I I r ■ > p* ■ "^^ :^^ IIahhikt Wainwhioht Fiuexu. (j^u / - 'U^/ ' w.'i^ - 'O - , viR(;iLs .Lxi: II), TRANSLATF.n LITKRALLV. LINT: l:V LINIi, INTO HNGLlSll DACTYLIC lll-..\A.\Ii;Ti;k, BY REV. OLIVKK CRAM. ! ). O.. Corporate Msmber of the American Oriental Sjciety. •• Per Arilcntcni sine fraude Trojam CastUs /Encos patrix supcrstcs Lihcrum muni\nt iter, daturus Flura rclictia." //orace, Carmrm Situlart, 41-44. \ F. W N* O R K : THK DAKER .V TAYLOR CO., 740 AND 742 BRtiADWAY. 18S8. REPLACmC CoPYRir.HT 1887, BY Rev. Oliver Crane, D. D. 1. . . *. ; . • • . , . t . PRESS OF Jenkins & McCowan, 224-228 Centre St. p^ I < PRHFACE. It is a singular fact in the history of EngHsh Literature, that the first book printed in the English language was a ** History of Troy," drawn mainly from the /Eneid of Virgil, written first in French by Raoul le Feure, the Chaplain of Philip, Duke of Burgundy, and, at the command of the Duke, translated from the French, and printed as his first book, by William Caxton, the introducer of printing into England. Respecting this somewhat celebrated ** first book." Caxton, in its title, says : " Whiche sayd translacion and wcrke was begonne in Hrugis in the contree of Flaunders, the fyrst day of Marche, the yeare of the Incarnacion of our said Lord, a thousand four hondred sixty and eight, and ended and fynyshed in the holy cyte of Colcn the xix day of Septembre, the yeare of our sayd Lord God, a thousand four hondred and enleven ' (1471). The reason for such command to print it. is stated in the Biographia Britannica to be, *' possibly to gratify the disposition there was at the time, in the English or British nation, to derive their original from Brutus and his Trojans." Subsequently Caxton issued " The Boke of Enydos ; compyled by Vyrgyle; which haih be translated oute of Latine into Frenchc, and oute of Frenche. reduced into Englyeshe, by me, William Caxton, the 22d day of Juyn, the yere of our Lord 1490." This, though of inferior literary merit, w.is, however, well received, as being the first recognized translation into English of any part of the /Eneid. "The Hystory, Siege, and Dystruccyon of Troye," written by the monk, John Lydgate, about the year 1430, but not printed until i 513, hardly lU ivil880ears or more still later. VI PREFACE. Robert Southey, the poet — wedded, as were all the poets and critics of his day, to iambics, as if intent on squelching him as a pest — asserts: "As Chaucer has been called the well of English undefiled, so might Stany- hurst be denominated the common sewer of the language." Poor Stany- hurst ! How little he realized the odium which the seemingly unwarranted temerity of his innovation would, for fully two hundred years, evoke. Nor is the ban, imposed so long ago upon the effort to revive a classic meter, even yet wholly lifted. Its practicability, and advisability, have been again and again discussed, and that by some of the ablest schol- ars, but with usually an adverse verdict. The poet-artist C. P. Cranch, in the Preface to his admirable blank-verse version of the ^neid, issued 1872, covers almost two pages in canvassing this much-debated question of translating the classic epics of Greece and Rome in what he styles " these quaint and trailing six-footers ; " and closes with the remark : " The difficulty of sustaining to the end, in hexameter, a poem so varied in thought and action as the ^neid, is a consideration which might well make the most gifted rhythmical artist shrink from the task ; a task ten- fold greater, if it be a main object with him to keep close to the literal phrasing of the text." This is simply a reiteration of an older decision, many times repeated with honest intentions by the masters of criticism in the past. With such reiterated intimidations, ancient and modern, warning against it, it hardly need occasion wonder that not a single hexametrical version of the yEneid (as far as the writer is aware) exists in the English language ; and, if the Virgilian Catalogue of the British Museum may be relied upon as a true exponent of facts in the case, only one has ever been even attempted ; but that one grappling with pre- cisely what the poet C. P. Cranch has signaled as so formidable, if not impossible, a " task." In 1865 there was published in London, in small, pamphlet-like form, an edition of " The ^neid in English Hexameters, by W. Grist, Head-master of Central Hill Collegiate School, Upper Norwood." The author, however, as if to forestall what seemed an impending storm of adverse criticism, states distinctly in his Preface, that the task was undertaken solely " to assist his own pupils in the work of translating PREFACE. VI! Virpil. and in the composition of Latin hexameters." Only one Bool- r.f the /Kncid in this form was issued. But why, it may reasonably be asked, such persistent disparagement of a Icpitimatc meter, from the days of Thomas Nash down to the present time ; esjK'cially when the meter interdicted as inadmissible is certainly within the reach of the availabilities of the Knglish as well as other languages, and success in it, in other lines of poetry, is already marking the poetical achievements of the present age. It is becoming more than ever open to grave doubt whether the disparagement of hex- ameter, which has been so long sanctioned by the dictum of the older critics, is not after all an aspersion on the English tongue itself, than which no modern language is more pliable; none more capable of adapta- tion to all conceivable metrical forms. The late poet-scholar. Dr. James G. Percival, successfully reproduced in Knglish nearly every meter found in classic lyric poetry ; and our much-lamented and universally honored national poet, the late Professor Henry W. Longfellow, has certainly shown, in his charming " Evangeline," and " Miles Standish," that the English is not incapable of being harnessed to the classic hexameter, and triumphantly achieving therein success, in a race for popular favor. In fact. Longfellow had, from his own admirable translations, become thoroughly convinced of its utility, if not indispcnsability, in giving the classic epics a fitting setting in English. To his friend. Mr. Fields, under date of April, 1871 (Sec Century magazine for April, 1886, page 891), he made this emphatic statement, embodying his own strong conviction : *' To translate a poem properly, it must be done into the meter of the original ; and Bryant's ' Homer,' fine as it is, has this great fault, that it does not give the music of the poem itself." IV. Edward Guest, in his History of English Rhythms, in like manner favors rather than discour- ages a similar correspondence, in translations from classic poets ; Matthew Arnold's advocacy of it for like purposes needs simply a reference. The nearly simultaneous appearance in England of three independent versions of Homer's Iliad in hexameter, viz., by E. W. Simcox (1865), by J. D. Dart (1865), and by Sir William W. Hcrschcl (1866), only corroborates VIU PREFACE. the estimate of Professor H. W. Longfellow, and warrants, if it does not encourage, effort in it. This is a progressive age, welcoming improvement in every depart- ment of literature, as well as science and industry; and the time is fast approaching, if it has not come already, when disparagement of any justifi- able meter, and especially of one so inwoven with the epic poetry of ancient times, but whose capabilities in modern languages are as yet very far from being exhausted, will no longer be tolerated. In German it has already become fully legitimated ; and why not welcome honest effort to popularize, in English, a measure which for ages was the recognized voicing of the heroic Muse, especially when its rich cadences, in classic languages, have continued to charm the ears of scholars, down through all the centuries of literature to the present time .'' Objections, it is true, have been raised against the use of hexameter in English, and it is admitted that some of these have pertinence and weight ; but, when the availabilities of the English language are rightly understood and utilized, in their proper adaptations to it, these are not insuperable, and ought not to be allowed to put it under a perpetual ban. The crucial objection, that hexameter is suited only to languages such as the Greek and Latin, whose versification is based on qua7itity, and not to languages like the English, whose poetry is all controlled by accent, is more apparent than real ; because it overlooks the flexible nature of hexameter, and totally ignores the value of accent as an element of power in language. It regards the variable cadence, made by the classic poets in their versificational collocationof consonants and vowels, as abso- lutely essential to hexametrical rhythm : whereas the exquisite charm of duly collocated accentuated words in verse is what constitutes one of the prime excellencies of the English, as a language rich in poetry and song. To render hexameter as available as iambic in English, the fact must be accepted that accent is a ruling factor in its versification; and the attempt to compel the ear, as has been perhaps too much the case in its use, to ignore its own culture, and shift accent to suit the poet's arbi- trary arrangement in his verse, must end in failure. In hexameter, as in I'KKKACE. IX all other meters, timt is to be considered : and. as in music, so in prosotly, the rhythm is marred at once, if cadence docs not distinctly indicate its measure. The classic poets fully understood this, and secured their rhythm by variableness in accent and fixedness in quantity. Their ca- dences were a prosodical sacrifice of accent to rhythm. Mcncc, in reading their own poetry, they literally sang- or chanted it, giving to each syllable a distinct ictus, or beat of the hand or foot, in keeping time. In fact, Virgil very plainly intimates this in his description of the combined music and song of Orpheus, in the /Eneid, Book vi, 644-647 : while of Virgil's own reading, Professor H. Nettleship remarks: " Though slow in conversation, Virgil was a beautiful reader. His manner of recitation is said to have been sweet and wonderfully attractive ; so much so, that a contemporary poet, Julius Montanus, said that verses, which in them- selves seemed flat and dumb, sounded well when he read them ; such was the charm of his voice, pronunciation and gestures. We know how Octavia was affected by his reading of the lines about Marcellus." His reading was in strict accordance with the established rules of Latin prosody, which made quantity, and not accent, the basis of emphatic into- nation, and gave it such a charm to the ears of those to whom the Latin language was vernacular. Now let accent, in the same way, be al- lowed its full force and time, and not be arbitrarily imposed on syllables where it does not naturally belong, and at once the ear. trained to the use of an accentual language, in the same manner not only detects, but accepts the eflect produced, as agreeable. If accent be a legitimate factor in Knglish versification, let it be recognized ; and then, with a strict adher- ence to it, and a due regard to vowel and consonant in the collocation of words, there is no valid reason why he.xameter may not become equally naturalized in English as in German. A heavier tax. it is true, may thus be laid upon those who essay it with these restrictions ; but it does not follow that because the true ideal in it has often failed to be reached, therefore hexameter, as a meter, is to be ostracized as totally unsuited to naturalization in the Knglish language. But closely allied is another objection, and by some considered still X PREFACE. more formidable, viz., that a lack of spondaic words in English precludes success in the use of hexameter in it, at least to the extent achieved in the polysyllabic Latin and Greek. This, too, is more ideal than real, for it overlooks an important fact in classic poetry ; for it assumes the neces- sity of a preponderance of spondees over dactyls for the perfection of hexametrical rhythm : whereas the preponderance of either of these fac- tors was a simple linguistic necessity, recognized distinctly by the classic poets themselves. The versatility of the Greek, notwithstanding its grammatical restrictions, gave the poets in it a wider range of choice in the structure of their meters than did the more stable Latin. In the latter, the very ponderousness of its words, and the unwieldy nature of its verbal suffixes in declensions, not only admitted, but necessitated, a larger spondaic element in all the forms of its poetry, than in the more facile Greek, or in the notably less hampered modern languages. The Homeric hexameter is essentially dactylic, while the Virgilian, especially ■in the JEnt'id, is spondaic. Virgil rarely admits a pure dactylic line ; and when he does, it is evidently with studied effort for a specific effect, as in his well-known lines in Books viii, 596, and xi, 874 : while Homer, par- ticularly in the Iliad, gives freer rein to his choice ; and both — when sprightliness and spirited action invite it, as in the rush of thought in stir- ring descriptions — avail themselves of the dactylic movement as an element of life. But even in the ordinary run of their respective rhythms Homer's verse is in a more dactylic mold than Virgil's, and evidently from the necessities of their medium of thought. Hence Professor T. L. Papillon, in his admirably discriminate discussion of " The Virgilian Hexameter," in the Preface to his valuable edition of Virgil's Works, concludes : " It thus seems that Virgil, in adapting the Homeric hexameter to the Latin language, realized that the dactylic rhythm must be modified by a large admixture of 'spondei stabiles,' as Horace calls them (.'