island of Aeaean Circe. Only then can you safely build your city in a peaceful land. I will tell you the sign. Keep it close in your heart. In your uncertainty, you will find a great sow lying beneath the oaks beside a secluded river. She will be white, lying on the ground with thirty newborn white piglets at her teats. That will be the place for your city, the rest from your labors that fate has appointed. Do not fear the tables you are destined to gnaw. The fates will find a way, and Apollo will help when you call on him. Also, avoid the lands on this nearest edge of the Italian coast, washed by the sea we share. Evil Greeks live in all their towns. Here the Locrians of Narycos have built their city. Here Lyctian Idomeneus has filled the Sallentine plains with soldiers. Here stands little Petelia, the walled town of the Meliboean captain Philoctetes. And when your fleet has crossed the sea and lies at anchor, you will raise altars and fulfill your vows on the shore. Then cover your hair with a purple garment. Do this so that no hostile face meets your eyes among the sacred fires and makes the omens void. You and your companions must follow this custom of sacrifice, and your children must keep this sacred practice. When you leave and the wind carries you to the Sicilian coast, the straits barred by Pelorus will open before you. Steer toward the land on your left and take the long route around the seas to the left. Avoid the shore and water on your right. They say these lands were once joined. Long ago, a mighty force tore them apart and heaved them up. The ocean burst between them, cutting the Hesperian coast off from the Sicilian coast. Its narrow channel washes the fields and towns along the separated shores. Scylla guards the right side, and restless Charybdis the left. Three times she swallows the vast flood deep into her swirling gulf. Then, each time, she hurls it upward again, striking the sky with water. But Scylla lies hidden deep in her dark cave, thrusting out her mouth and dragging ships onto the rocks. Her face is human, and down to her waist her body is as beautiful as a maiden's. Behind, she is a monstrous sea-dragon, with dolphins' tails joined to her belly, which is ringed with wolves. It is better to take the long way around Trinacrian Pachynus, however slowly, than to see misshapen Scylla even once. She lurks deep in her gloomy cave, among rocks that echo with the cries of her sea-colored hounds. Moreover, if Helenus has any foresight, if his prophecy is reliable, and if Apollo fills his spirit with truth, I will foretell one thing above all, son of a goddess. I will repeat this counsel again and again: give your first prayers and worship to great Juno. Make your vows willingly to Juno, and win over your mighty mistress with gifts and prayers. Then at last you will leave Trinacria behind and travel in triumph to the borders of Italy. When you arrive there, you will approach the Cymaean city, the haunted lakes, and the rustling woods of Avernus. You will see the frenzied prophetess. Deep in the rock, she chants of fate and writes her words on leaves. The maiden puts the verses she writes in order and shuts them away in the cave. The leaves stay undisturbed in their places and do not leave their order. But when the door swings open, a light wind from the entrance stirs the leaves and scatters them. She never bothers to catch them as they flutter around the hollow rock. Nor does she put them back in order or join the verses together. People leave without counsel and come to hate the Sibyl's dwelling. Do not let the cost of delay stop you from approaching the prophetess. Go to her even if your companions complain, the sea strongly calls your sails onward, and you can fill them with wind as you wish. Pray that she herself will speak her prophecies and consent to utter the words aloud. She will tell you about the peoples of Italy and the wars to come. She will explain how you may avoid or endure every hardship, and grant you, her worshipper, a prosperous journey. This is all I am allowed to tell you. Go on your way, and raise Troy to heaven by your deeds."

'This the seer uttered with friendly lips; then orders gifts to be carried to my ships, of heavy gold and sawn ivory, and loads the hulls with massy silver and cauldrons of Dodona, a mail coat triple-woven with hooks of gold, and a helmet splendid with spike and tressed plumes, the armour of Neoptolemus. My father too hath his gifts. Horses besides he brings, and grooms . . . fills up the tale of our oarsmen, and equips my crews with arms.

