Aeneid - Book 6

He said, and wept: Then spread his Sails before
The Winds, and reach'd at length the Cuman Shore:
Their Anchors drop'd, his Crew the Vessels moor.
They turn their Heads to Sea; their Sterns to Land;
And greet with greedy Joy th' Italian Strand.
Some strike from clashing Flints their fiery Seed;
Some gather Sticks, the kindled Flames to feed:
Or search for hollow Trees, and fell the Woods,
Or trace thro Valleys the discover'd Floods.
Thus, while their sev'ral Charges they fulfil,
The Pious Prince ascends the sacred Hill
Where Phœbus is ador'd; and seeks the Shade,
Which hides from sight, his venerable Maid.
Deep in a Cave the Sibyl makes abode;
Thence full of Fate returns, and of the God.
Thro Trivia 's Grove they walk; and now behold,
And enter now, the Temple roof'd with Gold.
When Dedalus , to fly the Cretan Shore,
His heavy Limbs on jointed Pinions bore,
(The first who sail'd in Air,) 'tis sung by Fame,
To the Cumæan Coast at length he came;
And, here alighting, built this costly Frame.
Inscrib'd to Phœbus , here he hung on high
The steerage of his Wings, that cut the Sky:
Then o're the lofty Gate his Art emboss'd
Androgeos Death, and Off'rings to his Ghost.
Sev'n Youths from Athens yearly sent, to meet
The Fate appointed by revengeful Creet .
And next to those the dreadful Urn was plac'd,
In which the destin'd Names, by Lots were cast:
The mournful Parents stand around in Tears;
And rising Creet against their Shore appears.
There too, in living Sculpture, might be seen
The mad Affection of the Cretan Queen:
Then how she cheats her bellowing Lover's Eye:
The rushing leap, the doubtful Progeny,
The lower part a Beast, a Man above,
The Monument of their polluted Love.
Nor far from thence he grav'd the wond'rous Maze;
A thousand Doors, a thousand winding Ways;
Here dwells the Monster, hid from Human View,
Not to be found, but by the faithful Clue:
'Till the kind Artist, mov'd with Pious Grief,
Lent to the loving Maid this last Relief.
And all those erring Paths describ'd so well,
That Theseus conquer'd, and the Monster fell.
Here hapless Icarus had found his part;
Had not the Father's Grief restrain'd his Art.
He twice assay'd to cast his Son in Gold;
Twice from his Hands he drop'd the forming Mould.
 All this with wond'ring Eyes Æneas view'd:
Each varying Object his Delight renew'd.
Eager to read the rest, Achates came,
And by his side the mad divining Dame;
The Priestess of the God, Deiphobe her Name.
Time suffers not, she said, to feed your Eyes
With empty Pleasures: haste the Sacrifice.
Sev'n Bullocks yet unyok'd, for Phœbus chuse,
And for Diana sev'n unspotted Ewes.
This said, the Servants urge the Sacred Rites;
While to the Temple she the Prince invites.
A spacious Cave, within its farmost part,
Was hew'd and fashion'd by laborious Art
Thro' the Hills hollow sides: before the place,
A hundred Doors a hundred Entries grace:
As many Voices issue; and the sound
Of Sibyl's Words as many times rebound.
Now to the Mouth they come: Aloud she cries,
This is the time, enquire your Destinies.
He comes, behold the God! Thus while she said,
(And shiv'ring at the sacred Entry staid)
Her Colour chang'd, her Face was not the same,
And hollow Groans from her deep Spirit came.
Her Hair stood up; convulsive Rage possess'd
Her trembling Limbs, and heav'd her lab'ring Breast.
Greater than Human Kind she seem'd to look:
And with an Accent, more than Mortal, spoke.
Her staring Eyes with sparkling Fury rowl;
When all the God came rushing on her Soul.
Swiftly she turn'd, and foaming as she spoke,
Why this Delay, she cry'd; the Pow'rs invoke.
Thy Pray'rs alone can open this abode,
Else vain are my Demands, and dumb the God.
She said no more: The trembling Trojans hear;
O're-spread with a damp Sweat, and holy Fear.
The Prince himself, with awful Dread possess'd,
His Vows to great Apollo thus address'd.
Indulgent God, propitious Pow'r to Troy ,
Swift to relieve, unwilling to destroy;
Directed by whose Hand, the Dardan Dart
Pierc'd the proud Grecian 's only Mortal part:
Thus far, by Fates Decrees, and thy Commands,
Through ambient Seas, and thro' devouring Sands,
Our exil'd Crew has sought th' Ausonian Ground:
And now, at length, the flying Coast is found.
Thus far the Fate of Troy , from place to place,
With Fury has pursu'd her wand'ring Race:
Here cease ye Pow'rs, and let your Vengeance end,
Troy is no more, and can no more offend.
And thou, O sacred Maid, inspir'd to see
Th' Event of things in dark Futurity;
Give me, what Heav'n has promis'd to my Fate,
To conquer and command the Latian State:
To fix my wand'ring Gods; and find a place
For the long Exiles of the Trojan Race.
Then shall my grateful Hands a Temple rear
To the twin Gods, with Vows and solemn Pray'r;
And Annual Rites, and Festivals, and Games,
Shall be perform'd to their auspicious Names.
Nor shalt thou want thy Honours in my Land,
For there thy faithful Oracles shall stand,
Preserv'd in Shrines: and ev'ry Sacred Lay,
Which, by thy Mouth, Apollo shall convey.
All shall be treasur'd, by a chosen Train
Of holy Priests, and ever shall remain.
But, oh! commit not thy prophetick Mind
To flitting Leaves, the sport of ev'ry Wind:
Lest they disperse in Air our empty Fate:
Write not, but, what the Pow'rs ordain, relate.
 Strugling in vain, impatient of her Load,
And lab'ring underneath the pond'rous God,
The more she strove to shake him from her Breast,
With more, and far superior Force he press'd:
Commands his Entrance, and without Controul,
Usurps her Organs, and inspires her Soul.
Now, with a furious Blast, the hundred Doors
Ope of themselves; a rushing Wirlwind roars
Within the Cave; and Sibyl's Voice restores.
 Escap'd the Dangers of the wat'ry Reign,
Yet more, and greater Ills, by Land remain.
The Coast so long desir'd, (nor doubt th' Event)
Thy Troops shall reach, but having reach'd, repent.
Wars, horrid Wars I view; a field of Blood;
And Tyber rolling with a Purple Flood.
Simois nor Xanthus shall be wanting there;
A new Achilles shall in Arms appear:
And he, too, Goddess-born: fierce Juno 's Hate,
Added to hostile Force, shall urge thy Fate.
To what strange Nations shalt not thou resort,
Driv'n to sollicite Aid at ev'ry Court!
The Cause the same which Ilium once oppress'd,
A foreign Mistress, and a foreign Guest.
But thou, secure of Soul, unbent with Woes,
The more thy Fortune frowns, the more oppose.
The dawnings of thy Safety, shall be shown,
From whence thou least shalt hope, a Grecian Town.
 Thus, from the dark Recess, the Sibyl spoke,
And the resisting Air the Thunder broke;
The Cave rebellow'd; and the Temple shook.
Th' ambiguous God who rul'd her lab'ring Breast,
In these mysterious Words his Mind exprest:
Some Truths reveal'd, in Terms involv'd the rest.
At length her Fury fell; her foaming ceas'd,
And, ebbing in her Soul, the God decreas'd.