\. P. 256). A considerable majority of his verses have at least three spondees (including the last foot) ; and the proportion of fifteen such lines in yEneid i, i-io to nine in Iliad i, i-O, may be taken as a rough measure of the extent to which he carried out this PREFACE. X! modification of Homeric rhythm. A spondee in the fir^t foot, contained in a single word and followed by a pause in sense, is almost the only cir- cumstance under which he seems to shrink from spondaic rhythm in the first four feet : and the somewhat slow and ponderous movement thus tjiven to the verse at starting is reserved, as a rule, for the special expres- sion of solemnity or emotion." The twofold nature of the hexamctric foot, therefore, was not only fully understood, but its availabilities laid hold of and utilized by the classic poets, in its adaptive use in their respective languages. Some of them indeed, notably luinius. and after him Lucretius and Catullus, the latter two less glaringly, failed to discriminate, as fully as did Virgil, the necessity of adaptation, in their adoption of the Homeric meter ; and, in their efforts to reproduce in Latin his dactylic measure, were compelled to have recourse to archaisms and strained forms of expression which grated harshly on Latin ears, and made their i>octry less grateful than Virgil's. To modern ears the spondee, in spite of the rich cadences of Virgil's rhythm, is heavy ; and its preponderance, in an extended f)ocm, becomes monotonous : and hence the so often reiterated exception taken to imitative hexameter. The transfusion of the spondee-element has overloaded the verse ; and very naturally hexametrical translations have been, as already intimated, condemned as inadmissible, on the same score as were the poems of Knnius, because of their evidently exotic model in too close imitation. To modern ears the rhythm of smoothly flowing dactylic movement is pleasing rather than repulsive, as infusing life by the very sound of its recurring cadences ; and when just enough of the spondcc-elcmcnt is admitted to relieve monotonw the objection as to the heaviness of hexameter vanishes. Accordingly there can be no valid reason drawn from the meter itself, or from the demands of the epic Muse, or from modern taste, for insisting on a predominance of the spondaic over the dactylic element in hexameter, especially in Knglish, in which monosyllabic words, derived mostly from the old Saxon, so profusely abound ; whilst the fact that the English does not admit of the syllabic endings in declensions of nouns. XU PREFACE. and but sparingly in verbs, which constitute so prominent a feature of the classic languages, becomes an additional reason for a larger freedom in hexameter than has usually been accorded. Its management, especially in a linear version of so extended and varied a poem as the ^neid, is indeed a formidable task ; but the large infusion into English of Latin and Greek and polysyllabic words, which, having become incorporated in the language, are tacitly available, renders the work of accommodation in it less difficult ; while it largely compensates for what some have deemed a defect in English, its paucity of inflections, save in well-nigh obsolete archaismal endings. But with all the draw- backs incident to its attempted naturalization in modern tongues, hex- ameter is too grand, and withal too ancient, a measure to be utterly dis- carded : and, while perfection in its difficult versification can at best be but proximate, honest endeavor to realize the poet Longfellow's ideal of translations, and his own personal effort to popularize it, is at least admissible : and, although classic models in their own languages are indisputable, yet rigidness in the application to modern languages, and especially to the English, of rules originally made for the availabilities and necessities of languages entirely different in their structural apti- tudes, savors perhaps too much of literary ostracism, and ill comports with modern evolutionary progress. No man better understood this than did the poet Longfellow, whose professional studies led him to a very thorough analysis of the elements and affinities of the flexible modern, as compared with the less flexible ancient languages. Hence, in his adoption of the epic meter of the classic poets in one of his longest and most finished poems, he deliberate- ly set aside, as incongruities, the hitherto rigidly applied canons of the classic verse, and determined to adapt a meter, rich in rhythm and varied in cadences, to the accentual and uninflectional requirements of the English tongue. Thomas Davidson, in his sketch of the Life and Writings of Prof H. W. Longfellow, in the 9th edition of the Encyclo- paedia Britannica (Vol XIV., p. 86i),discriminatcly notes this as a special characteristic of the Evangeline meter. "Though written," he remarks. PREFACE. XIII "in a metre deemed foreign to Enplish cars, the poem immediately at- tained a wide popularity, which it has never lost, and secured to the dactylic hexameter a recognized pl.ice among English metres." Hex- ameter in Knglish can be popularized only as Longfellow has done it. viz., by subordinating the spondaic to the dactylic element, and not. as had been previously regarded essential in it, by strictly enforcing the ex- actions of a prosody based solely on quantity, but by bringing it into rhythmic conformity to the rules of structure and accent to which the langua;?e itself is subject. In the version here attempted, a latitude, both in the scope and structure, but not in the rhythm, has been designedly taken : but, in order more feasibly to secure the requisite supply of spondees in a linear rendering — for the spondaic element is not to be discarded — the Latin forms of proper names occurring have been uniformly retained. No violence surely can be considered done to modern nomenclature ; for no classic scholar can be offended by their retention : whilst uniformity of adherence to them throughout the work must familiarize the mere Eng- lish reader sufficiently to prevent misapprehension. For obvious reasons also — exactness and fidelity, if no other — the synonyms, used by Virgil himself to designate prominent nationalities, have been scrupulously retained in the version ; e. g.. Danai (or Danaans), Achaians, Argives, Lacedemonians, Pelasgians. and Grecians for the Greeks ; and Teucrans, Dardans (or sons of Dardanus), Dardanians, Phrygians, Laomedons, itneans, etc., for Trojans. The use of these by the poet was undoubtedly intentional, to avoid tautology, or to give a pleasing variety : and they are themselves evidence of his adaptive skill. They are retained, there- fore, not merely because they facilitate metrical adaptation, but because they allow the reader to see just what terms Virgil did use. which, being ignored by some translators, and accounted e.xcrescences or redundancies by others, have been recklessly sacrificed, even by some of the best com- mentators of the ylineid. If Virgil's versatility of expression is to be appreciated, and his exceeding exuberance of diction be regarded of any value, the retention of these is a necessity absolute. The same is true XIV PREFACE. of Virgil's well-known habit, studiously sustained, of repeating the same or analogous ideas in varied forms of expression, .would be shorn of its charm — for charm it certainly is — if their peculiar phraseology were dis- regarded, and mere generalities substituted in their stead. It constitutes, in fact, one of Virgil's special excellencies as a poet-scholar, showing a very remarkable acquaintance with the nice distinctions of Latin syno- nyms : and yet a strictly literal reproduction of these so constantly recurring terms is one of the most formidable of all the difficulties with which a critical translator of the ^Eneid, whether in prose or verse, has to contend : yet, if these are left out, or undiscriminated, much of the rich aroma of his style would be lost ; for Virgil, as a poet, is exceed- ingly choice in the use of his words, every one seeming to have been chosen with the utmost nicety of taste, and regard for adaptation. To overlook his precision in these, therefore, were to mar the beauty of the word-picturing, in which he so preeminently, as a poet-artist, excels. It is these little gems of expression, by which a word often starts a beautiful image or analogy, that are so missed by those familiar with the original, in what were otherwise excellent versions. Poetic words are often just as precious as poetic thoughts, or poetic similes ; for they are an essen- tial part of the poet's art. Hence it has been a constant aim in the pres- ent version to preserve, as far as practicable, these word-pictures, as well as the nice distinctions in the frequently recurring synonymous terms, where the English would admit ; but where it failed to supply exact correspondences of words, equivalents have been employed. As regards the ^NEID, the mere fact that it rose to the dignity of a classic so soon after the poet's death, and has maintained its position as such among scholars of all the civilized nations of Europe during all the past Christian centuries, certainly entitles it to a very high rank as a work of poetic art. Probably the works of no classic author — not even excepting the immortal Homer — have had so many and such extended commentaries written on them as the works of Virgil. The Virgilian catalogue of the British Museum covers seventy-four folio pages, and has PREFACE. XV references to upwards of 12 50 editions contained In the Library, and llicse by no means comprise all that have ever been issued of Vir^jilian htcraturc. Many of these issues, it will be remembered, consist of several, and some of them very hujje volumes. The writer has one larjjc folio volume, dated 158O. and containinj^ the combined commentaries of Dona- tus and Scrvius, in 2,220 closely printed pages ; and another, the compila- tion of Burmanus, of 2,680 pages, in four quarto volumes, and others almost equally voluminous. In fact Virgilian literature would make a library of no slight dimensions of itself, a testimony accorded to few authors, in like decisive expression, of any age. The /Hneid was Virgil's greatest work, the one on which his fame as a }X)et has mainly rested, and will rest for all coming time. It has stood, with the Iliad of Homer, in undisputed preeminence at the head of epic poems in any language, ancient or modern. The more closely it is studied, the more deeply will the impression of it as such be made upon the mind. It would doubt- less have been more complete in its details, and more highly artistic in its finish throughout, if the poet had lived to give it. as was his earnest desire, his final touches. Hut as it is. it commands the admiration of every student of the classics. Professor Francis Howcn, in the Preface to his admirable Notes on it (1859), has very comprehensively summarized the characteristics of the /Eneid as a poem. Me remarks : "The /Encid is the most regular, finished, and uniformly sustained poem of its class. It is the perfection of art, as ininiilablc in its (K-culiar sphere, as the Apollo Bclvidcrc is in statuary, or the Parthenon in architecture. The flow of easy and polished versification never fails, the narrative and descriptive passages are happily conceived and intermingled, and the characters and scenes are grouped with admir- able skill, having a proper connection with each other, and all contributing to the progress