'The seer spoke these words kindly. Then he ordered gifts of heavy gold and carved ivory to be carried to my ships. He loaded the hulls with heavy silver and cauldrons from Dodona. He also gave me Neoptolemus's armor: a coat of mail triple-woven with gold hooks and a splendid helmet with a spike and flowing plumes. My father received gifts too. The seer also brought horses and grooms . . . He made up the full number of our oarsmen and equipped my crews with weapons.

'Meanwhile Anchises bade the fleet set their sails, that the fair wind might meet no delay. Him Phoebus' interpreter accosts with high courtesy: "Anchises, honoured with the splendour of Venus' espousal, the gods' charge, twice rescued from the fallen towers of Troy, lo! the land of Ausonia is before thee: sail thou and seize it. And yet needs must thou float past it on the sea; far away lies the quarter of Ausonia that is revealed of Apollo. Go," he continues, "happy in thy son's affection: why do I run on further, and delay the rising winds in talk?" Andromache too, sad at this last parting, brings figured raiment with woof of gold, and a Phrygian scarf for Ascanius, and wearies not in courtesy, loading him with gifts from the loom. "Take these too," so says she, "my child, to be memorials to thee of my hands, and testify long hence the love of Andromache wife of Hector. Take these last gifts of thy kinsfolk, O sole surviving likeness to me of my own Astyanax! Such was he, in eyes and hands and features; and now his equal age were growing into manhood like thine."

Meanwhile, Anchises ordered the fleet to set sail, so they would not miss the favorable wind. Phoebus' interpreter addressed him with great courtesy: "Anchises, honored by your marriage to Venus and entrusted to the gods' care, you have twice been rescued from Troy's fallen towers. Look, the land of Ausonia lies before you. Sail there and claim it. Yet you must sail past it. The part of Ausonia revealed by Apollo lies far away. Go," he continued, "happy in your son's love. Why should I say more and delay you with talk as the winds rise?" Andromache, too, was sad at this final parting. She brought Ascanius embroidered clothes woven with gold, and a Phrygian scarf. Never tiring of showing her kindness, she loaded him with gifts she had woven. "Take these too, my child," she said. "Let them remind you of my hands and bear witness, long from now, to the love of Andromache, Hector's wife. Take these last gifts from your family. You alone remain to remind me of my own Astyanax! Your eyes, hands, and features are just like his. And now he would be growing into manhood, just as you are."

'To them as I departed I spoke with starting tears: "Live happily, as they do whose fortunes are perfected! We are summoned ever from fate to fate. For you there is rest in store, and no ocean floor to furrow, no ever-retreating Ausonian fields to pursue. You see a pictured Xanthus, and a Troy your own hands have built; with better omens, I pray, and to be less open to the Greeks. If ever I enter Tiber and Tiber's bordering fields, and see a city granted to my nation, then of these kindred towns and allied peoples in Epirus and Hesperia, which have the same Dardanus for founder, and whose story is one, of both will our hearts make a single Troy. Let that charge await our posterity."

As I left them, I spoke with tears in my eyes: "Live happily, as those do whose fortunes are secure! We are called from one fate to another. Rest awaits you. You need not plow the sea or pursue the ever-receding fields of Ausonia. You see a likeness of Xanthus and a Troy built by your own hands. I pray that this Troy has better omens and is less exposed to the Greeks. If I ever reach Tiber and the fields along its banks, and see a city granted to my nation, our hearts will make one Troy of these kindred cities and allied peoples in Epirus and Hesperia. They share Dardanus as their founder, and their story is one. Let that task await our descendants."

