The Æneid of Virgil, Translated into English Verse. Virgil
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| XLV . | "Nay, nay, to no such honour I aspire." Said Venus, "But a simple maid am I, And 'tis the manner of the maids of Tyre To wear, like me, the quiver, and to tie The purple buskin round the ankles high. The realm thou see'st is Punic; Tyrians are The folk, the town Agenor's. Round them lie The Libyan plains, a people rough in war. | 397 | |
| Queen Dido rules the land, who came from Tyre afar, | |||
| XLVI . | "Flying her brother. Dark the tale of crime, And long, but briefly be the sum supplied. Sychæus was her lord, in happier time The richest of Phoenicians far and wide In land, and worshipped by his hapless bride. Her, in the bloom of maidenhood, her sire Had given him, and with virgin rites allied. But soon her brother filled the throne of Tyre, | 406 | |
| Pygmalion, swoln with sin; 'twixt whom a feud took fire. | |||
| XLVII . | "He, reckless of a sister's love, and blind With lust of gold, Sychæus unaware Slew by the altar, and with impious mind Long hid the deed, and flattering hopes and fair Devised, to cheat the lover of her care. But, lifting features marvellously pale, The ghost unburied in her dreams laid bare His breast, and showed the altar and the bale | 415 | |
| Wrought by the ruthless steel, and solved the crime's dark tale. | |||
| XLVIII . | "Then bade her fly the country, and revealed, To aid her flight, an old and unknown weight Of gold and silver, in the ground concealed. Thus roused, her friends she gathers. All await Her summons, who the tyrant fear or hate. Some ships at hand, chance-anchored in the bay, They seize and load them with the costly freight, And far off o'er the deep is borne away | 424 | |
| Pygmalion's hoarded pelf. A woman leads the way. | |||
| XLIX . | "Hither, where now the walls and fortress high, Of Carthage, and her rising homes are found, They came, and there full cheaply did they buy, Such space—called Byrsa from the deed—of ground As one bull's-hide could compass and surround. But who are ye, pray answer? on what quest Come ye? and whence and whither are ye bound?" Her then Æneas, from his inmost breast | 433 | |
| Heaving a deep-drawn sigh, with labouring speech addressed: | |||
| L . | "O Goddess, should I from the first unfold, Or could'st thou hear, the annals of our woe, Eve's star were shining, ere the tale were told. From ancient Troy—if thou the name dost know— A chance-met storm hath driven us to and fro, And tost us on the Libyan shores. My name Is good Æneas; from the flames and foe I bear Troy's rescued deities. My fame | 442 | |
| Outsoars the stars of heaven; a Jove-born race, we claim | |||
| LI . | "A home in fair Italia far away. With twice ten ships I climbed the Phrygian main, My goddess-mother pointing out the way, As Fate commanded. Now scarce seven remain, Wave-worn and shattered by the tempest's strain. Myself, a stranger, friendless and unknown, From Europe driven and Asia, roam in vain The wilds of Libya"—Then his plaintive tone | 451 | |
| No more could Venus bear, but interrupts her son; | |||
| LII . | "Stranger," she answered, "whosoe'er thou be; Not unbeloved of heavenly powers, I ween, Thou breath'st the vital air, whom Fate's decree Permits a Tyrian city to have seen. But hence, and seek the palace of the queen. Glad news I bear thee, of thy comrades brought, The North-wind shifted and the skies serene; Thy ships have gained the harbour which they sought, | 460 | |
| Else vain my parents' lore the augury they taught. | |||
| LIII . | "See yon twelve swans, in jubilant array, Whom late Jove's eagle scattered through the sky; Now these alight, now those the pitch survey. As they, returning, sport with joyous cry, And flap their wings and circle in the sky, E'en so thy vessels and each late-lost crew Safe now and scatheless in the harbour lie, Or, crowding canvas, hold the port in view. | 469 | |
| But hence, where leads the path, thy forward steps pursue." | |||
| LIV . | So saying, she turned, and all refulgent showed Her roseate neck, and heavenly fragrance sweet Was breathed from her ambrosial hair. Down flowed Her loosened raiment, streaming to her feet, And by her walk the Goddess shone complete. "Ah, mother mine!" he chides her, as she flies, "Art thou, then, also cruel? Wherefore cheat Thy son so oft with images and lies? | 478 | |
| Why may I not clasp hands, and talk without disguise?" | |||
| LV . | Thus he, reproaching. Towards the town they fare In haste. But Venus round them on the way Wrapt a thick mist, a mantle of dark air, That none should see them, none should touch nor stay, Nor, urging idle questions, breed delay. Then back, rejoicing, through the liquid air To Paphos and her home she flies away, Where, steaming with Sabæan incense rare, | 487 | |
| An hundred altars breathe with garlands fresh and fair. | |||
| LVI . |
They by the path their forward steps pursued, And climbed a hill, whose fronting summit frowned Steep o'er the town. Amazed, Æneas viewed Tall structures rise, where whilom huts were |