of the story. The imagination and taste of the writer are equally con- spicuous. The style never falls into bald and prosaic narration, and never oticnds by excessive or misplaced ornament. The choice and arrangement of words are so felicitous, as often to remind the reader of a curious and tasteful piece of mosaic or inlay work. Yet the composition does not appear studied and constrained, but generally proceeds with an air of natural grace and simplicity. Tlic imposing and majestic tone of many passages kindles and elevates the feelings, and the reader is frequently hurried away by the energy of the style, and the fervor and spirit of the description. An admirable judge of effect, Virgil never wearies by monotony, nor XVI PREFACE. offends by sudden starts or forced transpositions. The scenes and images are fitly disposed, to heighten each other by contrast, to astonish by their variety and grand- eur, and to please by their vividness and beauty. The sentiments are dignified and generous, and are nobly expressed both in words and actions. A profound student of the human heart, the poet touches the chords of softer feeling, or expresses the violent workings of passion with equal power. Moral suffering is delineated with touching effect, and the strife of opposite emotions, the urgency of terror, and the pathos of despair are vividly presented, and leave a deep impression on the mind. The character and history of Dido afford conclusive proof, that if Virgil had chosen dramatic writing for his province, he might have equalled or surpassed the noblest tragedies of the Greeks." In comparing Virgil with Homer, Professor Bowen adds : " He could not rival the energy, simplicity and truth of his predecessor, but he could avoid the rudeness, inequalities and defects of his model. In richness of ornament and purity of style, in polished and harmonious versification, in elegance, propriety and uniformity, in inventing probable incidents and uniting them into a connected whole, in clearness of conception and dignity of speech, in correctness of delineation and sustained elevation of style, in striking contrasts and pathetic effect — in a word, in all the qualities of art, the ^neid is greatly superior to the Iliad and the Odyssey." Every scholar will, in the main, most heartily endorse this exceed- ingly discriminate estimate by one of the most distinguished literary critics of our country and times : and yet there must ever be, in every impartial mind, a reservation in praising the hero, yEneas, whom Virgil sought to ennoble in the eyes of his countrymen. Possessed, as depicted by the poet, of unquestionably noble traits, and human in all his acts, still his treatment of the lovely queen, Dido, was simply execrable, and utterly unworthy the high distinction with which the poet has sought to invest him. There is really no palliation for it, save in the low standard of morals fostered by the religious systems in vogue in Rome at its palm- iest period (the Augustine), when Virgil lived and wrote. If, as some have contended, it was a concession to the corrupt sentiments of the imperial court, then are we not at liberty to infer that it was the simple protest of his own better judgment against such concession, that led the poet to insist, as his dying request, that at his death the /Eneid should be destroyed ? Whether this be so or not, Virgil nowhere in the poem PKKlALt.. XVU attempts to justify /Eneas in his conduct in the case, on the score of honor or morality ; but he simply (though unsuccessful, as he himself must have felt) strives to enlist in his readers' minds, a counter sympathy for his hero, as a victim of fate. But it is a blemish on the hero's char- acter, clinging, in the readers' memory, to him through all his subsequent career, in spite of desire to banish it But with this one notable exception. .Lncas stands before us throughout the /l£neid as an object of admiration, not always indeed the highest, but always commanding the respect and prompt obedience of his comrades ; and so winning an interest, and often carrying with him our profoundest sympathy. \Vc accord him instinctively a very high place in our esteem for his filial devotion, his evidently sincere religious veneration, and as having a heart ever pulsing with human kindness, and warm with responsive human sympathies. We love him, notwithstanding his glaring fault, for the love he ever shows to those at home, his father, wife, son ; and our sympathy is, from the outset, enlisted in his behalf, as the victim of supernal wrath, and the fate-bufictcd hero of a noble race. Virgil's forte is in his descriptive power. He sketches nature with a master's hand, never blundering in his touches. His love of nature is genuine : his eye catches the delicate phases of her manifestations, as well in inanimate as in animate objects ; in landscapes, and in the group- ing of external scenery, as in the intense activities of sentient life. But his insight into human passions, and the springs of human action, and the forms of their development, is that of an expert : he is in it well-nigh unrivaled. His delineations of character are all singularly life-like and true : and such is the marvelousness of his skill in sketching, that some- times a single sentejice, an incident, an epithet, a mere word, will flash to view a living character, with a life-likeness, which, like the image in the camera thrown on a delicately sensitized plate, photographs itself on the memory instantaneously and indelibly. And what gives these character- pictures such a value is that there is no confusion in them, no mistaking one for the other: each is distinct, and cannot be forgotten. His '* fidus Achates, " from first to last, is a model of subservient fidelity. Barce. the XVlll PREFACE. elderly nurse of Dido, though but incidentally introduced, is a perfect por- trait — a type, as she so naturally might be, of feminine senility ; a bus- tling, fussy old woman, more eager to do the bidding of her royal mistress than to consult her own convenience and comfort. Dido herself is one of the best-sketched characters in the poem. She is a queen, beautiful in appearance, and queenly in actions and spirit, notwithstanding her womanly weakness. Her cordial welcome to the shipwrecked wander- ers, the unstintedness of her generosity, the nobleness of her sentiments, and the quenchless warmth of her attachment, together with her sad early history and her tragic death, beget an intense sympathy for her. We pity her ; and, though her untimely end is seemingly the natural sequence of her highly dramatic cast of character, yet no one can read the story of her experiences, and remain indifferent to the rising impulses of compassion started by it. Her traits are as finely drawn as the feat- ures of a portrait painted by Raphael or Michael Angelo. The hand of the artist is as clearly discernible in Dido's portraiture as in that of ^neas, or Turnus, or the vacillating Latinus. Even her indignantly scornful bearing on meeting ^Eneas, her destroyer, in the under-world, is in perfect keeping with her queenly spirit, as so truthfully and graphi- cally depicted in her life. Each character, in fact, throughout the entire poem, is a study of itself ; each moving, however casually introduced, in his or her own sphere, instinct with Jiving attributes. Turnus is a hero of the rarest type, and deserving a nobler destiny than the poet, by way of contrast for the greater exaltation of his own chosen hero, /Eneas, has seen fit to assign him. Mezentius, too, in spite of his contempt for the gods and his soured look on humanity, has, nevertheless, strong human traits ; and the poet's description of his tragic end is one of. the finest scenes in the ALneld. His noble son's self-sacrifice in filial devotion is a touch of descriptive art, such as only a master-artist could give. So, also, the charming episode of Nisus and Euryalus ; the death and funeral of the youthful Pallas, with its torch-light cavalcade ; and the intense yet subdued grief of the aged Evander, as he meets the bier of his heroic son — all bespeak a master's hand, in the delicate and faultless touches made PREFACE. in each. But these arc mere specimens. Scattered throu^jh the entire poem, on almost every pa^c inJcL-tl, are discernible the s.ime evidence» of matchless skill in draftinjj nature to the life. Virgil j- cd the soul of poetry, and even common-place incidents an- made, hv the tour^ of his pen, poetic. IJut there is another, and tn some, even a richer, realm of artistic adaptation in the /Eneid, giving it an increased interest to the scholar, viz., its wealth of archaic allusions. It is an exhaustlcss storehouse of archxology. replete with hints and references to ancient Roman customs and manners. Its fund of information, in these respects, is perfectly marvellous. It takes imagination back over the dim centuries of ante- Roman history, and depicts the simple habits of Evander and the Arca- dians ; and in so doing has made the name of Arcadia a synonym of primitive simplicity of morals and government in every modem language. The whole story of the visit of /Eneas to Evander, from beginning to end, fascinates, not only by its intense naturalness, but by the deep in-sight it gives into primitive manners and modes of life. Then there is the unique array of archaic armor, as the mustered hordes which com- pose the army of Turnus arc described ; each tribe and corps marshalled under their own leaders, and appearing in their own tribal costumes, and armed with their own characteristic weapons ; all forming a treasure- trove, unearthed by the poet's magic wand, and showing conclusively th it Virgil, in preparing himself for the writing of his great national epic, studied his subject thoroughly, and has succeeded in bringing out things old as well as new, in his matchless sketches of pre-historic objects and times. It is no wonder that the /Eneid sprang at once into f)opularity ; for it touched not only the imagination, but the heart of his countrymen, to have their origin, as a nation, carried back to so grand, as well as high, an antiquity ; whilst antiquarians then, and ever since, have seen in it a value greater to them than the mere romance of semi-historic heroes and their chivalric achievements. Rut the yEncid possesses an interest scarcely less to the student ol history and philosophy, for the distinct and clear light thrown bv the XX PREFACE. poet in it upon the religious and philosophic sentiments and tendencies of his times. The Sixth Book alone is a perfect thesaurus of mytholog- ical and philosophical lore, presenting, as it does, such vivid delineations of the idealized imaginings, and religious beliefs almost inseparably con- nected with them, current among the Romans of his own and earlier days. The influence of these poetically embellished views on subsequent thought is plainly traceable, both in profane and ecclesiastical history, through all the Middle Ages, and in literature and art, even down to modern times. No one can doubt that Dante drew his inspiration, in the awfully lurid descriptions of the infernal realms in his immortal Divine Comedio, from Virgil's striking portrayals, taken in part from Homer, of analogous scenes ; whilst our own Milton has certainly drawn largely from the same storehouse of imagery in his Paradise Lost. That the Pythagorian scheme, as explained by the poet through the aged Anchises to his son in Elysium, did, to a greater or less extent tinge even the tenets and practices of the mediaeval church, is a concession which the truthful his'torian can hardly evade. That some ceremonial accessories may have crept in from the same or kindred sources, is possible. Rev. J. G. Cooper, in a note on Book vi, line 636, in his edition of Virgil's Works, has referred to one such admitted instance. "In the entrance of the heathen temples," he remarks, " aqita Instralis, or holy water, was placed to sprinkle the devout on their entrance. This custom of sprinkling with holy water in the Roman church, La Cerda admits was borrowed from this practice." But how far other views and practices may have been foisted into currency through the glamour of song thrown around them by the Mantuan poet, it is not needful here to discuss. Enough that Virgil's impress has been felt, as the influence of few other poets ever has been, on all the ages since he lived; and although the religious system then in vogue in Rome has long since passed away, yet the clear, rich amber of his charming verse has encased its imagery and conceptions, and these will last, as antiques at least, as long as genuine