Then thus the Chief: no Terror to my view,
No frightful Face of Danger can be new.
Inur'd to suffer, and resolv'd to dare,
The Fates, without my Pow'r, shall be without my Care.
This let me crave, since near your Grove the Road
To Hell lies open, and the dark Abode,
Which Acheron surrounds, th' innavigable Flood:
Conduct me thro' the Regions void of Light,
And lead me longing to my Father's sight.
For him, a thousand Dangers I have sought;
And, rushing where the thickest Grecians fought,
Safe on my Back the sacred Burthen brought.
He, for my sake, the raging Ocean try'd,
And Wrath of Heav'n; my still auspicious Guide,
And bore beyond the strength decrepid Age supply'd.
Oft since he breath'd his last, in dead of Night,
His reverend Image stood before my sight;
Enjoin'd to seek below, his holy Shade;
Conducted there, by your unerring aid.
But you, if pious Minds by Pray'rs are won,
Oblige the Father, and protect the Son.
Yours is the Pow'r; nor Proserpine in vain
Has made you Priestess of her nightly Reign.
If Orpheus , arm'd with his enchanting Lyre,
The ruthless King with Pity could inspire;
And from the Shades below redeem his Wife:
If Pollux , off'ring his alternate Life,
Cou'd free his Brother; and can daily go
By turns aloft, by turns descend below:
Why name I Theseus , or his greater Friend,
Who trod the downward Path, and upward cou'd ascend!
Not less than theirs, from Jove my Lineage came:
My Mother greater, my Descent the same.
So pray'd the Trojan Prince; and while he pray'd
His Hand upon the holy Altar laid.
Then thus reply'd the Prophetess Divine:
O Goddess-born! of Great Anchises Line;
The Gates of Hell are open Night and Day;
Smooth the Descent, and easie is the Way:
But, to return, and view the chearful Skies;
In this the Task, and mighty Labour lies.
To few great Jupiter imparts this Grace:
And those of shining Worth, and Heav'nly Race.
Betwixt those Regions, and our upper Light,
Deep Forrests, and impenetrable Night
Possess the middle space: Th' Infernal Bounds
Cocytus , with his sable Waves, surrounds.
But if so dire a Love your Soul invades;
As twice below to view the trembling Shades;
If you so hard a Toil will undertake,
As twice to pass th' innavigable Lake;
Receive my Counsel. In the Neighb'ring Grove
There stands a Tree; the Queen of Stygian Jove
Claims it her own; thick Woods, and gloomy Night,
Conceal the happy Plant from Humane sight.
One Bough it bears; but, wond'rous to behold;
The ductile Rind, and Leaves, of Radiant Gold:
This, from the vulgar Branches must be torn,
And to fair Proserpine , the Present born:
E're leave be given to tempt the neather Skies:
The first thus rent, a second will arise;
And the same Metal the same room supplies.
Look round the Wood, with lifted Eyes, to see
The lurking Gold upon the fatal Tree:
Then rend it off, as holy Rites command:
The willing Metal will obey thy Hand,
Following with ease, if, favour'd by thy Fate,
Thou art foredoom'd to view the Stygian State:
If not, no labour can the Tree constrain:
And strength of stubborn Arms, and Steel are vain.
Besides, you know not, while you here attend
Th' unworthy Fate of your unhappy Friend:
Breathless he lies: And his unbury'd Ghost,
Depriv'd of Fun'ral Rites, pollutes your Host.
Pay first his Pious Dues: And for the dead,
Two sable Sheep around his Herse be led.
Then, living Turfs upon his Body lay;
This done, securely take the destin'd Way,
To find the Regions destitute of Day.
She said: and held her Peace. Æneas went
Sad from the Cave, and full of Discontent;
Unknowing whom the sacred Sibyl meant.
Achates , the Companion of his Breast,
Goes grieving by his side; with equal Cares oppress'd.
Walking, they talk'd, and fruitlessly divin'd
What Friend, the Priestess by those Words design'd.
But soon they found an Object to deplore:
Misenus lay extended on the Shore.
Son of the God of Winds; none so renown'd,
The Warrior Trumpet in the Field to sound:
With breathing Brass to kindle fierce Alarms;
And rouze to dare their Fate, in honourable Arms.
He serv'd great Hector ; and was ever near;
Not with his Trumpet only, but his Spear.
But, by Pelides Arms, when Hector fell,
He chose Æneas , and he chose as well.
Swoln with Applause, and aiming still at more,
He now provokes the Sea Gods from the Shore;
With Envy Triton heard the Martial sound,
And the bold Champion, for his Challenge, drown'd.
Then cast his mangled Carcass on the Strand:
The gazing Crowd around the Body stand.
All weep, but most Æneas mourns his Fate;
And hastens to perform the Funeral state.
In Altar-wise, a stately Pile they rear;
The Basis broad below, and top advanc'd in Air.
An ancient Wood, fit for the Work design'd,
(The shady Covert of the Salvage Kind)
The Trojans found: The sounding Ax is ply'd:
Firs, Pines, and Pitch-Trees, and the tow'ring Pride
Of Forest Ashes, feel the fatal Stroke:
And piercing Wedges cleave the stubborn Oak.
Huge Trunks of Trees, fell'd from the steepy Crown
Of the bare Mountains, rowl with Ruin down.
Arm'd like the rest the Trojan Prince appears:
And, by his pious Labour, urges theirs.
Thus while he wrought, revolving in his Mind,
The ways to compass what his Wish design'd,
He cast his Eyes upon the gloomy Grove;
And then with Vows implor'd the Queen of Love.
O may thy Pow'r, propitious still to me,
Conduct my steps to find the fatal Tree,
In this deep Forest; since the Sibyl's Breath
Foretold, alas! too true, Misenus Death.
Scarce had he said, when full before his sight
Two Doves, descending from their Airy Flight,
Secure upon the grassy Plain alight.
He knew his Mother's Birds: And thus he pray'd:
Be you my Guides, with your auspicious Aid:
And lead my Footsteps, till the Branch be found,
Whose glitt'ring Shadow guilds the sacred Ground:
And thou, great Parent! With Cœlestial Care,
In this Distress, be present to my Pray'r.
Thus having said, he stop'd: With watchful sight,
Observing still the motions of their Flight.
What course they took, what happy Signs they shew.
They fed, and flutt'ring by degrees, withdrew
Still farther from the Place; but still in view.
Hopping, and flying, thus they led him on
To the slow Lake; whose baleful Stench to shun,
They wing'd their Flight aloft; then, stooping low,
Perch'd on the double Tree, that bears the golden Bough.
Thro' the green Leafs the glitt'ring Shadows glow;
As on the sacred Oak, the wintry Misleto:
Where the proud Mother views her precious Brood;
And happier Branches, which she never sow'd.
Such was the glitt'ring; such the ruddy Rind,
And dancing Leaves, that wanton'd in the Wind.
He seiz'd the shining Bough with griping hold;
And rent away, with ease, the ling'ring Gold.
Then, to the Sibyl's Palace bore the Prize.
Mean time, the Trojan Troops, with weeping Eyes,
To dead Misenus pay his Obsequies.
First, from the Ground, a lofty Pile they rear,
Of Pitch-trees, Oaks, and Pines, and unctuous Firr:
The Fabrick's Front with Cypress Twigs they strew;
And stick the sides with Boughs of baleful Yough.