'We put out to sea, keeping the Ceraunian mountains close at hand, whence is the shortest passage and seaway to Italy. The sun sets meanwhile, and the dusky hills grow dim. We choose a place, and fling ourselves on the lap of earth at the water's edge, and, allotting the oars, spread ourselves on the dry beach for refreshment: the dew of slumber falls on our weary limbs. Not yet had Night driven of the Hours climbed her mid arch; Palinurus rises lightly from his couch, explores all the winds, and listens to catch a breeze; he marks the constellations gliding together through the silent sky, Arcturus, the rainy Hyades and the twin Oxen, and scans Orion in his armour of gold. When he sees the clear sky quite unbroken, he gives from the stern his shrill signal; we disencamp and explore the way, and spread the wings of our sails. And now reddening Dawn had chased away the stars, when we descry afar dim hills and the low line of Italy. Achates first raises the cry of Italy; and with joyous shouts my comrades salute Italy. Then lord Anchises enwreathed a great bowl and filled it up with wine; and called on the gods, standing high astern . . . "Gods sovereign over sea and land and weather! bring wind to ease our way, and breathe favourably." The breezes freshen at his prayer, and now the harbour opens out nearer at hand, and a temple appears on the Fort of Minerva. My comrades furl the sails and swing the prows to shore. The harbour is scooped into an arch by the Eastern flood; reefs run out and foam with the salt spray; itself it lies concealed; turreted walls of rock let down their arms on either hand, and the temple retreats from the beach. Here, an inaugural sight, four horses of snowy whiteness are grazing abroad on the grassy plain. And lord Anchises: "War dost thou carry, land of our sojourn; horses are armed in war, and menace of war is in this herd. But yet these same beasts are wont in time to enter harness, and carry yoke and bit in concord; there is hope of peace too," says he. Then we pray to the holy deity, Pallas of the clangorous arms, the first to welcome our cheers. And before the altars we veil our heads in Phrygian garments, and duly, after the counsel Helenus had urged deepest on us, pay the bidden burnt-sacrifice to Juno of Argos.

'We put out to sea, staying close to the Ceraunian mountains. From there, the sea crossing to Italy is shortest. Meanwhile, the sun sets and the shadowy hills grow dim. We choose a place at the water's edge and throw ourselves down on the earth. After assigning the oars, we spread out on the dry beach to rest. Sleep falls like dew on our weary limbs. Night, driven by the Hours, has not yet reached the middle of her course when Palinurus rises quietly from his bed. He checks all the winds and listens for a breeze. He watches the constellations glide together through the silent sky: Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, and the twin Oxen. He also studies Orion in his golden armor. When he sees that the sky is completely clear, he gives a shrill signal from the stern. We break camp, search out the way, and spread our sails like wings. Now the reddening Dawn has chased away the stars. In the distance, we see dim hills and the low coastline of Italy. Achates is the first to cry out, "Italy!" My comrades greet Italy with joyful shouts. Then lord Anchises places a wreath around a great bowl and fills it with wine. Standing high on the stern, he calls on the gods . . . "Gods who rule sea, land, and weather! Send winds to ease our journey, and breathe favorably on us." At his prayer, the breezes grow stronger. The harbor opens up closer before us, and a temple appears on the Fort of Minerva. My comrades furl the sails and turn the prows toward shore. The eastern sea has carved the harbor into a curve. Reefs stretch out from it, foaming with salt spray. The harbor itself lies hidden. Towering walls of rock extend their arms on either side, and the temple stands back from the beach. Here, the first sight we see is four snow-white horses grazing freely on the grassy plain. Lord Anchises says, "You bring war, land where we have come to stay. Horses are armed for war, and this herd threatens war. But these same animals also learn to wear harness and share the yoke and bit peacefully. There is hope of peace too." Then we pray to the holy goddess Pallas, whose arms clash in battle. She is the first to welcome our cheers. Before the altars, we cover our heads with Phrygian garments. Then we offer the prescribed burnt sacrifice to Juno of Argos, as Helenus had urged us most strongly to do.

'Without delay, once our vows are fully paid, we round to the arms of our sailyards and leave the dwellings and menacing fields of the Grecian people. Next is descried the bay of Tarentum, town, if rumour is true, of Hercules. Over against it the goddess of Lacinium rears her head, with the towers of Caulon, and Scylaceum wrecker of ships. Then Trinacrian Aetna is descried in the distance rising from the waves, and we hear from afar a great roaring of the sea on beaten rocks, and broken noises by the shore: the channels boil up, and the surge churns with sand. And lord Anchises: "Of a surety this is that Charybdis; of these cliffs, these awful rocks did Helenus prophesy. Out, O comrades, and rise together to the oars." Even as bidden they do; and first Palinurus swung the gurgling prow leftward through the water; to the left all our squadron bent with oar and wind. We are lifted skyward on the crescent wave, and again sunk deep into the nether world as the water is sucked away. Thrice amid their rocky caverns the cliffs uttered a cry; thrice we see the foam flung out, and the stars through a dripping veil. Meanwhile the wind falls with sundown; and weary and ignorant of the way we glide on to the Cyclopes' coast.