poetry finds a responsive chord in the human heart, or there exists a cultured mind to appreciate poetic monuments. rurrvrF. xxi Hence another characteristic, and one which has contributed pcrhaj» as much as any to the charm of the /Uneid, viz., Virgil's cxquisitr • and marvellous chasteness of expression, in dealing with the diver incidents and subjects admitted into the |)oem. This, in fact, is one of the most striking features of his poems, evincing not only his poetic art, but his culture of heart, giving his writings an individuality unmistakable, and an attr.ictiveness which minds susceptible of appreciating at once purity of thought and beauty of style combined, instinctively recognize and prize. This feature, his chasteness of thought and expression, is the more remarkable, however, as seen in contrast with the grossness indulged in by many of his contemporaries. He handles even forbidden subjects with a delicacy which forestalls oRcnsc, and wrenches from even the most fastidious criticism a commendation. His own purity of soul and conscientiously sensitive mind are the pulsc-throbbings, which impart a healthful lilc to his poetry throughout. /lineas, with the excep- tion already alluded to as forming an indelible stain on his otherwise noble character, was undoubtedly the embodiment of Virgil's own inner con- sciousness — the iconized ideal of his own susceptible self. Scholars have long ago pointed this out ; and no one, familiar with the facts of his personal history as they have come down to us, can doubt it. The theory, that /Eneas was the portraiture of Augustus, docs not militate against its being drafted from the poet's own self-hood, in an efTort to delineate what a sovereign ought to be, rather than what he really was. Virgil, as a poet-artist, painted from life, however ideal the portrait drawn may have seemed, and the traits embodied were to a large extent his own. adapted to the condition of the idealized character. But he was too pure of heart himself to pander trucklingly even to royalty ; too chaste of thought to cater to corruption at any price. He had much to contend with, as well as much to aid him. in the popularization of his theme. While many things at the imperial court, whence his chief patron- age came, were totally uncongenial, nay, even revolting, to his susceptible nature, yet his laudable anxiety to conciliate, subjected him to very potent temptations to swerve from his own high standard, and tended XXll PREFACE. often to warp his better judgment ; and doubtless some things which appear to us as blemishes in his design of the rEneid, are chargeable not to any lack of refinement of taste in its author, but to the times and circum- stances of its composition. We know the importunity of the Emperor Augustus, to have the Sixth Book recited to him by the poet, led to the insertion in it of special accommodative allusions, such as the Pythagorian system of transmigration of souls, by the introduction of which an opportunity was furnished him of bringing in the beautiful tribute to the then recently deceased nephew of Augustus, the youthful prince Marcel- lus, whose mother, Octavia, for it rewarded the poet handsomely, and so paved the way for his high and deserved popularity at court. Then there was that other and almost insuperable difficulty, to one of Virgil's refine- ment of taste, viz., the character of the deities, whose intervention it was indispensable for him to utilize, if popularity for his great epic were his aim. Virgil no doubt felt this, as his material modification of Homer's representations of the same deities very plainly shows. Yet there were the models of idealized life before him, as embodied in the mythological divinities then constituting the objects of veneration in the popular mind, simple deifications of human passions, and some of them of the worst manifestations of human character, and tending rather to degrade than elevate ; to check the higher aspirations of the soul instead of expand- ing and ennobling them. But the manner in which Virgil has handled these, presents him to us as a poet far in advance of Homer ; for although his higher supernatural personages are represented in human moulds, yet they are by no means as paltry in spirit as the corresponding Homeric deities. Virgil's heart was attuned to the harmonies rather than to the discords of human nature. The kindlier impulses dominated his own actions, and it is not strange that he sought to infuse the same tenden- cies in the characters of those whom he would lift to veneration in his noble epic. But there is another, though nearly allied, characteristic of Virgil in the .^neid, which has often been overlooked, but which deserves at least passing notice, viz., the technical accuracy exhibited in it. Like Shake- PREFACK. XXIII spcarc, Virpil rarely, if ever, makes mistake in specialties. Thus, is he describing sailor exjK'riences and naval tactics ? Sailor phrases arc used with a precision ami aptness, which even modern seamen at once recog- nize as exactly in place, and make one almost imagine that Virgil must have been n sailor, to have rendered him so familiar with the sea and all the usages of a sea-faring lif,'. In like manner, is it soldier-life, and army accessories, and battle scenes that are being portrayed ? W'liat graphic precision is observable in even the minutest details, as well as in the casual incidents of camp life; the night-patrols, the scouts, the sentries on the walls and at the gates, or on the outer breast-works — the whole system, in short, of ancient fortif.cation and methods of warfare ; the muster of troops, the marshalling of squadrons of cavalry and infantry, the onsets and charges, the personal combats and daring exploits of chieftains and privates ; the armistice for the burial of the dead, the search for the bodies through the ravines and along the hill-sides, where the conflict had surged ; the burials and funeral pyres, with the unique ceremonies attendant; the trophy-tree, and tiic trophies and spoils of the foe uphung upon it — all arc gems of technical skill, and evincive of strict- est fidelity to fact, as witnessed by one familiar with army-life. Is it the sack of a city by night that forms the picture ? What city was ever taken by a midnight surprisal, whose overthrow has been depicted with more life-like truthfulness in all its details than that of the taking of Ilium, as sketched by Virgil in the Second Book of the /Kncid ? Wo can almost sec the glare of the conflagration, as it rolls its flames above the burning city, and is reflected from the distant headlantls of the straits of Scgciim ; can almost hear the clash of arms, the din of jarring voices, the wail of women and the maddened shouts of desperate men in the awful death-struggle in defense of a city being laid in ashes. Does he sec fit to describe games, as in the Fifth Book ? What reporter of modern sports could be more technically accurate ? And what pen, in prose or verse, has ever depicted such a marvel of apparent entanglement and extrication in intricate evolutions of cavalry man- ceuvres ns tiiat which Virgil's has done in the so-called Game of Trov, as Xxiv PREFACE. executed by Ascanius and his squad of youthful associates ? One would naturally suppose that the poet must have been a sporting man, or a veteran in the service, thus to have depicted the scenes of the one, and the characteristic drills of the other, with the exceeding accuracy with which he has done it. All his similes and illustrations, whether imita- tive or original, are so exactly true to fact that one hardly knows which most to admire, their truthfulness or the skill of the poet in them. His accuracy in some cases, I am aware, has been questioned, but usually by not knowing the facts involved. Take a single instance in illustration: In Book First, line 317 of the yEneid, the "volucer Hebrus " has been a stumbling-block to many commentators, notwithstanding ALL the early MSS. concur in it as the true reading. Heyne, Bently, Kennedy, Ruaeus, and even the cautious Ribbeck, following Rutgers, have joined, with some others, in preferring the conjectural " Eurus." The Hebrus, or modern Maritza, is the only considerable river in Thrace ; and, as Harpalyce was the daughter of the Thracian king, Harpalycus, it was in perfect keepi-ng with his subject for the poet to select a stream where her exploits in the chase were achieved. Then, as to the fitness of "volucer " as an epithet of the Hebrus, the writer can personally testify, havdng resided for three years (1860-63) in Adrianople, at the head of navigation on the Maritza, where its three tributaries, the Arda, the Tundja, and the upper Maritza unite, just above the city, and flow on thence to the yEgcan Sea. Just below the confluence, and opposite the city, the Maritza is spanned by a very ancient Roman bridge, built substantially on stone piers and arches. Let any one, as the writer has often done, take his stand on that old bridge (which may have been there even in Virgil's day), when the spring floods come rushing down from the distant Balkan mountains in the three confluent streams, and swelling the Maritza to its fullest capa- city, and gaze on the long streaks of foam as they shoot with arrow-like appearance and velocity through the choked arches, and onward to the sea, and he can no longer doubt the exceeding accuracy and appropriate- ness of both the epithet and the name of the object of comparison chosen. Virgil did not mistake in his allusion. He knew whereof he wrote when I'RKFACE. XXV he made it, and had cither himself seen the Ilcbrus at its spring flooti, or had received his information direct from those who had themselves witnessed it. Commentators of so accurate a poet should be very guard- ed in their conjectural emendations, and know the facts in the case, before they venture to discard the authority of all the early copies of the text.' Can we wonder, then, that the /Eneid, abounding, as it docs, in pas- sages evincive of such consummate technical acquaintance with both ancient and contemporary Roman usages and facts, in so many depart- ments of life's phases, took so strong a hold of the Roman heart and mind, and has |K>ssessed a charm to some of the greatest minds in ages since ? No book, wc venture to say, in any branch of classic literature, has been more read and valued. It was one of the few works which Martin Luther specially prized. His Virgil and his Missal constituted his staple, as a library, in his cloistered hours ; and it retained its place, even by the side of his Bible, though subordinate to it, on his table till the day of his death. It was simply his tacit testimony to its inesti- mable worth. The VEncid is a model epic, whose high estimate by scholars time has only tended to enhance. Probably no classic work has had more scholarship brought to bear on its interpretation, both in ancient and modern times, than the /Encid ; and judging from the many scholarly works in its elucidation published of late years, its critical study lias not yet by any means reached its ultimate limit. There are difficulties, it is true, both in its phraseology and allusions, which have puzzled the best annotators; but in the main, few poets have been more transparent in style and diction than Virgil. His poetry is the perfection of harmony in con- formity to the strict rules of Latin prosody. With his numbers and rhythm the ear never tires. His nice adaptation of sound in the words to the rhythm in tiie meter has often been remarked. Instances of these felicitous alliterations and musical accommodations will readily recur to every student familiar with the original, and need be only alluded to here. Hut this charming feature forms one of the chief difficulties in translating his poems into any other language. How are these corre- spondences of sound and sense, of thought and expression, of image and XXVI PREFACE. embodiment, to be represented to modern cars, when they are in any other language than the poet's own — simply inimitable ? Some of these poise on archaic terms and phrases, and a play upon words, pleasing to ears vernacular, but which are shorn of their peculiar beauty to any other. The aim of the present version, held steadily in view throughout — as will be gathered by even a casual comparison of it with the original — has been, not to equal the rhythmic beauty of the poet's numbers, for this is a sheer impossibility, but to permit Virgil to utter his own thoughts in his own phraseology as nearly as practicable, without retrenchment or meretricious embellishment. Every word, save the occasionally