The topmost part, his glitt'ring Arms adorn;
Warm Waters, then, in brazen Caldrons born,
Are pour'd to wash his Body, Joint by Joint:
And fragrant Oils the stiffen'd Limbs anoint.
With Groans and Cries Misenus they deplore:
Then on a Bier, with Purple cover'd o're,
The breathless Body, thus bewail'd, they lay:
And fire the Pile, their Faces turn'd away:
(Such reverend Rites their Fathers us'd to pay.)
Pure Oyl, and Incense, on the Fire they throw:
And Fat of Victims, which his Friends bestow.
These Gifts, the greedy Flames to Dust devour;
Then, on the living Coals, red Wine they pour:
And last, the Relicks by themselves dispose;
Which in a brazen Urn the Priests inclose.
Old Chorineus compass'd thrice the Crew;
And dip'd an Olive Branch in holy dew;
Which thrice he sprinkl'd round; and thrice aloud
Invok'd the dead, and then dismiss'd the Crowd.
 But good Æneas order'd on the Shore
A stately Tomb; whose top a Trumpet bore:
A Souldier's Fauchion, and a Sea-man's Oar.
Thus was his Friend interr'd: And deathless Fame
Still to the lofty Cape consigns his Name.
 These Rites perform'd, the Prince, without delay,
Hastes to the neather World, his destin'd Way.
Deep was the Cave; and downward as it went
From the wide Mouth, a rocky rough Descent;
And here th' access a gloomy Grove defends;
And there th' unnavigable Lake extends.
O're whose unhappy Waters, void of Light,
No Bird presumes to steer his Airy Flight;
Such deadly Stenches from the depth arise,
And steaming Sulphur, that infects the Skies.
From hence the Grecian Bards their Legends make,
And give the name Avernus to the Lake.
Four sable Bullocks, in the Yoke untaught,
For Sacrifice the pious Heroe brought.
The Priestess pours the Wine betwixt their Horns:
Then cuts the curling Hair; that first Oblation burns.
Invoking Hecate hither to repair;
(A pow'rful Name in Hell, and upper Air.)
The sacred Priests with ready Knives bereave
The Beasts of Life; and in full Bowls receive
The streaming Blood: A Lamb to Hell and Night,
(The sable Wool without a streak of white)
Æneas offers: And, by Fates decree,
A barren Heifar, Proserpine to thee.
With Holocausts he Pluto 's Altar fills:
Sev'n brawny Bulls with his own Hand he kills:
Then on the broiling Entrails Oyl he pours;
Which, ointed thus, the raging Flame devours.
Late, the Nocturnal Sacrifice begun;
Nor ended, 'till the next returning Sun.
Then Earth began to bellow, Trees to dance;
And howling Dogs in glimm'ring Light advance;
E're Hecate came: Far hence be Souls prophane,
The Sibyl cry'd, and from the Grove abstain.
Now, Trojan , take the way, thy Fates afford:
Assume thy Courage, and unsheath thy Sword.
She said, and pass'd along the gloomy Space:
The Prince pursu'd her Steps with equal pace.
 Ye Realms, yet unreveal'd to Human sight,
Ye Gods, who rule the Regions of the Night,
Ye gliding Ghosts, permit me to relate
The mystick Wonders of your silent State.
 Obscure they went thro dreery Shades, that led
Along the waste Dominions of the dead:
Thus wander Travellers in Woods by Night,
By the Moon's doubtful, and malignant Light:
When Jove in dusky Clouds involves the Skies;
And the faint Crescent shoots by fits before their Eyes.
 Just in the Gate, and in the Jaws of Hell,
Revengeful Cares, and sullen Sorrows dwell;
And pale Diseases, and repining Age;
Want, Fear, and Famine's unresisted rage.
Here Toils, and Death, and Death's half-brother, Sleep,
Forms terrible to view, their Centry keep:
With anxious Pleasures of a guilty Mind,
Deep Frauds before, and open Force behind:
The Furies Iron Beds, and Strife that shakes
Her hissing Tresses, and unfolds her Snakes.
Full in the midst of this infernal Road,
An Elm displays her dusky Arms abroad;
The God of Sleep there hides his heavy Head:
And empty Dreams on ev'ry Leaf are spread.
Of various Forms unnumber'd Specters more;
Centaurs , and double Shapes, besiege the Door:
Before the Passage horrid Hydra stands,
And Briareus with all his hundred Hands:
Gorgons , Geryon with his triple Frame;
And vain Chimæra vomits empty Flame.
The Chief unsheath'd his shining Steel, prepar'd,
Tho seiz'd with sudden Fear, to force the Guard.
Offring his brandish'd Weapon at their Face;
Had not the Sibyl stop'd his eager Pace,
And told him what those empty Fantomes were;
Forms without Bodies, and impassive Air.
Hence to deep Acheron they take their way;
Whose troubled Eddies, thick with Ooze and Clay,
Are whirl'd aloft, and in Cocytus lost:
There Charon stands, who rules the dreary Coast:
A sordid God; down from his hoary Chin
A length of Beard descends; uncomb'd, unclean:
His Eyes, like hollow Furnaces on Fire:
A Girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene Attire.
He spreads his Canvas, with his Pole he steers;
The Freights of flitting Ghosts in his thin Bottom bears.
He look'd in Years; yet in his Years were seen
A youthful Vigour, and Autumnal green.
An Airy Crowd came rushing where he stood;
Which fill'd the Margin of the fatal Flood.
Husbands and Wives, Boys and unmarry'd Maids;
And mighty Heroes more Majestick Shades.
And Youths, intomb'd before their Fathers Eyes,
With hollow Groans, and Shrieks, and feeble Cries:
Thick as the Leaves in Autumn strow the Woods:
Or Fowls, by Winter forc'd, forsake the Floods,
And wing their hasty flight to happier Lands:
Such, and so thick, the shiv'ring Army stands:
And press for passage with extended hands.
 Now these, now those, the surly Boatman bore:
The rest he drove to distance from the Shore.
The Heroe, who beheld with wond'ring Eyes,
The Tumult mix'd with Shrieks, Laments, and Cries;
Ask'd of his Guide, what the rude Concourse meant?
Why to the Shore the thronging People bent?
What Forms of Law, among the Ghosts were us'd?
Why some were ferry'd o're, and some refus'd?
 Son of Anchises , Offspring of the Gods,
The Sibyl said; you see the Stygian Floods,
The Sacred Stream, which Heav'n's Imperial State
Attests in Oaths, and fears to violate.
The Ghosts rejected, are th' unhappy Crew
Depriv'd of Sepulchers, and Fun'ral due.
The Boatman Charon ; those, the bury'd host,
He Ferries over to the Farther Coast.
Nor dares his Transport Vessel cross the Waves,
With such whose Bones are not compos'd in Graves.
A hundred years they wander on the Shore,
At length, their Pennance done, are wafted o're.
The Trojan Chief his forward pace repress'd;
Revolving anxious Thoughts within his Breast.
He saw his Friends, who whelm'd beneath the Waves,
Their Fun'ral Honours claim'd, and ask'd their quiet Graves.
The lost Leucaspis in the Crowd he knew;
And the brave Leader of the Lycian Crew:
Whom, on the Tyrrhene Seas, the Tempests met;
The Sailors master'd, and the Ship o'reset.
Amidst the Spirits Palinurus press'd;
Yet fresh from life; a new admitted Guest.
Who, while he steering view'd the Stars, and bore
His Course from Affrick , to the Latian Shore,
Fell headlong down. The Trojan fix'd his view;
And scarcely through the gloom the sullen Shadow knew.