'Once we have fulfilled our vows, we turn the yards of our sails without delay. We leave behind the dwellings and threatening fields of the Grecian people. Next we see the bay of Tarentum, a town of Hercules, if the rumor is true. Across the bay rises the goddess of Lacinium, along with the towers of Caulon and Scylaceum, the destroyer of ships. Then we see Trinacrian Aetna in the distance, rising above the waves. From far away we hear the great roar of the sea beating against rocks and broken sounds along the shore. The channels boil up, and the waves churn with sand. Then lord Anchises says: "Surely this is Charybdis. These are the cliffs, the terrible rocks Helenus warned us about. Come, comrades, take up the oars together." They do as he commands. First Palinurus turns the gurgling prow left through the water. Our whole fleet follows to the left, driven by oar and wind. A curving wave lifts us toward the sky. Then, as the water draws back, we sink deep into the world below. Three times the cliffs cry out among their rocky caverns. Three times we see foam thrown into the air and the stars through a veil of spray. Meanwhile, the wind dies at sunset. Weary and unsure of the way, we glide on to the Cyclopes' coast.'

'There lies a harbour large and unstirred by the winds' entrance; but nigh it Aetna thunders awfully in wrack, and ever and again hurls a black cloud into the sky, smoking with boiling pitch and embers white hot, and heaves balls of flame flickering up to the stars: ever and again vomits out on high crags from the torn entrails of the mountain, tosses up masses of molten rock with a groan, and boils forth from the bottom. Rumour is that this mass weighs down the body of Enceladus, half-consumed by the thunderbolt, and mighty Aetna laid over him suspires the flame that bursts from her furnaces; and so often as he changes his weary side, all Trinacria shudders and moans, veiling the sky in smoke. That night we spend in cover of the forest among portentous horrors, and see not from what source the noise comes. For neither did the stars show their fires, nor was the vault of constellated sky clear; but vapours blotted heaven, and the moon was held in a storm-cloud through dead of night.

'There is a large harbor, sheltered from the winds. But nearby, Aetna thunders terribly in its violent eruption. Again and again, it hurls a black cloud into the sky, smoking with boiling pitch and white-hot embers. It sends balls of flame flickering up to the stars. Again and again, it spews crags high into the air from the mountain's torn depths. With a groan, it tosses up masses of molten rock and boils up from its depths. Rumor says that this mass weighs down the body of Enceladus, half consumed by a thunderbolt. Mighty Aetna lies over him and breathes out the flames that burst from its furnaces. Whenever he shifts his weary body, all Trinacria shudders and moans, covering the sky in smoke. We spend that night sheltered in the forest, surrounded by terrifying omens. We cannot see where the noise comes from. No stars shine, and the sky is not clear. Vapors hide the heavens, and a storm cloud covers the moon through the dead of night.'

'And now the morrow was rising in the early east, and the dewy darkness rolled away from the sky by Dawn, when sudden out of the forest advances a human shape strange and unknown, worn with uttermost hunger and pitiably attired, and stretches entreating hands towards the shore. We look back. Filthy and wretched, with shaggy beard and a coat pinned together with thorns, he was yet a Greek, and had been sent of old to Troy in his father's arms. And he, when he saw afar the Dardanian habits and armour of Troy, hung back a little in terror at the sight, and stayed his steps; then ran headlong to the shore with weeping and prayers: "By the heavens I beseech you, by the heavenly powers and this luminous sky that gives us breath, take me up, O Trojans, carry me away to any land soever, and it will be enough. I know I am one out of the Grecian fleets, I confess I warred against the household gods of Ilium; for that, if our wrong and guilt is so great, throw me piecemeal on the flood or plunge me in the waste sea. If I do perish, gladly will I perish at human hands." He ended; and clung clasping our knees and grovelling at them. We encourage him to tell who he is and of what blood born, and reveal how Fortune pursues him since then. Lord Anchises after little delay gives him his hand, and strengthens his courage by visible pledge. At last, laying aside his terror, he speaks thus:

The next morning, dawn was rising in the east, and the dewy darkness was clearing from the sky. Suddenly, a strange, unknown human figure came out of the forest. He was desperately hungry and dressed in pitiful rags. He stretched out his hands toward the shore, begging for help. We looked back at him. He was filthy and miserable, with a shaggy beard and a coat fastened with thorns. Yet he was a Greek, who had once been sent to Troy in his father's armor. When he saw the Dardanian clothing and Trojan armor from a distance, he stopped in terror and hesitated. Then he rushed to the shore, weeping and pleading: "By the heavens, I beg you, by the heavenly powers and this bright sky that gives us breath, take me aboard, Trojans. Carry me away to any land at all, and that will be enough. I know I was part of the Grecian fleets. I admit that I fought against the household gods of Ilium. If our crimes and guilt are so great, tear me to pieces and throw me into the water, or plunge me into the open sea. If I must die, I will gladly die at human hands." He finished speaking and fell at our feet, clutching our knees. We urged him to tell us who he was, what family he came from, and how Fortune had treated him since then. After a short pause, Lord Anchises offered him his hand, giving him a visible pledge that reassured him. At last, he put aside his fear and spoke:

'"I am from an Ithacan home, Achemenides by name, set out for Troy in luckless Ulysses' company; poor was my father Adamastus, and would God fortune had stayed thus! Here my comrades abandoned me in the Cyclops' vast cave, mindless of me while they hurry away from the barbarous gates. It is a house of gore and blood-stained feasts, dim and huge within. Himself he is great of stature and knocks at the lofty sky (gods, take away a curse like this from earth!) to none gracious in aspect or courteous of speech. He feeds on the flesh and dark blood of wretched men. I myself saw, when he caught the bodies of two of us with his great hand, and lying back in the middle of the cave crushed them on the rock, and the courts splashed and swam with gore; I saw when he champed the flesh adrip with dark clots of blood, and the warm limbs quivered under his teeth. Yet not unavenged. Ulysses brooked not this, nor even in such straits did the Ithacan forget himself. For so soon as he, gorged with his feast and buried in wine, lay with bent neck sprawling huge over the cave, in his sleep vomiting gore and gobbets mixed with wine and blood, we, praying to the great gods and with parts allotted, pour at once all round him, and pierce with a sharp weapon the huge eye that lay sunk single under his savage brow, in fashion of an Argolic shield or the lamp of the moon; and at last we exultingly avenge the ghosts of our comrades. But fly, O wretched men, fly and pluck the cable from the beach. . . . For even in the shape and stature of Polyphemus, when he shuts his fleeced flocks and drains their udders in the cave's covert, an hundred other horrible Cyclopes dwell all about this shore and stray on the mountain heights. Thrice now does the horned moon fill out her light, while I linger in life among desolate lairs and haunts of wild beasts in the woodland, and from a rock survey the giant Cyclopes and shudder at their cries and echoing feet. The boughs yield a miserable sustenance, berries and stony sloes, and plants torn up by the root feed me. Sweeping all the view, I at last espied this fleet standing in to shore. On it, whatsoever it were, I cast myself; it is enough to have escaped the accursed tribe. Do you rather, by any death you will, destroy this life of mine."