often-re- curring minor conjunctions, has been rendered, and a constant effort made to give each its full force; whilst additions, when indispensable to com- plete ellipses or to accommodate the meter, are scrupulously in the line of the poet's thought. The lines left incomplete by Virgil (of which there are 56 in all) are left the same in the version. The rendering is line by line, and as literal as justice to the two languages, in the restricted plan, would admit. It is the result of no slight critical labor, prosecuted con ainore throughout; and if it shall be found to contribute, in any measure, to a closer study of this incomparable epic, the chief object of its publication will have been attained. Perfection in it is not claimed. It is at best a venture in a direction signalled, but not traversed, with like design in the translation of the yEneid, before : but, if others shall be prompted by it to achieve more perfect success in the same line, the venture will not have been in vain. The pleasure derived from the close intimacy with this noble classic, necessitated by the restricted plan adopted, is of itself an ample compensation for the long and exactive labor it has cost. Begun some twenty years since, and then simply as an experiment, without, at the outset, the most distant thought of its completion, much less its pub- lication, the work has. rather grown into than been made what it is. The track [proposed was so untrodden, that aid from any source could only be at best subsidiary; and yet every available help has been welcome. At hand for reference have been the forty different editions of the /Eneid, or TKLIACE. XXVII Works of Virgil, in the translator's possession, to each of which he is more or less indebted for sujjjjestions, but to none for the meter or even .1 single line as it stands. It has been the recreation of many an othcrw.,^ weary hour, as opportunity, amid other cares and duties, allowed. Through encouragement from classical scholars, without which the version would probably never have been completed, or if completed, never published, it is now committed to an indulgent public, simply as an honest effort to stimulate the study, by an attempted reproduction in English, in its orig- inal meter, of one of the grandest epics ever written in any language. With this end even proximately accomplished, the aim in its preparation will have boon fully attained. At the suggestion of the late Prof Robert Potts. LL. i)., of Cam- bridge University. England, whose interest in it was a cheer, the plan of adding Notes was at one time entertained ; and material, to a certain extent, was collected, drawn in part from the writer's nine years' residence in the Orient, in regions and on lines of travel made familiar by the poet's vivid descriptions, as well as from other sources; but this was abandoned as mainly needless. The idea broached by his long-esteemed friend, the late Prof. Thomas A. Thachcr, LL. D., of Yale University, of printing the Latin text on each opposite page, to correspond with the version, was con- templated; but this would have increased both the size of the volume and the price, when the text is so easily available: hence the decision to omit it. A third proposal — early adopted, and carried through the entire work, and cancelled even after it had begun to be executed in type — was to give foot-references to passages where phrases or sentences were repeated by the poet, or to allusions throwing light on the point in hand, or to words used in similar sen^e by Virgil himself To illustrate Book i. line 313; Note, See Book xii. 165, or Book i.. line 354 ; See Book x. 823. And under 2d head ; Book i., line 28, Ganymede ; Note, See Book v., 1. 252 ; while under 3d head, take two examples. Book i.,line I, the much-vexed word "primus," Note its use in line 24; and in line 8, "quo numinc IsEso," compare " pro numine Ixso," in Book ii., line 183. But all these encumbrances of page and book it was deemed best to dispense with, and XXVIU PREFACE. leave the version wholly free of either note or comment, as it now appears. In regard to the spelling of the poet's name ; undoubtedly Vergilius has the sanction of antiquity; but the usage of at least three centuries of English Literature has certainly legitimated in our language its Angli- cized form. There is force, therefore, in the conclusion of Prof. B. H. Ken- nedy, D. D., of Cambridge: " Virgilius in Latin is indefensible ; but, while we write Vergilius only, it may be long before the Italians give up their long-cherished Virgilio, the French their Virgile, and we English our familiar VIRGIL." It only remains to express acknowledgments for the kindly aid, in suggestion and encouragement, given by esteemed friends, to whom specimens of the work were shown, especially to the late Prof Robert Potts, LL. D., of Cambridge, England, and Prof. Thomas A. Thachcr, LL. D., of Yale, both of whom took a kindly interest in the v/ork ; to Prof Francis Bowen, LL. D., of Harvard, to whose admirable Notes on Virgil's entire Works, reference has already been made; to Prof. Henry S. Frieze, LL. D., of the University of Michigan, whose iEneid is a standard in Academic studies; to Prof. Basil Gildersleeve, LL. D., of Johns Hop- kins University; to Prof John Stuart Blackie, LL. D., of the Edinburgh University, and to ex-president Theodore D. Woolsey, D. D., LL. D., of Yale, both of whom, though objecting to hexameter, approved of the gen- eral aim of the version; to Rev. S. Dryden Phelps, D. D., of New Haven, himself a poet and author ; to Rev. Robert Aikman, D. D., of Madison, N. J.; to his college classmates. Gen. Henry B. Carrington, LL. D., of Boston, Prof. Edward Olmstead, M. A., of Wilton, Conn., and Rev. Guy B. Day, M. A., of Bridgeport, Conn., the two latter classical teachers of many years experience — to these, and others, who have kindly taken interest in his tentative yet difficult effort, the translator would tender his sincere thanks for the cheer which their words and letters of encour- agement have given him. O. C. Morristown, N. J., Jaimary 2^, 1SS8. AXALVSIS. BOOK I. iCSF^S STRANIIEI> AT CARTHACK. Tlir porm nrim- in th'^ stvonth vnr nftcr the f.ill of Ilium, with the hem. /T.nen^. a w nnrirrrT Jt\ wxalh. : tho Mu»<- invoke*! to rev III. -, ....,, >. . ; i- ,.. i .., ,, .,,,., .1 ^l.incc at Carth;ii;c, Juao's petti>. an important cpistxlc, the Troiati fleet of twenty shipt is xcn at xn of) the coast for Italy, and I ' ' r it : 34 49. ller plan fDrnu-d, sh' ' cajolinifly inv. 1 the wind;», to «lotruy thi* li.»;«"tiine iMtei^ seven dTnis ships and their wear) 157-179. Landing;, he, with hi; ascends a hill in hope of discovering the missing twelve ship^ none seen, deer: he ^' " vcn staj;s, and returning, distributes them, «ne ; ' ' as t t on the ven«iion : l.So-322. V enus nil fades U-' " ■ ' an ol Koine : Mercury, at Jupiter s command, is sent tot arthaije to p: 'to a favor.i;... . -, ,>tion of the stranded rroj.ins : 207-304. \'. m :.. Ii. il ,• t. , a huntress, meets her son, itneas, in a forest, whitner he an ;o5 ;34 ^' " '""m wh.Ti-ji^ .... .■ttl'.-mi'Ti: 3^5 571. fnt, i tions, enters the city v. 1 on iN « i!U pictun-- ot his while • rek\'ates from the missing vessels come piii. itiea."* scndn Achates ti.n k to tl 656. Wiuis, full of anv'' tv, i ill! "*n, amid tl; to entertain them with an account < prei>anng the way for the vivid narraiiuu lu her for rc^ > iioin an and her desire to see t her. . 1 .;. to see for- I s ^ for \\i> :.f4>^ > 1:1 the ith 'I' .11 of Ilium, .and lUc next Book : 723-750. /\j^ . a land- .\i.hate3, a herd of •m- in nCK)K II. THE FAI.I. AND SACK <>F ILIUM. jV'^TS'i. in rnTni^lhnrr with Didn't rf«^nr-5t. thoui;h loath t-^ rrvire it< «nd m/~TtnHr<. f>T*>rr*Hi to t on the I 12. In ! dc , ^ - ,vi visit her lave. and, under hei under-world on a visii : .t, then to be there : 433-462. 1. .. adieu and sail for Italy : 463-505. A calm night at m:-i ensues ; It.i ct' ' - • ■• nd Anchises' I'rayer : 506-536. Thoy cii" ' I : but Anchises, t>h>crvinij some whi'.i; 1. a i~ i; At .1.1 l- :^ , . HctelU : ■ . ., . . 607-654. The sudden appearance of Polyphemus, his deicription. and their escape from th monster and his mustering horde : 655-685. They take in t' ' • - 'ive, and ' - -' -^,. crn shore of Sicily, lill they reach Dreponum, where An^ s and i ^^ ' :, a storm drives them to Carthage : thu^ cnd:> tUc recital, what 'Mc a»acaiUy di i 1- . 7 '*'• BOOK IV. dido's love and tragic death. The next morning after the banquet, and thr narration of /Enea?. Dido discloses to hrr «istcr, Anna, her passionate love for their n* ' her scruples in re^jard to a second : and is encouraged by Anna to cherish ■ , in view i" ti'- ••■.'■ v r > ur-w,- f-,.: 1 with the Trojan prince : 1-50. ''Dido sacrifices to Juno and 1 her \ • ' ' — • •'• • impulses of the new attachment ; w'v - for.l .,' her to neglect her ])laiis for aijv'ran' it ' " -, and p k 1 the «• apjii i-scti llaiy, t hunting ' ., _, i, in the sends a violent thunder-storm, in which the hunters scatter, shelter alone in a cave, where, by Juno's aid, a quasi-m •"' • •'• sequences are foreshadowed: 120-172. A uraphic dc Vjiven : and the rep )rt of the Iflrhus, a Libyan ^uitor nf IV \ I ■ ly. J..J.1I..T. ii) . t" • ^c, aiid to fail at cury departs, and arnviiiij at the ' f Carthage, Inv; intending building o|>cratjons to .^..^..., the city. V- iupiter ; receiving which, .tneas, though reluctant, p: is fleet : - :^- -:•■■-■' - , . . . and his scathing reproaches lur his pcrtidy, uiia uut'fcvaU» ctcxiiaJ vcii(^caucc uu luat. Sue swuuns, muI ii i olxry. ami secretly XXXll ANALYSIS. carried to her chamber by attendants : 362-392. ^neas, still immoved, persists in his prepara- tions, in accordaace with the mandate of Jupiter : Dido appeals to her sister, Anna, to aid in her efforts to change his mind and detain him ; but, though Anna seeks frequent interviews, and uses her utmost persuasion, he remains inexorable : 393-449. Dido now becomes desperate, and prays for death, and secretly dstermines on it : her forebodings and frenzy depicted : 450-473. She disguises her designs, and by plausible pretexts induces her sister to prepare a funeral pyre, on which to burn, as she alleges, the relics of the hated Dardan. Anna unsuspectingly complies with her request : 474-503. liido decks herself and the altars, and prays for success in her trag'ic purpose: 504-521. Her sleepless excitement, and soliloquy at night : 522-553. In the meantime JEnecLS, being again warned in a dream to be gone, at early dawn arouses his comrades and sets sail : 554-583. Dido at day-break from her palace descries the fleet in the offing, and gives vent to a violent outburst of frenzy, praying for condign retribution on the perfidious Dardan, and for an avenger of her wrongs to ariise : 584-629. She then calls her old nurse, Barce, and sends her with a fictitious message to her sister, Anna ; whilst she ascends the pyre, and, at the sight of the Dardan relics, utters her last words, and then falls upon the sword left by yEneas : 630-665. / Consternation at the act ensues : her sister hastens to her side, and, with affectionate expostulate/ tions, sustains her drooping form as Dido expires in her arms : 676-692. Juno dispatches Iris from Olympus to receive her departing spirit : 693-705. Thus ends the saddest tragedy of the poem. BOOK V. ANNIVERSARY GAMES AT DREPANUM. .^NEAS at sea looks back with sad surmises on the flames of Dido's suicidal pyre : 1-7. A storm arises, and the fleet is compelled to put into the port of Drepanum, on the westerly coast of Sicily : 8-34. Their former host, Acestes, descries them from a height, and hastens to extend a / welcome : 35-41. As it was now about a year since he there buried his father Anchises, /EneasV'^ announces his intention of celebrating the anniversary by suitable games, and invites all lo join him in preparatory solemnities at the tomb : 42-71. Accordingly, all wreathe their temples with myrtle, and proceed together to the tomb ; where, in the midst of the ceremonies, a serpent glides from the mound to the altar, and tastes of the sacrifices ; which he greets either as his father's spirit embodied in it, or the genius of the place : 72-103. At the appointed day, the ninth following, crowds assemble to witness the games : the prizes are displayed, and the signal for commencement is given: 104-113. First. The Boat-race. The four contesting yachts, with their captains and crews, are described'S'-iiiy ia i:',.