Then thus the Prince. What envious Pow'r, O Friend,
Brought your lov'd Life to this disastrous end?
For Phœbus , ever true in all he said,
Has, in your fate alone, my Faith betray'd?
The God foretold you shou'd not die, before
You reach'd, secure from Seas, th' Italian Shore?
Is this th' unerring Pow'r? The Ghost reply'd,
Nor Phœbus flatter'd, nor his Answers ly'd;
Nor envious Gods have sent me to the Deep:
But while the Stars, and course of Heav'n I keep,
My weary'd Eyes were seiz'd with fatal sleep.
I fell; and with my weight, the Helm constrain'd,
Was drawn along, which yet my gripe retain'd.
Now by the Winds, and raging Waves, I swear,
Your Safety, more than mine, was then my Care:
Lest, of the Guide bereft, the Rudder lost,
Your Ship shou'd run against the rocky Coast.
Three blust'ring Nights, born by the Southern blast,
I floated; and discover'd Land at last:
High on a Mounting Wave, my head I bore:
Forcing my Strength, and gath'ring to the Shore:
Panting, but past the danger, now I seiz'd
The Craggy Cliffs, and my tyr'd Members eas'd:
While, cumber'd with my dropping Cloaths, I lay,
The cruel Nation, covetous of Prey,
Stain'd with my Blood th' unhospitable Coast:
And now, by Winds and Waves, my lifeless Limbs are tost.
Which O avert, by yon Etherial Light
Which I have lost, for this eternal Night:
Or if by dearer tyes you may be won,
By your dead Sire, and by your living Son,
Redeem from this Reproach, my wand'ring Ghost;
Or with your Navy seek the Velin Coast:
And in a peaceful Grave my Corps compose:
Or, if a nearer way your Mother shows,
Without whose Aid, you durst not undertake
This frightful Passage o're the Stygian Lake;
Lend to this Wretch your Hand, and waft him o're
To the sweet Banks of yon forbidden Shore.
Scarce had he said, the Prophetess began;
What Hopes delude thee, miserable Man?
Think'st thou thus unintomb'd to cross the Floods,
To view the Furies, and Infernal Gods;
And visit, without leave, the dark abodes?
Attend the term of long revolving Years:
Fate, and the dooming Gods, are deaf to Tears.
This Comfort of thy dire Misfortune take;
The Wrath of Heav'n, inflicted for thy sake,
With Vengeance shall pursue th' inhumane Coast.
Till they propitiate thy offended Ghost,
And raise a Tomb, with Vows, and solemn Pray'r;
And Palinurus name the Place shall bear.
This calm'd his Cares: sooth'd with his future Fame;
And pleas'd to hear his propagated Name.
 Now nearer to the Stygian Lake they draw:
Whom from the Shore, the surly Boatman saw:
Observ'd their Passage thro' the shady Wood;
And mark'd their near Approaches to the Flood:
Then thus he call'd aloud, inflam'd with Wrath;
Mortal, what e're, who this forbidden Path
In Arms presum'st to tread, I charge thee stand,
And tell thy Name, and Buis'ness in the Land.
Know this, the Realm of Night; the Stygian Shore:
My Boat conveys no living Bodies o're:
Nor was I pleas'd great Theseus once to bear;
Who forc'd a Passage with his pointed Spear;
Nor strong Alcides , Men of mighty Fame;
And from th' immortal Gods their Lineage came.
In Fetters one the barking Porter ty'd,
And took him trembling from his Sov'raign's side:
Two sought by Force to seize his beauteous Bride.
To whom the Sibyl thus, compose thy Mind:
Nor Frauds are here contriv'd, nor Force design'd.
Still may the Dog the wand'ring Troops' constrain
Of Airy Ghosts; and vex the guilty Train;
And with her grisly Lord his lovely Queen remain.
The Trojan Chief, whose Lineage is from Jove ,
Much fam'd for Arms, and more for filial Love,
Is sent to seek his Sire, in your Elisian Grove.
If neither Piety, nor Heav'ns Command,
Can gain his Passage to the Stygian Strand,
This fatal Present shall prevail, at least;
Then shew'd the shining Bough, conceal'd within her Vest.
No more was needful: for the gloomy God
Stood mute with Awe, to see the Golden Rod:
Admir'd the destin'd Off'ring to his Queen;
(A venerable Gift so rarely seen.)
His Fury thus appeas'd, he puts to Land:
The Ghosts forsake their Seats, at his Command:
He clears the Deck, receives the mighty Freight,
The leaky Vessel groans beneath the weight.
Slowly he sails; and scarcely stems the Tides:
The pressing Water pours within her sides.
His Passengers at length are wafted o're;
Expos'd in muddy Weeds, upon the miry Shore.
No sooner landed, in his Den they found
The triple Porter of the Stygian Sound:
Grim Cerberus ; who soon began to rear
His crested Snakes, and arm'd his bristling Hair.
The prudent Sibyl had before prepar'd
A Sop, in Honey steep'd, to charm the Guard.
Which, mix'd with pow'rful Drugs, she cast before
His greedy grinning Jaws, just op'd to roar:
With three enormous Mouths he gapes; and streight,
With Hunger prest, devours the pleasing Bait.
Long draughts of Sleep his monstrous Limbs enslave;
He reels, and falling, fills the spacious Cave.
The Keeper charm'd, the Chief without Delay
Pass'd on, and took th' irremeable way.
Before the Gates, the Cries of Babes new born,
Whom Fate had from their tender Mothers torn,
Assault his Ears: Then those, whom Form of Laws
Condemn'd to die, when Traitors judg'd their Cause.
Nor want they Lots, nor Judges to review
The wrongful Sentence, and award a new.
Minos , the strict Inquisitor, appears;
And Lives and Crimes, with his Assessors, hears.
Round, in his Urn, the blended Balls he rowls;
Absolves the Just, and dooms the Guilty Souls.
The next in Place, and Punishment, are they
Who prodigally throw their Souls away.
Fools, who repining at their wretched State,
And loathing anxious life, suborn'd their Fate.
With late Repentance, now they would retrieve
The Bodies they forsook, and wish to live.
Their Pains and Poverty desire to bear,
To view the Light of Heav'n, and breath the vital Air:
But Fate forbids; the Stygian Floods oppose;
And, with nine circling Streams, the captive Souls inclose.
 Not far from thence, the mournful Fields appear;
So call'd, from Lovers that inhabit there.
The Souls, whom that unhappy Flame invades,
In secret Solitude, and Myrtle Shades,
Make endless Moans, and pining with Desire,
Lament too late, their unextinguish'd Fire.
Here Procris , Eryphile here, he found
Baring her Breast, yet bleeding with the Wound
Made by her Son. He saw Pasiphae there,
With Phædra 's Ghost, a foul incestuous pair;
There Laodamia , with Evadne moves:
Unhappy both; but loyal in their Loves.
Cæneus , a Woman once, and once a Man;
But ending in the Sex she first began.
Not far from these Phœnician Dido stood;
Fresh from her Wound, her Bosom bath'd in Blood.
Whom, when the Trojan Heroe hardly knew,
Obscure in Shades, and with a doubtful view,
(Doubtful as he who runs thro' dusky Night,
Or thinks he sees the Moon's uncertain Light:)
With Tears he first approach'd the sullen Shade;
And, as his Love inspir'd him, thus he said.