'"I come from Ithaca, and my name is Achemenides. I set out for Troy with the ill-fated Ulysses. My father Adamastus was poor, and would God my fortunes had remained as they were then! My comrades left me here in the Cyclops' vast cave. They forgot me in their rush to escape its savage entrance. The cave is filled with gore and bloodstained feasts, dim and enormous inside. The Cyclops himself is huge and towers into the sky. Gods, rid the earth of such a curse! He is kind to no one, either in his looks or in his speech. He feeds on the flesh and dark blood of miserable men. I saw him seize two of our men in his great hand. Lying back in the middle of the cave, he smashed their bodies against a rock. The cave was splashed and flooded with blood. I saw him chew their flesh, dripping with dark clots of blood. Their limbs were still warm and quivered under his teeth. Yet they did not go unavenged. Ulysses could not bear this, and even in such danger the Ithacan did not lose his nerve. The Cyclops had stuffed himself and drunk himself into a stupor. He lay sprawled across the cave, his neck bent. In his sleep he vomited blood and chunks of flesh mixed with wine and blood. As soon as he slept, we prayed to the great gods and took our assigned places. Then we rushed at him from all sides. With a sharp weapon, we pierced the huge single eye sunk beneath his savage brow. It was shaped like an Argolic shield or the moon's light. At last, we rejoiced to have avenged the spirits of our comrades. But flee, poor men, flee and pull your cable from the beach. . . . For a hundred other horrible Cyclopes live all along this shore and roam the mountain heights. They are just like Polyphemus in shape and size. He pens his woolly flocks and milks them in the shelter of his cave. Three times now the crescent moon has grown full while I have struggled to stay alive here. I have lived among deserted dens and the haunts of wild beasts in the woods. From a rock, I have watched the giant Cyclopes and shuddered at their cries and echoing footsteps. The branches give me a miserable diet of berries and hard sloes. I also eat plants pulled up by the roots. As I scanned the whole view, I finally saw this fleet coming toward shore. Whatever fleet it was, I threw myself on its mercy. It is enough to have escaped that accursed tribe. Kill me instead, by whatever death you choose."

'Scarcely had he spoken thus, when on the mountain top we see shepherding his flocks a vast moving mass, Polyphemus himself seeking the shores he knew, a horror ominous, shapeless, huge, bereft of sight. A pine lopped by his hand guides and steadies his footsteps. His fleeced sheep attend him, this his single delight and solace in ill. . . . After he hath touched the deep flood and come to the sea, he washes in it the blood that oozes from his eye-socket, grinding his teeth with groans; and now he strides through the sea up to his middle, nor yet does the wave wet his towering sides. We hurry far away in precipitate flight, with the suppliant who had so well merited rescue; and silently cut the cable, and bending forward sweep the sea with emulous oars. He heard, and turned his steps towards the echoing sound. But when he may in no wise lay hands on us, nor can fathom the Ionian waves in pursuit, he raises a vast cry, at which the sea and all his waves shuddered, and the deep land of Italy was startled, and Aetna's vaulted caverns moaned. But the tribe of the Cyclopes, roused from the high wooded hills, run to the harbour and fill the shore. We descry the Aetnean brotherhood standing impotent with scowling eye, their stately heads up to heaven, a dreadful consistory; even as on a mountain summit stand oaks high in air or coned cypresses, a high forest of Jove or covert of Diana. Sharp fear urges us to shake out the sheets in reckless haste, and spread our sails to the favouring wind. Yet Helenus' commands counsel that our course keep not the way between Scylla and Charybdis, the very edge of death on either hand. We are resolved to turn our canvas back. And lo! from the narrow fastness of Pelorus the North wind comes down and reaches us. I sail past Pantagias' mouth with its living stone, the Megarian bay, and low-lying Thapsus. Such names did Achemenides, of luckless Ulysses' company, point out as he retraced his wanderings along the returning shores.