^Xb^i ;^''i "^"^, i rock in the offing ; the p^aces assigned by lot, and the race begins. A graphic description of the start, the applause, the struggle : 124-158. X^ the contestants near the goal, Gyas, commander of the ChinitTa, in a gust of anger, pitches his\ helmsman overboard, and takes himself the helm : the amusing plight of the half-drowned helms-i man crawling, wet and dazed, upon a rock : 159-1S5. Sergestus, the commander of the Centaur j m his eagerness, staves his galley on a shelving ledge ; then follows a spirited struggle between Mncstheus of the Fristis, and Cloanthus of the Scylla, in which the latter wins : 1S6-243. The prizes distributed ; the return of Sergestus in his crippled vessel, and his prize : 244-285. Second Game. T hr FooT-RAr R. The contestants ; the mutual affection of Nisus and Euryalus, two of them ; ttnf'slip and f'all"Sfthe former, and his quick shil't in turning it to the advantage of his friend, and the generosity of .^Eneas in awarding the prizes : 286-361. Third. Tttv ]^.^vr\:(f.]\l.\T(-ri^ The swagger of Dares, and his defiant challenge accepted, at the instigation of king Acestes, by the Sicilian champion Entellus. Stift'ened by age, the latter steps forth, displays the terrible gaunt- lets of his trainer Eryx, recounts in brief their history, and waives their use in favor of the Trojan gauntlets: 362-425. In the encounter Entellus, by a false thrust, falls heavily, but is quickly helped up, and renewing the fight severely punishes Dares, and then drives his gauntlet through the skull of the prize bull as a substitute for Dares : 426-484. Eourth. The T riai^ok AivCHER Y. A pigeon is suspended from an erected mast-head as the mark ; MippocoOn, flU' Ibsl "archer, hits the mast-head ; Mnestheus, the second, cleaves the string, setting the bird free ; Eurytion, the third, shoots the pigeon on the wing ; and lastly the fourth, Acestes, discharges his arrow in the air, and it takes fire, which being variously interpreted, /Eneas embraces his host and loads him with presents : then the jirizes are awarded satisfactorily to all : 4S5 544. Fifth. The Game OK Tkoy. Participated in by yVscanius and his squad of youthful associates, a marvclTiT'uUricaiC *»-e(UiaJxy-i,nanoeiivres, with which the anniversary games end : 595-603. Meanwhilejuuo sends Iris down to foment discontent among the Trojan women, who in their f^renzy set fire to the ship'-, in the harbor : the alarm given, and the fire discovered by the crowd at the games, and all rush to A.NALi >i>. XAXIU th** •erne, Aacunht* in adtnutce, who indii^naniiv chklcn the «illv women : vdiOM f)ny% and };: : ^ :, ■ "■ ■ ■ ■ , left with k the rc-t to sail tor Italy: A; ! sanctions \l. ... •' ' trlU him to I " •' >' ' : , , - : i:. by \icr. wi-h him ii. K, Thcail n ; the town of .' nu' ^^ — ' ■— ' " ■ - r-.i...... •..1.. . _j<^ yyg_ ,.-„„,,„, to I I with hi* retinue: ~ \ .^ the helm. BOOK VI. THE DESCENT OF >ENKAS INTO THE INDER-WdRLD. LANnixo at ("""^-^. .F.nca*, as enjoined by Ilclcnv^ ^"i AnchLie», rrpairs to the shrsnc of Apollo, the awe-in .vc of the Sibyl, the Dclian [ - ; and. while vicwinif the scuip- tu: '"lodoor, i : -l-4I. Her cave dc>c riKd. ■ ' ' ' ■ . ti' icy, and ominous orailc« : 42-07. H a vi^il li> his father 111 Lly>iaiii, ciUtv^' th<- in attainint; a like privilege : 9&J23. \Shc war 1 for and find in the forests a ^)I.I)EN BuLGU sacred to l'roscrpina,jwhich will serve him as a talisman : apprising him of the death of a comrade during his ab«n#- -'" ;..;... ..•. >, -.. iir*» to_. attc.id his funeral : i ^r'SS - Returning; to the fleet in the harbor, he wx*. J dead; the story of his cleatn. and the mourning over him : I5C>-I78. W 11,1c ■ J cutting wo3irs attain to the Sibyl's cave : 212-235. Treparatory signals and warning», the Sibyl biiis him draw his sword and |i)liow her : 230-203. 1 i of the |H>ct f >r permission and inspiration to depict whit they saw and heard : 264-267. 1 .sti- bule they meet personifications of human woes — ^Gricf. Remorse, Old Ai;c, Fear, Hun;;er, Want, Toil, Death and its brother Sleep, Sordid Pleasures, War, Furies, Piscord ; and near by Elm-tree, wherein lurk Delusive I)reams : Then come monsters of imatjination — Centaurs. the hundrcd-armetl Briarius, the Hydra of Ix'ma, < ' V ' '' at their horrid a>j>ccts, draws his sword and isal- i Sibyl that they arc mere phantoms : 270-294. The river Styx, and the lerrv lie- scried with a crowd of ghosts waiting on the bank to cross over : 295 313. T:._ . . the iccne by stating that the uaburied wander thus a hundred years on the gloomy bank : .ICnexs recognizes several lost comrades, among them his pilot, I'alinurus. who tells the story of his suflTcr- ings an 1 death, and entreats to l>e extricatetl, but is coml'ortctl by the Sibyl: 337-;8v Charon ch.i" 1, but is awed by a sii^ht of the • ' ov I his patchectl : '^■■re met by >!•■"- who directs them to Anchiscs, whom they find in a st ; the future l: his descendants: 660-702. Anchisc*, after the > 10 u river I>eth#, the spirits throni'ing it. and <-x[i .. >n and • origin ot life: 70^-723. I . -;i. An tiiciu t. a mound, where pass in revie^'. r to the : 752 787. Tbcu follow their successors, the Cx^ars in the goidca age, the Republic, the Empire Anchiics XXXI V ANALYSIS. becomes enraptured at the view : 788-S23. Marcellus the elder and younger, with the poet's tribute to the latter (for which the mother, Octavia, richly rewarc'ed him) : 854-8S6. Then Anchi^es conducts them through Elysium, depicts the wars lo come in Italy, and then dismisses them through the ivory gate ot Sleep ; when ^neas returns to his comrades and moors his fleet at the beach of Cajeta : 887-901 . Thus closes the most remarkable Book of the yEneid, whose imagery ] has so largely influenced subsequent literature. / BOOK \1I. HOSTILITIES IN ITALY BEGUN. At Cajeta the nurse of y^neas dies, and is awarded an honorable sepulture and her name given to the site ; after which they skirt the shores of the island of the sorceress Circe by moon-light ;■■ but the kindly aid of Neptune enables them to avoid it: 1-24. They at length enter the long- souglit Tiber amid the singing of birds, and moor their ships to its shady banks : 25-36. The previous state of Latium clsscribed : Latinus, the king, and his only, and now marri ag eable, daugh- ter, Lavinia ; her suitors^ among them TURNUS, the antagonistic rival of .^neasylthe oracles of Faunus forbidding nativ(^nd enjoining a foreign nuptial alliance ; the news of thfrarrival of the Trojans in the Tiber spreads : 46-106. Meanwhile the Trojans partake of a frugal repast under a lofty tree on the river's bank ; and, while eating the quadrated cakes, on which their food in rustic style had been placed, the fearful prophecy of the harpy Celseno (Book III, 255) was explained, \ and the dread of it dispelled : 107-147. The exploration of the country is begun, and yEiieas dis- / patches a hundred nobles with presents to the court of king Latinus, while he himself lays oufa town and fortifications : 148-159. The envoys i-each Laurentum, which is described, and are welcomed by the king : 160-201. The object of their mission stated and their presents to Latinus displayed: 211-248. Latinus is at once impressed with the coincidence of previous oracles, and accedes to their overtures, jfatifies an alliance, and offers his daughter in marriage to yEnea^; and, as a token of sincerity, senm him a magnificent span and a chariot ; whereupon the amba'ssadors return : 249-285. Thus far all seems favorable ; but suddenly Juno espies the Trojan camp in Italy, and vows vengeance and bitter war : 286-322. She summons Allecto, a Fury, and bids hen do her worst to scatter the seeds of rancor and strife: 323-340. Allecto accordingly hies to the) palace of Latinus, and ciouching at the door of queen Amata, flings a serpent stealthily into her bo-.om, which sets the que-jn in a frenzy, whirling like a top : 346-403. Having set things in train for war at Laurentum, the fiend repairs to Ardea, the home of Turnus, the future hostile rival of ..'Eneas, and hurls a snake at him, after she had vainly triel other means, and goads him on to break the treaty recently formed : 404-474. She then hastens to the Trojans, and finds a ready occasion for a feud. A pet deer of Salvia, the daughter of Latinus' herdsman, is wounded by Ascanius on a hunting excursion, and, fleeing to its mistress for refuge, sets the whole clan of peasants on fire to avenge the outrage: 475-504. They rally with rude weapons, and the fiend from a house-top sounds the shepherds' alarum, and a desperate fight between the Trojan hunters and peasants ensues, wherein the brother of Sylvia and others are slain : 505-536. Allecto, exult- ing in her successes, reports to Juno, who, lauding, warns her to begone from earth : 537-571. Meanwhile the slain are brought in, and Latinus is implored by the excited populace to avenge their death : Turnus intensifies their grievance, and Latinus, finding remonstrance vain, retreats to his palace and abandons the reins of government : 572-600. Juno, descending from heaven, with her own hand unbars the gates of war in the temple of Janus, and all Aus^onia at once springs to arms: five great cities —Laurentum, Atina, Tibur, Ardea, and Crustumeri— prepare for war: 601-640. The Muses arc once more invoked to open Helicon, and recall these events of dim antiquity: 641 646. The leaders of the mustering hosts presented— Mczentius and his son, Lau- .sus. marshal the forces of Agylla : 647-654. Aventinus, ihe son of llcrculos, and his troops and their equipment given : 655-659. Catillus and Coras, th; Tihurtian brothers, like Centaurs come : 670-677. Cce.-lus, the son of Vulcan and founder of Pr.vneste, with his anomalous horde : 678-690. Messapus, the son of Neptune, bearing a charmed life, with his singing baud : 691-705. Clausus and his Sabines, with clashing shields and thundering tread : 706-722. llalcesus, witnhis 'Cian in nondescript armor; *.Ebulus, Ufens, Umbro the priest, and Virbius, with his tiery stced^ 723-782. Turnus the chami)u)ii of the confederate hosts, in his splendid armor and chariot^ and lastly Camilla, the Amazon of marvellous fleetness. with her squadrons of cavalry, at whom tlit crowds gaze with admiration, as she appears decked in purple and gold, with badge of pastoral! myrtle : 783-817. A.NALVMS. WAV WH\K VIII. ^NF-AS' VISIT TO KVANDKR IN ARrADIA. TfR\lt> hoists the »if;nal of war on the caxtlc of I jurmtiitn. an.! fh.- mnfivlcrate chirflatfM rally their force» rouiul it ; while Venuluit is sent a» a special envoy, • ittte, t«» the i»urt of Ditmirde. who, niter the Trojan war, harl >ctilcie on the Tdier : iS 65. ( >n awakui^'. /luica* pray to the i-i nymphs, atui to father 'liU-rinus ; and ;.clectin>; a roiipic ol ij.illcv!', he prepares to cm: r Arcadia, when unexjxTtedly he iliscovcrs, under the hollies frin^;in^J (he T ilx;r, a white viw and pi^s — the omen mentionol hy Ilelenus (i{-8o. A deli^;htful sail up the smooth TiN " them at noon i-. f the castle and city ol r.tllanteum : Ki-ioi. < In that day, it !. . th.it Kv.mder people were en^javjcd in an .innivcrsary festival in honor of Her*.iile>, their deliverer ; at nmlst ol their least they are startlml by the sij^ht of approachinfj vessels : I'allas, thejonof 1 rushing; to a mound in front, challenjjes the strangers ; but their friendly signals allay hisfcar», and, learning who they are, and their errand, he invites them ashore: 102-125. >'^'-i>cas, being admitted to the presence of the king, addresses him, referring to their common ancestry, and states thi.s as a reason for his coming in |K'rson, instead t>f sending ambassadors, a- ' 'scs a m';' against their common fit to his sister in ~ who gave him a keepsake, whit h hi> son, Tallas, still retaineil ; and so, accctling to the i he invites /Kncas and his comrades to join in the fcstiviliesof the day. and orders the feast renewed : 142-183. The feast over, Evander explains the origin of the day's celebration, by relating the story of Cacus, a noted robl)er, son of Vulcan, the terror of the region, whose den was in the Aventine mount, but whom Hercules, when rctunnng from the slaughter of the (ieryon, slew for ' • s«mie of his lin-rian cattle, and so dcliveritl them from the terrible pest : at the close of th all join in the celebration : 184-279. In the evening they are entertainetl by a torch-light sion, ending in a rustic dance and song m pniise of the hero of the day : 2S0-305. 