Unhappy Queen! then is the common breath
Of Rumour true, in your reported Death,
And I, alas, the Cause! by Heav'n, I vow,
And all the Pow'rs that rule the Realms below,
Unwilling I forsook your friendly State:
Commanded by the Gods, and forc'd by Fate.
Those Gods, that Fate, whose unresisted Might
Have sent me to these Regions, void of Light,
Thro' the vast Empire of eternal Night.
Nor dar'd I to presume, that, press'd with Grief,
My Flight should urge you to this dire Relief.
Stay, stay your Steps, and listen to my Vows:
'Tis the last Interview that Fate allows!
In vain he thus attempts her Mind to move,
With Tears and Pray'rs, and late repenting Love.
Disdainfully she look'd; then turning round,
But fix'd her Eyes unmov'd upon the Ground.
And, what he says, and swears, regards no more
Than the deaf Rocks, when the loud Billows roar.
But whirl'd away, to shun his hateful sight,
Hid in the Forest, and the Shades of Night.
Then sought Sicheus , thro' the shady Grove,
Who answer'd all her Cares, and equal'd all her Love.
Some pious Tears the pitying Heroe paid;
And follow'd with his Eyes the flitting Shade.
Then took the forward Way, by Fate ordain'd,
And, with his Guide, the farther Fields attain'd;
Where, sever'd from the rest, the Warrior Souls remain'd.
Tideus he met, with Meleager 's Race;
The Pride of Armies, and the Souldier's Grace;
And pale Adrastus with his ghastly Face.
Of Trojan Chiefs he view'd a numerous Train:
All much lamented, all in Battel slain.
Glaucus and Medon , high above the rest,
Antenor 's Sons, and Ceres sacred Priest:
And proud Ideus , Priam 's Charioteer;
Who shakes his empty Reins, and aims his Airy Spear.
The gladsome Ghosts, in circling Troops, attend,
And with unweary'd Eyes behold their Friend.
Delight to hover near; and long to know
What buis'ness brought him to the Realms below.
 But Argive Chiefs, and Agamemnon 's Train,
When his refulgent Arms flash'd thro' the shady Plain,
Fled from his well known Face, with wonted Fear,
As when his thund'ring Sword, and pointed Spear,
Drove headlong to their Ships, and glean'd the routed Reer.
They rais'd a feeble Cry, with trembling Notes:
But the weak Voice deceiv'd their gasping Throats.
Here Priam 's Son, Deiphobus , he found:
Whose Face and Limbs were one continu'd Wound.
Dishonest, with lop'd Arms, the Youth appears:
Spoil'd of his Nose, and shorten'd of his Ears.
He scarcely knew him, striving to disown
His blotted Form, and blushing to be known.
And therefore first began. O Teucer 's Race,
Who durst thy Faultless Figure thus deface?
What heart cou'd wish, what Hand inflict this dire Disgrace?
'Twas fam'd, that in our last and fatal Night,
Your single Prowess long sustain'd the Fight:
Till tir'd, not forc'd, a glorious Fate you chose:
And fell upon a Heap of slaughter'd Foes.
But in remembrance of so brave a Deed,
A Tomb, and Fun'ral Honours I decreed:
Thrice call'd your Manes , on the Trojan Plains:
The place your Armour, and your Name retains.
Your Body too I sought; and had I found,
Design'd for Burial in your Native Ground.
 The Ghost reply'd, your Piety has paid
All needful Rites, to rest my wand'ring Shade:
But cruel Fate, and my more cruel Wife,
To Grecian swords betray'd my sleeping Life.
These are the Monuments of Helen 's Love:
The Shame I bear below, the Marks I bore above.
You know in what deluding Joys we past
The Night, that was by Heav'n decreed our last.
For when the fatal Horse, descending down,
Pregnant with Arms, o'rewhelm'd th' unhappy Town;
She feign'd Nocturnal Orgyes: left my Bed,
And, mix'd with Trojan Dames, the Dances led.
Then, waving high her Torch, the Signal made,
Which rouz'd the Grecians from their Ambuscade.
With Watching overworn, with Cares opprest,
Unhappy I had laid me down to rest;
And heavy Sleep my weary Limbs possess'd.
Mean time my worthy Wife, our Arms mislay'd;
And from beneath my head my Sword convey'd:
The Door unlatch'd; and with repeated calls,
Invites her former Lord within my walls.
Thus in her Crime her confidence she plac'd:
And with new Treasons wou'd redeem the past.
What need I more, into the Room they ran;
And meanly murther'd a defenceless Man.
Ulysses , basely born, first led the way:
Avenging Pow'rs! with Justice if I pray,
That Fortune be their own another day.
 But answer you; and in your turn relate,
What brought you, living, to the Stygian State?
Driv'n by the Winds and Errors of the Sea,
Or did you Heav'ns Superior Doom obey?
Or tell what other Chance conducts your way?
To view, with Mortal Eyes, our dark Retreats,
Tumults and Torments of th' Infernal Seats?
While thus, in talk, the flying Hours they pass,
The Sun had finish'd more than half his Race:
And they, perhaps, in Words and Tears had spent
The little time of stay, which Heav'n had lent.
But thus the Sibyl chides their long delay;
Night rushes down, and headlong drives the Day:
'Tis here, in different Paths, the way divides:
The right, to Pluto 's Golden Palace guides:
The left to that unhappy Region tends,
Which to the depth of Tartarus descends;
The Seat of Night profound, and punish'd Fiends.
Then thus Deiphobus : O Sacred Maid!
Forbear to chide; and be your Will Obey'd:
Lo to the secret Shadows I retire,
To pay my Penance 'till my Years expire.
Proceed Auspicious Prince, with Glory Crownd,
And born to better Fates than I have found.
He said; and while he said, his Steps he turn'd
To Secret Shadows; and in silence Mourn'd.
The Heroe, looking on the left, espy'd
A lofty Tow'r, and strong on ev'ry side
With treble Walls, which Phlegethon surrounds,
Whose fiery Flood the burning Empire bounds:
And press'd betwixt the Rocks, the bellowing noise resounds.
Wide is the fronting Gate, and rais'd on high
With Adamantine Columns, threats the Sky.
Vain is the force of Man, and Heav'ns as vain,
To crush the Pillars which the Pile sustain.
Sublime on these a Tow'r of Steel is rear'd;
And dire Tisiphone there keeps the Ward.
Girt in her sanguine Gown, by Night and Day,
Observant of the Souls that pass the downward way:
From hence are heard the Groans of Ghosts, the pains
Of sounding Lashes, and of dragging Chains.
The Trojan stood astonish'd at their Cries;
And ask'd his Guide, from whence those Yells arise?
And what the Crimes and what the Tortures were,
And loud Laments that rent the liquid Air?
She thus reply'd: The chast and holy Race,
Are all forbidden this polluted Place.
But Hecate , when she gave to rule the Woods,
Then led me trembling thro' these dire Abodes:
And taught the Tortures of th' avenging Gods.
These are the Realms of unrelenting Fate:
And awful Rhadamanthus rules the State.
He hears and judges each committed Crime;
Enquires into the Manner, Place, and Time.
The conscious Wretch must all his Acts reveal:
Loath to confess, unable to conceal:
From the first Moment of his vital Breath,
To his last Hour of unrepenting Death.
Straight, o're the guilty Ghost, the Fury shakes
The sounding Whip, and brandishes her Snakes:
And the pale Sinner, with her Sisters, takes.