'He had hardly finished speaking when we saw a huge figure moving on the mountaintop. It was Polyphemus himself, tending his flocks as he sought the familiar shore. He was a terrifying sight, a shapeless, enormous monster, robbed of his sight. A pine tree he had cut down guided and steadied his steps. His woolly sheep followed him, his only pleasure and comfort in his suffering. . . . When he reached the deep water of the sea, he washed the blood seeping from his eye socket. He groaned and ground his teeth. Then he strode into the sea until it reached his waist, but the waves still did not touch his towering sides. We hurried away in headlong flight, taking with us the man who had begged for help and so deserved rescue. We silently cut the cable, leaned forward, and raced to drive our oars through the sea. He heard us and turned toward the sound. But he could not reach us or find a footing in the Ionian waves to pursue us. So he let out a tremendous cry. The sea and all its waves shook, the distant land of Italy was startled, and Aetna's vaulted caves groaned. Roused from the high wooded hills, the tribe of the Cyclopes ran to the harbor and filled the shore. We saw the Aetnean brotherhood standing there helplessly, scowling, their majestic heads reaching toward heaven. They were a terrifying assembly, like tall oaks or cone-shaped cypresses standing on a mountaintop, a lofty forest sacred to Jove or a grove of Diana. Terror drove us to loosen the ropes in reckless haste and spread our sails to the favorable wind. Yet Helenus' instructions warned us not to take the course between Scylla and Charybdis, with death close on either side. We resolved to turn our sails back. And then the North wind came down from the narrow strait of Pelorus and reached us. I sailed past the mouth of Pantagias with its natural rock, the Megarian bay, and low-lying Thapsus. Achemenides, one of luckless Ulysses' company, pointed out these places as he retraced his wanderings along the shores we passed on our return.'

'Stretched in front of a bay of Sicily lies an islet over against wavebeat Plemyrium; they of old called it Ortygia. Hither Alpheus the river of Elis, so rumour runs, hath cloven a secret passage beneath the sea, and now through thy well-head, Arethusa, mingles with the Sicilian waves. We adore as bidden the great deities of the ground; and thence I cross the fertile soil of Helorus in the marsh. Next we graze the high reefs and jutting rocks of Pachynus; and far off appears Camarina, forbidden for ever by oracles to move, and the Geloan plains, and vast Gela named after its river. Then Acragas on the steep, once the breeder of noble horses, displays its massive walls in the distance; and with granted breeze I leave thee behind, palm-girt Selinus, and thread the difficult shoals and blind reefs of Lilybaeum. Thereon Drepanum receives me in its haven and joyless border. Here, so many tempestuous seas outgone, alas! my father, the solace of every care and chance, Anchises is lost to me. Here thou, dear lord, abandonest me in weariness, alas! rescued in vain from peril and doom. Not Helenus the prophet, though he counselled of many a terror, not boding Celaeno foretold me of this grief. This was the last agony, this the goal of the long ways; thence it was I had departed when God landed me on your coasts.'

'An island lies before a bay in Sicily, opposite wave-battered Plemyrium. People long ago called it Ortygia. According to rumor, Alpheus, the river of Elis, has cut a hidden passage beneath the sea to this island. Now, Arethusa, its waters mingle with the Sicilian waves through your spring. As we were instructed, we worship the great gods of the land. From there I cross the fertile land of Helorus in the marsh. Next we sail close to the high reefs and jutting rocks of Pachynus. Far off we see Camarina, which the oracles have forbidden anyone ever to move. We also see the Geloan plains and vast Gela, named after its river. Then the massive walls of steep Acragas appear in the distance. It was once known for breeding fine horses. With a favorable wind, I leave you behind, palm-fringed Selinus. I navigate the treacherous shallows and hidden reefs of Lilybaeum. Then Drepanum welcomes me to its harbor and joyless shore. There, after I had survived so many stormy seas, I lost my father, Anchises. He had been my comfort through every trouble and turn of fortune. There, dear lord, you left me when I was weary. Alas, you had been saved from danger and death in vain. Helenus the prophet warned me of many terrors, but he did not foretell this grief. Nor did Celaeno, with her dire prophecies. This was the last agony, the end of my long journey. I had left Drepanum when God brought me to your shores.'

Thus lord Aeneas with all attent retold alone the divine doom and the history of his goings. At last he was hushed, and here in silence made an end.

So Lord Aeneas told the story of the divine fate and his journeys, while everyone listened closely. At last he fell silent and ended his tale.