1 returns to the city, leaning on the arm of his guest and his son. and wiles the time by sketchnig the history of the early settlers ot Italy from Saturn, their founder, on, and |>oints out to his guest the various |>laccs of interest, which in after times Ix'camc celebrities in Rome ; until, arriving at his humble abode, when, with an apology lor its humbleness, invites his guest in, spreads a r ' f le-avcs with a l)car-skin, and leaves him to repose for the mght : 306 3fsS. In the meantini' ■ alarmed at the asjK-ct of events, entreats Vulcan to forge her son a suit of invincible armtir, win, [1. he cheerfully engages to do : 369- 406. A graphic description of Vulcan's .T.tnxn fi the Cyclops work -shop is given : 407-453. At early dawn Kvandcr visits his guest, an alliance also with the Etruscan prnice, Tarchon, who han with the armor just forgetl by VuK an, at sight «>f which he is enraptured. Taking up each piece, he tests its weight, ami on the shield sees delineated, in elalx)ratc design, Rome's history, which, unaware of its full impoit, he admires, aud thco lifts to hi.s shoulders the fates of his posterity- the shield of his destiny : OoS-731. BOOK IX. TflE EPISODE OF NISUS AND ErRYAI.fS. JfNO sends Iri<; down to incite Tumus to attack the Trojans in camp during the .nhsence of ytneas : 1-24. Accordingly, the conletlerate hosts threaten the garrison; but the Trojans, having been strictly charged by /Eucas not to venture outside the gates, await the onset : 25-45. Turnus, lie arm»)r, win, ti. furnaces, ai.d otS it, and pro|M)s«-sJ m Mezcntius 10 XXXVl ANALYSIS. on his Thracian charger, rides up and insultingly tosses a javelin over the walls ; but, being unable to dislodge them, he in chagrin orders his troops to fire the fleet : 46-75. The Muses again invoked to recall from the dim past the legend to account for the fleet's rescue — His mother Cybele once obtained from Jupiter the solemn promise of immunity for her sacred pines on Moimt Ida, from which the ships were built ; and, at the critical moment, the vessels are transformed into sea-nymphs, and float away unharmed : 76-122. Rutulians are amazed ; but Turnus interprets it as an ill omen for the Trojans : both armies set guards and await the morrow : 123-135. Nisus and Euryalus, boon companions, while on sentry duty together guarding the gate, concoct a plan of apprising ^ncas of the state of affairs, and re])ort it to the chiefs, who applaud its heroism, and cheer them on by presents and promises : Ascanius gives special assurances to Euryalus respecting his mother, without whose knowledge the venture is risked ; and so, when duly equipped, they are escorted to the gate, and sent forth with benisons : 176-313. They proceed in the darkness to the Rutulian camp, ere starting on their hazardous journey to Pallanteum, and there make fear- ful liavoc, but escape loaded with spoils : 314-336. Meanwhile a squad of cavalry under Volscens,^ on their way from Laurentum, intercepts them : Euryalus, betrayed by his new-donned helmet gleaming in the midnight, is taken : Nisus, having meanwhile reached a place of safety, missing his friend, returns to his rescue, but in vain ; for, ere he is able to reach him, he is slain by Vol- scens : his death avenged by Nisus slaymg the slayer, who then falls on the body of his friend pierced by many wounds : 337-445. The poet pays a beautiful tribute to the heroic pair : 446- 449. The squad take up the iDody of their dead chief slain by Nisus, and, cutting off the heads of Nisus and Euryalus, proceed to the camp, where they find mourning and consternation over the slaughter done by the two heroes ; and fixing their two heads on spears, they display them to the view of the dismayed Trojans: 450-472. Rumor thereof reaches the ears of Euryalus' mother, who, leaving her loom, gives vent to depressing lamentations ; but, to prevent its efi'ect on the soldiers, she is tenderly conveyed to her home : 473-502. The trumpet sounds, and the exasper- ated Rutulians assault the Trojan entrenchments and attempt to scale the breast-works : 503-524. The poet invokes Calliope to ins]iire him in depicting the havoc ensuing : 525-529. Turnus hurls a brand, and sets fire to a tower in the Trojan garrison, which is precipitated, burying many in its ruins : a desperate struggle by two survivors, who, liowever, are killed by Turnus : 530-568. MiL'hty deeds of valor are performed on both sides : 569-589. The vain boaster, Numanus, is shot M'ith an arrow by Ascanius, who is applauded for the exploit by Apollo, but warned to abstain from further like ventures : 570-671. Fandarus and Bitias, giant brothers, incautiously open the gate and attempt a repulse : 672-690. Turnus, hurling a ponderous falaric, prostrates iJitias : 691-716. Mars now sides with the Latins, and the Trojans fall back in disorder : Pandarus, en- raged at his brother's death, by a powerful effort, shuts the gates, excluding many comrades, but includes Turnus, who spreads havoc and consternation among the Trojans : 717-777. Mnestheus and Sergestus at length iorce him step by step, like a lion at hay, to the wall, when he suddenly leaps from the battlement into the Tiber, and swimming away, rejoins his comrades : 778-818. BOOK X. THE BATTLE RENEWED ; PALLAS SLAIN BY TURNUS. — ' • Jupiter calls a council of the gods in Olympus, and deprecates the war: the speeches of Venus and Juno : 1-90. Jupiter solemnly declares that both jiarties shall be treated impartially, but the fates must decide their respective lots, and ratifies his decision by a nod and an oath, making all Olympus (juake : 96-117. The Rutulians renew the attack on the Trojan camp, which is bravely 1 resisted, Ascanius appearing bare-headed amid the chiefs in the defense: 118-145. Meq,n\vhil£j .(Eneas, having met Tarchon and concluded a treaty of alliance with him, embarks the Arcadian and Etruscan infantry for the scene of war, and sails by night gently down the river Tiber, I'allas at his side asking questions : 146-162. Renewed invocation of the Muses to o]ien Helicon, and tell the chiefs and forces of the allies : 163-165. These enumerated and described as they sail by night on the Tiber in their thirty transports: 166-214. At dawn the sea-nymphs— his lately transformed ships— greet and escort the hero, their chief, Cymodoct', explaining who and what they were and what the state of aiiairs in the camp ; and ajiprising him that the Arcadian and Etruscan cavalry had already reached their ajipointed posts, and that Turnus was about to attack them in force, bids him hasten on : he, with a prayer to Cybele, presses on toward the camp : 215 257. TJie fleet heaves in sight of the Trojan camp : yEneas signals his approach by lilting aloft his invincible, glittering shield, which is hailed from the ramparts with shouts, which startle the Rutulians : 258-275, Turnus, at once rallies his troops to intercept them, as they attempt to ANALYSIS. XXXVU lan 107, ! ml itn rci^iil-x-, in ««liich •» Ui l(MI .111 ll > I uiiiUit « ; li-ii^cs I'.ili.is to viii^;|c tiini.ii, wliith IS aiit|iti t^'KC% troll) tl - '■ itc iurni the tatal IIALDKIC, «!.,. ,. ... . S40), hut he yiiMs the l>o' which,»! ^ lurthcr iir . Jupiter v:rant> : J Mic p: »""'••"' ' . .. hich Turnus ; — ^j it real, is tlccnw ...,,. .,.| otfoi i!.. » : 'I a ship, which snai>s its hawser, and siiU awijr with him to tl hi-" i.itii , :■ [ii;c his Ir.intic li "ions: 633-68S. Mcmul " t.ikcs ilic Ill-Ill, and rajien like <.\r, slavint; nianv hr.ivi- fiK-. and many a hero falls: ( • '' Venus and Juno, with varioi. marches on, j;rand as Orion, makm^ havoc, till wounded dv . i v • his brave son. Lausus, who is cut down by /Eneas who in pity i ;.. ...... 1 dyin^; ; 762-823, Mezentius, having; by reason of his wound been disabled, t a tree on theltankof the TiU-r. where he Icam.s of the death of his son, and,railvi he, i: Jcspcrate determination to avenge the death of his son, or die in the at war horse, Khcrlius, wh'im headdresses, a- -ly rushes .it' which are dexterously caught uu thcchai.. eld, till at k J slays Mczcutiub : 824-90S. B(X)K XI. FTNERAl. OF PALXAS. AND PEATH OF CAMILLA. /Enf.a?! the ncitt day erects a trophy of spoils taken from Me/cntiu*, and, cheering his 01m- rades, arranges for the burial of the dead, and tor sending the body of Pallas home: 1-28. the lamentation in the camp over Pallas, and the tribute to him by /Eneas: 29-58. A wicker-birr is then wrought, fe«tooiie. , and mutital preparations arc arran^;ed accord iiikjly: ico 13S. ihc cavalcade rciche» I'.i ....» at everunu;, and is met by a torch-li^;ht priKession: the pathetic prief and lament of av;etJ Kvander over the bier of his son: 139-181. The unique funerals of Trojans and Ktruscans .' ' ' :-' - ihe I ^tin funerals and rival pvres ar.J burials: 203-212. Mourriim; in I„. 1 by I' : Turiius: 213-224. The : the ci. ; 1 d by I^tinus to hear tl ■•.: thr : * advice to alKtain from war with the Trojans: 225-J95. The > of Latinus deprecating war ami counselling j>cace: he suggests tii- , . 1 . y... - .. tract of land alon^ the upper waters of the Tilxrr; or. if they prefer it, fu thcin mate- rials f)r vcs^ls for en. — . and advises so:- '• - ' •' '— s toeiuvt : • -Q*' 535- Frances sf kind's plan, wr -t Tumus, u accept the challen(:e ul ' test of valor: 37'>-444. M sc»iuent alarm; the council proroiijiied ; l^tinu.s v, and 1 unui» ■ - lor battle: 445 472. The city is at once thrown in iic queen and hi.. .. 'ii.ts repair to the temple to pray for Tumus, and invoke venijeance on /tneas: 473 4X5. Th equipment of Turnus ilescrilicti as he v'ocs forth fr^m the city; he is met at ■' •- ' and her wcll-mounteric of Pallas on his prostrate foe, and with exasperated wrath, in vengeance plunges his sword in him, and Turnus dies: 887-952. THE yENHID Book II. Book II. Book II. Book IV. Book V. Book VII ERRATA. Line 263, for Neoplotemus, read Neoptolemus. Line 318, for Achians, read Achaians. Line 524, for spoke, read spoken. Line 244, for withhold, read withholds; period omitted at end of line. Line 106, for Aceste's, read Acestes'. Line 682, for Preneste, read Preneste. ( run nxniD. BOOK I Bound for Italii the fleet of ZEneas. by malice of Juno, Strands on the Libyan coast, and is welcomed by Dido to Carthage. [/ am he, wlio aforetink tuned to a delicate oat-reed Pastoral song ; and, tlie woodlands leaving, compelled the adjacent Fields to submit to the pUnvman s culture, hoioex'er exacting ; Grateful the senice to farmers ; but now of the horrors of dread Mars.] Arms and the hero I sing, who of old from the borders of Troja Came to Italia, banished by fate to Lavinia's destined Seacoasts : much was he tossed on the lands and the deep by enlisted Might of sii|Xirnals, through ruthless Juno's remembered resentn:ent : Much, too, he suffered in warfare, while he was foundmga city, 5 And into Latium bearing his gods : whence issued the Latin Race, and the Alban fathers, and walls of imix-rial Roma. Mind me, () Muse, of the causes, in what her divinity outraged, Or why offended the queen of the gods in so many disasters Made a man famed fur his piety roll, and so many a hardship lo Drove to endure. Have celestial souls such utter resentments ? Carthage, a primitive city, which Tyrian colonists settled. Stood once fronting Italia, and far in the distance the Til>er's Mouths ; in resources rich, and austerest in habits of warfare. Which, more highly than all lands, Juno is said to have singly 15 Cherished, regarding een Samos subordinate : here was her armor ; Here was her chariot : the goddess that this should a kingdom for nations Be, if the fates would allow it, already devises and covets : But she had still of an issue to spring from the blotxl of a Trojan Heard, which in process of lime would demolish the Tyrian castles. ao 2 THE ^NEID. Hence would a people of wide domain, and in battle relentless, Come unto Libya's downfall : so would the destinies reel it. Fearful of this was Saturnia, and mindful of previous warfare, Which she at Troja of old had waged for her favorite Argos : Nor had the causes as yet of resentment, and rancorous umbrage, 25 Dropped from her soul : there remain still deep in her memory hoarded Paris' invidious verdict, the insult of spurning her beauty. Aye, and that odious race, and the kidnapped Ganymede's honors. . . Fired yet further by these, on the whole main she was the storm-tossed - Trojans, the residue left by the Danai and ruthless Achilles, 30 Forcing afar from Latmm ; they were through many a long year Wandering, driven around by the fates over every high sea. Such was the labor immense of founding the Roman Republic. Scarcely were they on the deep, out of sight of Sicily's headland, Spreading elated their sails, and with bronze beak plowing the sea-foam, 35 / When in her bosom Juno still nursing the fester eternal Thus with herself : " Am I, overcome, to desist from my project. Able not even to bar from Italia the kmg of the Teucrans ? Vetoed forsooth by the fates ! Could Pallas a fleet of the Argives Burn, and the Argives themselves submerge in the depths of the ocean, 40 All for the trespass of one, and the craze of Oilean Ajax ? Down from the clouds she, the swift-shot lightning of Jupiter darting. Shattered their crafts, and upturned by the winds the expanse of the waters ; Him, still breathing out flames from his breast by a thunderbolt riven. Caught she away in a whirlwind, and fixed on a tapering rock-crag : 45 Yet here am I, who parade as the queen of the gods, and withal, too, Jupiter's sister and spouse, for so many a year with the one tribe Waging a warfare ; who then does Juno's divinity worship Henceforth, or will as suppliant sacrifice lay on her altars ? " Thus by herself did the goddess, with heart all ablaze as she ponders, 50 Straight to the country of storms, spots pregnant with furious South-winds, Come to yF>olia. Here King ^.olus, deep in a dismal Cavern, the struggling winds, and the loudly reveberant tempests. Checks at command, and in fetters and prison incarcerate curbs them ; They, all indignant the while with a mighty uproar of the mountain, 55 Round their enclosures rave. High ^olus sits in his castle. Swaying his sceptres, and quiets their spirits and tempers their passions ; Did he not, they would the seas, and the lands, and the limitless heaven, Verily bear swift with them, and sweep ihem away through the welkin. But the omnipotent father hath hid them in caverns of darkness, 60 BOOK I. 3 Giinrdini;; ajjainsi this, and o'er ihcm a mass and the loftiest monnfnifi» I'ilcil, anil assigned ihcm a monarch, who mi};ht, by adcluulc < Know how to check, and to give them the slackened reins as commanded. To him then Juno as suppliant used these suhtile pursuasions : " -lOolus, seeing the father of gods and the sovereign of mortals 65 Thee hath assigned to allay and awaken the waves by the wild winds, On the Tyrrhenian main is a nation, mine enemy, sailing, Ilium into Italia bearing, anil vanquished, their home-gtxis. Smite thou a force in the winds, anti o'erwhclmingly founder their vessels ; Or come, scatter asunder their carcasses over the ocean. ;c Twice seven nymphs there are of mine own of unparalleled lieauty ; Thee to the fairest in form of them all, to DeioiKia, Will I in durable wedlock join, and thine own will pronounce her, That she may with thee all of her years, for such merited service, SjK'nd, and maternally make thee the parent of beautiful offspring." 75 /Kolus thus in res|K)nse : " O Queen, whatsoever thou wishest Thine is the task to explore ; my due is to meet thy requirements. Thou whatsoever is mine, this kingdom, my sceptre, and Jove, too, Winnest me, grantest me thou to recline at the deities' lianquets. Yea, and thou makest me potentate also of storms and of tem|K'sts." 80 'Ihese words s{X)ken, with uptwirled barb he the cavernous mountain Jl'hrust in the tlank, and the winds forthwith, like a marshalled battalion, Rush where the portals have yielded, and blow o'er the lands in a cyclone : Down on the sea they have swooped, and the whole to its nethermost soundings Surge they at once, the East-wind and South, and, surcharged with tornadoes, 85 Afric's sorocco ; ponderous roll to the beaches the billows. Shouts of the seamen ensue, and the stridulous creaking of cordage ; Darkening clouds of a sudden away both the sky and the day-light Snatch from the eyes of the Teucrans : night broods dark on the ocean. Thundered the ix)Ies, and the firmament glitters with flashes incessant ; 90 All things seemingly threaten immetliate death to the heroes. Straightway relaxed by a shivering chill are the limbs of .4Cneas ; -Deeply he groans, and, extending his two palms ruefully stnnvard, Thus with his voice breaks forth : O thrice and quadruple happy They, who in sight of their sires^ 'neath Troja's imperial ram|virts, 95 Chanced to expire ! O Tydides, most brave of the race of the Danai, Why could it not have been mine to have fallen on Ilium's blood-drenched Plains, and have jxiured this life by thy right hand out, where the ruthless Hector lies low by /Kacides' shaft, where the ipighty Sarpcdon Glorious rests, where the Samois, caught in its surges/ joo 4 THE ^NEID. Rolls on bucklers, and helmets, and brawniest bodies of heroes ? " While thus casting about, from the north has a roaring tornado Stricken aback his sails, and is heaving the waves to the planets. Snapped at the thwarts are the oars ; then broaches the prow, and the broadside Swings to the billows ; precipitous tumbles a mountain of waters. 105 These on the top-wave hang, and those does the billow in yawning Lay bare the earth in the troughs, and the undertow burrows the bottom. Three does the south-wind, snatching up, hurl on insidious ledges — Ledges th' Italians call in the midst of the billows the Altars — Ridges immense at the sea-line: the east wind three from the deep sea no Urges amain on the shoals and the quicksands, grievous to witness I Runs them aground on the shallows, and girds them around with a sand-bank. One, that was wafting the Lycian troops and the faithful Orontes, Right in sight of his own eyes, down from its summit a huge sea Strikes on the stern-deck: pitched from his perch, and prone, is the helmsman 115 Rolled off headlong ! Three times whirling, the wave in the same spot Spins her around, and the swift-flowing eddy in ocean engulfs her. Sparsely are seen there floating about in the fathomless whirlpool, Armor of men on the billows and timbers and treasures of Troja. Now has Ilioneus' staunch ship, now that of valient Achates; 120 That in which Abas was wafted, and that of the aged Aletes Hapless succumbed to the storm: through the loosened seamsof their broadsides All take in the inimical shower, and gape with the fissures. Meanwhile the ocean embroiled in a mightily murmuring uproar, Storms let loose, and the stilled depths stirred to their netherniost soundings, 125 Neptune profoundly shocked hath perceived; and, up from the deep sea Gazing abroad, hath his calm head raised o'er the crests of the billows. There he discovers all over the surface the fleet of ^neas Strown, and the Trojans oppressed by the waves and the ruin of heaven: Not unaware was her brother of Juno's intrigue and resentment: 130 Summons he to him the East-wind and West-wind, and thus he bespeaks them; " Hath such a confidence then in your high-born pedigree seized you, That ye now heaven and earth, without my divinity's sanction, Dare, O ye winds, to embroil, and to heap up these mountainous masses ? Whom I — but first it behoves me to quell the tumultuous billows: 135 Ye shall atone me offences by no like penance hereafter. Instantly hasten your flight, and this message convey to your sovereign: * Not unto him do the sway of the sea and the terrible trident Fall, but to me by allotment: he tenants the desolate rock-lands, Your habitations, O East-wind; there in his palace himself let • 140 BOOK I. 5 -•Kolus bluster, and reign o'er his clwsc-Uirrcd prison of storm winds." Sjxikc he. and tjiiicker than speech he asMiai^c;* the turlmlenl waiei^. Puts he to flight the collected clouds, and discUccs the sunshine. Triton at once, and Cymothoe, pushing amain from the sharp crag Heave off the vessels; himself, loo, easing them up with his trident, 145 Opens the fathomless quicksands artd temjxrrs the face of the waters: Then in his chariot lightly he glides o'er the crests of the billows; Just as when oft, in the midst of a mighty assembly, a ram|>ant Riot has risen, and rage in their souls the contemptible rabble: Now fly torches and cobbles, for fury supplies them with weajxins; 150 Then, if jx;rchance they a man for his virtues and piety honored Spy, they are silent, and riveted stand on the stretch of attention: He by his arguments governs their passions, and quiets their bosoms: So all the roar of the ocean subsided, when over its surface Gazing, the father, upwafted in open heaven, his coursers 155 Turns, and away as he flies gives reins to his prosperous chariot. Weary at length, the -Kneans the shores which are nearest by scudding Struggle to reach, and are rounded away to the Libyan headlands: There, in a deep recess, is a s|X)t, where an island a harlnjr Forms by its upthrown sides, on which every wave from the deep sea 160 Broken is checked, and distributes itself into separate bayous. Frowning on either side are stupendous cliffs, and their twin-peaks Threaten in heaven, and under their summits protected the waters Widely are silent; while there, in the shimmering woods, is an arbor; Darkly a thicket o'erhangs it above with its horrible shadows; 165 Under Us opfwsite front with its |x*ndulous cliffs is a grotto. In It are sweetest of waters and benches of natural granite — Home of the nymphs: no cables here ever are holding the storm-racked Vessels; no anchor, with grapplingfluke, to their moorings secures them. Hither /Kneas with seven ships gathered at length from the whole fleet's 170 Number, retreats, and the Trojans, with longings intense for the mainland, (Had disembark from on board, anti, enjoying the coveted sand-beach. Eagerly straighten their brine-drenched joints to re|X>se on the seashore. Now at the outset. Achates a sjxirk struck out of a flint-stone; Caught he the fire on the leaves, and the i\ry combustibles round it 175 Furnished abundant, and rapidly fanned up a flame in the fuel. Then they the cereals soaked by the waves and utensils of Ceres, Weary of hazards, unlade, and the fruits that were saved from the ship stores Bring, and prepare in the flames to parch, and on granite to crush them. Meanwhile, -Eneas, an eminence climbs, and intently the whole wide . 180 6 THE ^NEID. Prospect, scans far over the ocean, if possibly Antheus, Tossed by the wind, he may sight, and his high-benched Phrygian galleys. Or else Capys, or arms on the lofty stern of Caicus. No, not a vessel in sight, but instead three stags on the sea-beach Spies he strolling about; whole herds as their retinues follow 185 These at the rear, and a long train grazes at large through the valleys. Halted he here, and his bow in his hand, and his feathery arrows Hastily seized, the weapon which faithful Achates was bearing. Foremost the leaders themselves, their heads uplifting aloft with Tree-like antlers, he levels; then routs the promiscuous rabble, 190 Driving the whole drove on mid the foliaged grove with hi^tveapons; Nor does he stop, till he seven huge carcasses there as a victor Stretches out slain on the ground, the number that equals his vessels; Hence he repairs to the harbor and shares them with all his companions. Then he the wine, which the noble Acestes had laden in wine casks 195 Late on Trinacria's shore, and the hero had given at parting, Deals out, while in addresseo he comforts their sorrowinp- bosoms: " Comrades — for not inexperienced are we in reverse» "aforetime — Bravers of sorer, to these, too, shall deity grant us a limit. Ye have encountered the fury of Scylla, and crags that re-echo 200 Deeply within it; and ye have, moreover, Cyclopian rock-dens Fearless explored ! re-encourage your souls and your gloomy forebodings banish: These scenes you will doubtless delight to remember hereafter ! On through these varied disasters, through many a risk of adventures, Tend we to Latium, where fates point us to peaceful possessions: 205 There are yet destined again to arise the dominions of Troja; Firm then endure, and prepare yourselves for the prosperous issues." Thus with his voice he bespeaks them, yet, sick from accumulate troubles, Hope in his countenance feigns, and at heart he represses his'anguish. Gird they themselves for the game, and the viands which now are in waiting: 210 Strip they the hides from the ribs, and lay open to view the intestines. Part cut up, and afifix on the spits, the quivering fragments; Others set caldrons on shore, and the fires enkindle around them, Then with the food they recover their strength, and, reclined on the green sod, They are with good old Bacchus and juciest venison stated. 215 After their hunger was cloyed, and removed are the viands and tables, 'I'hey in ])rotracted discourses inquire for their absent companions. Still in suspense 'twixtho])e and fear, or to count them as living, Or as enduring their last, and no longer to hear them in calling: Chiefly the pious Alneas the loss of the sprightly Orontes 220 s BOOK I. 7 Now, and nnon, too, of Amycus motirns, and apart the inhuman Fates of l.ycus and (lyas the valiant, and valiant Clo;inthu!». Now was an end, when Jupiter down from the uppermost a:thcr, Gazinj» abroad on the sail-winjjed s