Then, of it self, unfolds th' Eternal Door:
With dreadful Sounds the brazen Hinges roar.
You see, before the Gate, what stalking Ghost
Commands the Guard, what Centries keep the Post:
More formidable Hydra stands within;
Whose Jaws with Iron Teeth severely grin.
The gaping Gulph, low to the Centre lies;
And twice as deep as Earth is distant from the Skies.
The Rivals of the Gods, the Titan Race,
Here sing'd with Lightning, rowl within th' unfathom'd space.
Here lye th' Alœan Twins, (I saw them both)
Enormous Bodies, of Gigantick Growth;
Who dar'd in Fight the Thund'rer to defy;
Affect his Heav'n, and force him from the Sky.
Salmoneus , suff'ring cruel Pains, I found,
For emulating Jove ; the ratling Sound
Of Mimick Thunder, and the glitt'ring Blaze
Of pointed Lightnings, and their forky Rays.
Through Elis , and the Grecian Towns he flew:
Th' audacious Wretch four fiery Coursers drew:
He wav'd a Torch aloft, and, madly vain,
Sought Godlike Worship from a Servile Train.
Ambitious Fool, with horny Hoofs to pass
O're hollow Arches, of resounding Brass;
To rival Thunder, in its rapid Course:
And imitate inimitable Force.
But he, the King of Heav'n, obscure on high,
Bar'd his red Arm, and launching from the Sky
His writhen Bolt, not shaking empty Smoak,
Down to the deep Abyss the flaming Felon strook.
There Tityus was to see; who took his Birth
From Heav'n, his Nursing from the foodful Earth.
Here his Gygantic Limbs, with large Embrace,
Infold nine Acres of Infernal Space.
A rav'nous Vulture in his open'd side,
Her crooked Beak and cruel Tallons try'd:
Still for the growing Liver dig'd his Breast;
The growing Liver still supply'd the Feast.
Still are his Entrails fruitful to their Pains:
Th' immortal Hunger lasts, th' immortal Food remains.
Ixion and Perithous I cou'd name;
And more Thessalian Chiefs of mighty Fame.
High o're their Heads a mould'ring Rock is plac'd,
That promises a fall, and shakes at ev'ry Blast.
They lye below, on Golden Beds display'd,
And genial Feasts, with Regal Pomp, are made.
The Queen of Furies by their sides is set;
And snatches from their Mouths th' untasted Meat.
Which, if they touch, her hissing Snakes she rears:
Tossing her Torch, and thund'ring in their Ears.
Then they, who Brothers better Claim disown,
Expel their Parents, and usurp the Throne;
Defraud their Clients, and to Lucre sold,
Sit brooding on unprofitable Gold:
Who dare not give, and ev'n refuse to lend
To their poor Kindred, or a wanting Friend:
Vast is the Throng of these; nor less the Train
Of lustful Youths, for foul Adultry slain.
Hosts of Deserters, who their Honour sold,
And basely broke their Faith for Bribes of Gold:
All these within the Dungeon's depth remain:
Despairing Pardon, and expecting Pain.
Ask not what Pains; nor farther seek to know
Their Process, or the Forms of Law below.
Some rowl a weighty Stone; some laid along,
And bound with burning Wires, on Spokes of Wheels are hung.
Unhappy Theseus , doom'd for ever there,
Is fix'd by Fate on his Eternal Chair:
And wretched Phlegias warns the World with Cries;
(Cou'd Warning make the World more just or wise,)
Learn Righteousness, and dread th' avenging Deities.
To Tyrants others have their Country sold,
Imposing Foreign Lords, for Foreign Gold:
Some have old Laws repeal'd, new Statutes made;
Not as the People pleas'd, but as they paid.
With Incest some their Daughters Bed prophan'd,
All dar'd the worst of Ills, and what they dar'd, attain'd.
Had I a hundred Mouths, a hundred Tongues,
And Throats of Brass, inspir'd with Iron Lungs,
I could not half those horrid Crimes repeat:
Nor half the Punishments those Crimes have met.
But let us haste our Voyage to pursue;
The Walls of Pluto 's Palace are in view.
The Gate, and Iron Arch above it, stands
On Anvils , labour'd by the Cyclops Hands.
Before our farther way the Fates allow,
Here must we fix on high the Golden Bough.
She said, and thro' the gloomy Shades they past,
And chose the middle Path: Arriv'd at last,
The Prince, with living Water, sprinkl'd o're
His Limbs, and Body; then approach'd the Door.
Possess'd the Porch, and on the Front above
He fix'd the fatal Bough, requir'd by Pluto 's Love.
These Holy Rites perform'd, they took their Way,
Where long extended Plains of Pleasure lay.
The verdant Fields with those of Heav'n may vye;
With Æther vested, and a Purple Sky:
The blissful Seats of Happy Souls below:
Stars of their own, and their own Suns they know.
Their Airy Limbs in Sports they exercise,
And, on the Green, contend the Wrestler's Prize.
Some, in Heroick Verse, divinely sing;
Others in artful Measures lead the ring.
The Thracian Bard, surrounded by the rest,
There stands conspicuous in his flowing Vest.
His flying Fingers, and harmonious Quill,
Strike sev'n distinguish'd Notes, and sev'n at once they fill.
Here found they Tucer 's old Heroick Race;
Born better times and happier Years to grace.
Assaracus and Ilus here enjoy
Perpetual Fame, with him who founded Troy .
The Chief beheld their Chariots from afar;
Their shining Arms, and Coursers train'd to War:
Their Lances fix'd in Earth, their Steeds around,
Free from their Harness, graze the flow'ry Ground.
The love of Horses which they had, alive,
And care of Chariots, after Death survive.
Some chearful Souls, were feasting on the Plain;
Some did the Song, and some the Choir maintain
Beneath a Laurel Shade, where mighty Po
Mounts up to Woods above, and hides his Head below.
Here Patriots live, who, for their Countries good,
In fighting Fields, were prodigal of Blood:
Priests of unblemish'd Lives here make Abode;
And Poets worthy their inspiring God:
And searching Wits, of more Mechanick parts,
Who grac'd their Age with new invented Arts.
Those who, to worth, their Bounty did extend;
And those who knew that Bounty to commend.
The Heads of these with holy Fillets bound;
And all their Temples were with Garlands crown'd.
 To these the Sibyl thus her Speech address'd:
And first, to him surrounded by the rest;
Tow'ring his Height, and ample was his Breast;
Say happy Souls, Divine Musæus say,
Where lives Anchises , and where lies our Way
To find the Heroe, for whose only sake
We sought the dark Abodes, and cross'd the bitter Lake?
To this the Sacred Poet thus reply'd;
In no fix'd place the Happy Souls reside.
In Groves we live; and lie on mossy Beds
By Crystal Streams, that murmur through the Meads:
But pass yon easie Hill, and thence descend,
The Path conducts you to your Journeys end.
This said, he led them up the Mountains brow,
And shews them all the shining Fields below;
They wind the Hill, and thro' the blissful Meadows go.
But old Anchises , in a flow'ry Vale,
Review'd his muster'd Race; and took the Tale.
Those Happy Spirits, which ordain'd by Fate,
For future Beings, and new Bodies wait.
With studious Thought observ'd th' illustrious Throng;
In Nature's Order as they pass'd along.
Their Names, their Fates, their Conduct, and their Care,
In peaceful Senates, and successful War.
He, when Æneas on the Plain appears,
Meets him with open Arms, and falling Tears.
Welcome, he said, the God's undoubted Race,
O long expected to my dear Embrace;
Once more 'tis giv'n me to behold your Face!
The Love, and Pious Duty which you pay,
Have pass'd the Perils of so hard a way.
'Tis true, computing times, I now believ'd
The happy Day approach'd; nor are my Hopes deceiv'd.
What lengths of Lands, what Oceans have you pass'd,
What Storms sustain'd, and on what Shores been cast?
How have I fear'd your Fate! But fear'd it most,
When Love assail'd you, on the Lybian Coast.
To this, the Filial Duty thus replies;
Your sacred Ghost, before my sleeping Eyes,
Appear'd; and often urg'd this painful Enterprise.
After long tossing on the Tyrrhene Sea,
My Navy rides at Anchor in the Bay.
But reach your Hand, oh Parent Shade, nor shun
The dear Embraces of your longing Son!
He said; and falling Tears his Face bedew:
Then thrice, around his Neck, his Arms he threw;
And thrice the flitting Shaddow slip'd away;
Like Winds, or empty Dreams that fly the Day.
Now in a secret Vale, the Trojan sees
A sep'rate Grove, thro' which a gentle Breeze
Plays with a passing Breath, and whispers thro' the Trees.
And just before the Confines of the Wood,
The gliding Lethe leads her silent Flood.
About the Boughs an Airy Nation flew,
Thick as the humming Bees, that hunt the golden Dew;
In Summer's heat, on tops of Lillies feed,
And creep within their Bells, to suck the balmy Seed.
The winged Army roams the Field around;
The Rivers and the Rocks remurmur to the sound.
Æneas wondring stood: Then ask'd the Cause,
Which to the Stream the Crowding People draws.
Then thus the Sire. The Souls that throng the Flood
Are those, to Whom, by Fate, are other Bodies ow'd:
In Lethe 's Lake they long Oblivion tast;
Of future Life secure, forgetful of the Past.
Long has my Soul desir'd this time, and place,
To set before your sight your glorious Race.
That this presaging Joy may fire your Mind,
To seek the Shores by Destiny design'd.
O Father, can it be, that Souls sublime,
Return to visit our Terrestrial Clime?
And that the Gen'rous Mind, releas'd by Death,
Can Covet lazy Limbs, and Mortal Breath?
Anchises then, in order, thus begun
To clear those Wonders to his Godlike Son.
Know first, that Heav'n, and Earth's compacted Frame,
And flowing Waters, and the starry Flame,
And both the Radiant Lights, one Common Soul
Inspires, and feeds, and animates the whole.
This Active Mind infus'd through all the Space,
Unites and mingles with the mighty Mass.
Hence Men and Beasts the Breath of Life obtain;
And Birds of Air, and Monsters of the Main.
Th' Etherial Vigour is in all the same,
And every Soul is fill'd with equal Flame:
As much as Earthy Limbs, and gross allay
Of Mortal Members, subject to decay,
Blunt not the Beams of Heav'n and edge of Day.
From this course Mixture of Terrestrial parts,
Desire, and Fear, by turns possess their Hearts:
And Grief, and Joy: Nor can the groveling Mind,
In the dark Dungeon of the Limbs confin'd,
Assert the Native Skies; or own its heavenly Kind.
Nor Death it self can wholly wash their Stains;
But long contracted Filth, even in the Soul remains.
The Reliques of inveterate Vice they wear;
And Spots of Sin obscene, in ev'ry Face appear.
For this are various Penances enjoyn'd;
And some are hung to bleach, upon the Wind;
Some plung'd in Waters, others purg'd in Fires,
Till all the Dregs are drain'd; and all the Rust expires:
All have their Manes , and those Manes bear:
The few, so cleans'd to these Abodes repair:
And breath, in ample Fields, the soft Elysian Air.
Then are they happy, when by length of time
The Scurf is worn away, of each committed Crime.
No Speck is left, of their habitual Stains;
But the pure Æther of the Soul remains.
But, when a Thousand rowling Years are past,
(So long their Punishments and Penance last;)
Whole Droves of Minds are, by the driving God,
Compell'd to drink the deep Lethæan Flood:
In large forgetful draughts to steep the Cares
Of their past Labours, and their Irksom Years.
That, unrememb'ring of its former Pain,
The Soul may suffer mortal Flesh again.
Thus having said; the Father Spirit, leads
The Priestess and his Son through Swarms of Shades.
And takes a rising Ground, from thence to see
The long Procession of his Progeny.
Survey (pursu'd the Sire) this airy Throng;
As, offer'd to thy view, they pass along.
These are th' Italian Names, which Fate will join
With ours, and graff upon the Trojan Line.
Observe the Youth who first appears in sight;
And holds the nearest Station to the Light:
Already seems to snuff the vital Air;
And leans just forward, on a shining Spear,
Silvius is he: thy last begotten Race;
But first in order sent, to fill thy place,
An Alban Name; but mix'd with Dardan Blood;
Born in the Covert of a shady Wood:
Him fair Lavinia , thy surviving Wife,
Shall breed in Groves, to lead a solitary Life.
In Alba he shall fix his Royal Seat:
And, born a King, a Race of Kings beget.
Then Procas , Honour of the Trojan Name,
Capys , and Numitor , of endless Fame.
A second Silvius after these appears;
Silvius Æneas , for thy Name he bears.
For Arms and Justice equally renown'd;
Who, late restor'd, in Alba shall be crown'd.
How great they look, how vig'rously they wield
Their weighty Lances, and sustain the Shield!
But they, who crown'd with Oaken Wreaths appear,
Shall Gabian Walls, and strong Fidena rear:
Nomentum , Bola , with Pometia , found;
And raise Colatian Tow'rs on Rocky Ground.
All these shall then be Towns of mighty Fame;
Tho' now they lye obscure; and Lands without a Name.
See Romulus the great, born to restore
The Crown that once his injur'd Grandsire wore.
This Prince, a Priestess of your Blood shall bear;
And like his Sire in Arms he shall appear.
Two rising Crests his Royal Head adorn;
Born from a God, himself to Godhead born.
His Sire already signs him for the Skies,
And marks the Seat amidst the Deities.
Auspicious Chief! thy Race in times to come
Shall spread the Conquests of Imperial Rome .
Rome whose ascending Tow'rs shall Heav'n invade;
Involving Earth and Ocean in her Shade.
High as the Mother of the Gods in place;
And proud, like her, of an Immortal Race.
Then when in Pomp she makes the Phrygian round;
With Golden Turrets on her Temples crown'd:
A hundred Gods her sweeping Train supply;
Her Offspring all, and all command the Sky.
Now fix your Sight, and stand intent, to see
Your Roman Race, and Julian Progeny.
The mighty Cæsar waits his vital Hour;
Impatient for the World, and grasps his promis'd Pow'r.
But next behold the Youth of Form Divine,
Cæsar himself, exalted in his Line;
Augustus , promis'd oft, and long foretold,
Sent to the Realm that Saturn rul'd of old;
Born to restore a better Age of Gold.
Affrick , and India , shall his Pow'r obey,
He shall extend his propagated Sway,
Beyond the Solar Year; without the starry Way.
Where Atlas turns the rowling Heav'ns around;
And his broad shoulders with their Lights are crown'd.
At his fore-seen Approach, already quake
The Caspian Kingdoms, and Mæotian Lake.
Their Seers behold the Tempest from afar;
And threatning Oracles denounce the War.
Nile hears him knocking at his sev'nfold Gates;
And seeks his hidden Spring, and fears his Nephew's Fates.
Nor Hercules more Lands or Labours knew,
Not tho' the brazen-footed Hind he slew;
Freed Erymanthus from the foaming Boar,
And dip'd his Arrows in Lernæan Gore.
Nor Bacchus , turning from his Indian War,
By Tygers drawn triumphant in his Car,
From Nisus top descending on the Plains;
With curling Vines around his purple Reins.
And doubt we yet thro' Dangers to pursue
The Paths of Honour, and a Crown in view?
But what's the Man, who from afar appears,
His Head with Olive crown'd, his Hand a Censer bears?
His hoary Beard, and holy Vestments bring
His lost Idea back: I know the Roman King.
He shall to peaceful Rome new Laws ordain:
Call'd from his mean abode, a Scepter to sustain.
Him, Tullus next in Dignity succeeds;
An active Prince, and prone to Martial Deeds.
He shall his Troops for fighting Fields prepare,
Disus'd to Toils, and Triumphs of the War.
By dint of Sword his Crown he shall increase;
And scour his Armour from the Rust of Peace.
Whom Ancus follows, with a fawning Air;
But vain within, and proudly popular.
Next view the Tarquin Kings: Th' avenging Sword
Of Brutus , justly drawn, and Rome restor'd.
He first renews the Rods, and Axe severe;
And gives the Consuls Royal Robes to wear.
His Sons, who seek the Tyrant to sustain,
And long for Arbitrary Lords again,
With Ignominy scourg'd, in open sight,
He dooms to Death deserv'd; asserting Publick Right.
Unhappy Man, to break the Pious Laws
Of Nature, pleading in his Children's Cause!
Howe're the doubtful Fact is understood,
'Tis Love of Honour, and his Country's good:
The Consul, not the Father, sheds the Blood.
Behold Torquatus the same Track pursue;
And next, the two devoted Decij view.
The Drusian Line, Camillus loaded home
With Standards well redeem'd, and foreign Foes o'recome.
The Pair you see in equal Armour shine;
(Now, Friends below, in close Embraces joyn:
But when they leave the shady Realms of Night,
And, cloath'd in Bodies, breath your upper Light,)
With mortal Hate each other shall pursue:
What Wars, what Wounds, what Slaughter shall ensue!
From Alpine Heights the Father first descends;
His Daughter's Husband in the Plain attends:
His Daughter's Husband arms his Eastern Friends.
Embrace again, my Sons, be Foes no more:
Nor stain your Country with her Childrens Gore.
And thou, the first, lay down thy lawless claim;
Thou, of my Blood, who bear'st the Julian Name.
Another comes, who shall in Triumph ride;
And to the Capitol his Chariot guide;
From conquer'd Corinth , rich with Grecian Spoils.
And yet another, fam'd for Warlike Toils,
On Argos shall impose the Roman Laws:
And, on the Greeks , revenge the Trojan Cause:
Shall drag in Chains their Achillæan Race;
Shall vindicate his Ancestors Disgrace:
And Pallas , for her violated Place.
Great Cato there, for Gravity renown'd,
And conqu'ring Cossus goes with Lawrels crown'd.
Who can omit the Gracchi , who declare
The Scipio 's Worth, those Thunderbolts of War,
The double Bane of Carthage ? Who can see,
Without esteem for virtuous Poverty,
Severe Fabritius , or can cease t' admire
The Ploughman Consul in his Course Attire!
Tir'd as I am, my Praise the Fabij claim;
And thou great Heroe, greatest of thy Name;
Ordain'd in War to save the sinking State,
And, by Delays, to put a stop to Fate!
Let others better mold the running Mass
Of Mettals, and inform the breathing Brass;
And soften into Flesh a Marble Face:
Plead better at the Bar; describe the Skies,
And when the Stars descend, and when they rise.
But, Rome , 'tis thine alone, with awful sway,
To rule Mankind; and make the World obey;
Disposing Peace, and War, thy own Majestick Way.
To tame the Proud, the fetter'd Slave to free;
These are Imperial Arts, and worthy thee.
He paus'd: And while with wondr'ing Eyes they view'd
The passing Spirits, thus his Speech renew'd.
See great Marcellus ! how, untir'd in Toils,
He moves with Manly grace, how rich with Regal Spoils!
He, when his Country, (threaten'd with Alarms,)
Requires his Courage, and his Conqu'ring Arms,
Shall more than once the Punic Bands affright:
Shall kill the Gaulish King in single Fight:
Then, to the Capitol in Triumph move,
And the third Spoils shall grace Feretrian Jove .
Æneas , here, beheld of Form Divine
A Godlike Youth, in glitt'ring Armour shine:
With great Marcellus keeping equal pace;
But gloomy were his Eyes, dejected was his Face:
He saw, and, wond'ring, ask'd his airy Guide,
What, and of whence was he, who press'd the Hero's side?
His Son, or one of his Illustrious Name,
How like the former, and almost the same:
Observe the Crowds that compass him around;
All gaze, and all admire, and raise a shouting sound:
But hov'ring Mists around his Brows are spread,
And Night, with sable Shades, involves his Head.
Seek not to know (the Ghost reply'd with Tears)
The Sorrows of thy Sons, in future Years.
This Youth (the blissful Vision of a day)
Shall just be shown on Earth, and snatch'd away.
The Gods too high had rais'd the Roman State;
Were but their Gifts as permanent as great.
What groans of Men shall fill the Martian Field!
How fierce a Blaze his flaming Pile shall yield!
What Fun'ral Pomp shall floating Tiber see,
When, rising from his Bed, he views the sad Solemnity!
No Youth shall equal hopes of Glory give:
No Youth afford so great a Cause to grieve.
The Trojan Honour, and the Roman Boast;
Admir'd when living, and Ador'd when lost!
Mirror of ancient Faith in early Youth!
Undaunted Worth, Inviolable Truth!
No Foe unpunish'd in the fighting Field,
Shall dare thee Foot to Foot, with Sword and Shield.
Much less, in Arms, oppose thy matchless Force,
When thy sharp Spurs shall urge thy foaming Horse.
Ah, cou'dst thou break through Fates severe Decree,
A new Marcellus shall arise in thee!
Full Canisters of fragrant Lillies bring,
Mix'd with the Purple Roses of the Spring:
Let me with Fun'ral Flowers his Body strow;
This Gift which Parents to their Children owe,
This unavailing Gift, as least I may bestow!
Thus having said, He led the Heroe round
The confines of the blest Elysian Ground.
Which, when Anchises to his Son had shown,
And fir'd his Mind to mount the promis'd Throne,
He tells the future Wars, ordain'd by Fate;
The Strength and Customs of the Latian State:
The Prince, and People: And fore-arms his Care
With Rules, to push his Fortune, or to bear.
Two Gates the silent House of Sleep adorn;
Of polish'd Iv'ry this, that of transparent Horn:
True Visions thro' transparent Horn arise;
Thro' polish'd Iv'ry pass deluding Lies.
Of various things discoursing as he pass'd,
Anchises hither bends his Steps at last.
Then, through the Gate of Iv'ry, he dismiss'd
His valiant Offspring, and Divining Guest.
Streight to the Ships Æneas took his way;
Embarq'd his Men, and skim'd along the Sea:
Still Coasting, till he gain'd Cajeta 's Bay.
At length on Oozy ground his Gallies moor:
Their Heads are turn'd to Sea, their Sterns to Shoar.
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