Venus, the while, disturbed with grief and care,
to Neptune thus her sorrowing heart outpoured:
“Stern Juno's wrath and breast implacable
compel me, Neptune, to abase my pride
in lowly supplication. Lapse of days,
nor prayers, nor virtues her hard heart subdue,
nor Jove's command; nor will she rest or yield
at Fate's decree. Her execrable grudge
is still unfed, although she did consume
the Trojan city, Phrygia's midmost throne,
and though she has accomplished stroke on stroke
of retribution. But she now pursues
the remnant—aye! the ashes and bare bones
of perished Ilium; though the cause and spring
of wrath so great none but herself can tell.
Wert thou not witness on the Libyan wave
what storm she stirred, immingling sea and sky,
and with Aeolian whirlwinds made her war, —
in vain and insolent invasion, sire,
of thine own realm and power? Behold, but now,
goading to evil deeds the Trojan dames,
she basely burned his ships; he in strange lands
must leave the crews of his Iost fleet behind.
O, I entreat thee, let the remnant sail
in safety o'er thy sea, and end their way
in Tiber's holy stream;—if this my prayer
be lawful, and that city's rampart proud
be still what Fate intends.” Then Saturn's son,
the ruler of the seas profound, replied:
“Queen of Cythera, it is meet for thee
to trust my waves from which thyself art sprung.
Have I not proved a friend, and oft restrained
the anger and wild wrath of seas and skies?
On land, let Simois and Xanthus tell
if I have loved Aeneas! On that day
Achilles drove the shuddering hosts of Troy
in panic to the walls, and hurled to death
innumerable foes, until the streams
were choked with dead, and Xanthus scarce could find
his wonted path to sea; that self-same day,
Aeneas, spent, and with no help of Heaven,
met Peleus' dreadful son:—who else but I
in cloudy mantle bore him safe afar?
Though 't was my will to cast down utterly
the walls of perjured Troy, which my own hands
had built beside the sea. And even to-day
my favor changes not. Dispel thy fear!
Safe, even as thou prayest, he shall ride
to Cumae's haven, where Avernus lies.
One only sinks beneath th' engulfing seas, —
one life in lieu of many.” Having soothed
and cheered her heart divine, the worshipped sire
flung o'er his mated steeds a yoke of gold,
bridled the wild, white mouths, and with strong hand
shook out long, Ioosened reins.
His azure car
skimmed light and free along the crested waves;
before his path the rolling billows all
were calm and still, and each o'er-swollen flood
sank 'neath his sounding wheel; while from the skies
the storm-clouds fled away. Behind him trailed
a various company; vast bulk of whales,
the hoary band of Glaucus, Ino's son,
Palaemon and the nimble Tritons all,
the troop of Phorcus; and to leftward ranged
Thalia, Thetis, and fair Alelite,
with virgin Panopea, and the nymphs
Nesaea, Spio and Cymodoce.
Now in Aeneas' ever-burdened breast
the voice of hope revived. He bade make haste
to raise the masts, spread canvas on the spars;
all hands hauled at the sheets, and left or right
shook out the loosened sails, or twirled in place
the horn-tipped yards. Before a favoring wind
the fleet sped on. The line in close array
was led by Palinurus, in whose course
all ships were bid to follow. Soon the car
of dewy Night drew near the turning-point
of her celestial round.
The oarsmen all
yielded their limbs to rest, and prone had fallen
on the hard thwarts, in deep, unpillowed slumber.
Then from the high stars on light-moving wings,
the God of Sleep found passage through the dark
and clove the gloom,—to bring upon thy head,
O Palinurus, an ill-boding sleep,
though blameless thou. Upon thy ship the god
in guise of Phorbas stood, thus whispering:
“Look, Palinurus, how the flowing tides
lift on thy fleet unsteered, and changeless winds
behind thee breathe! 'T is now a happy hour
take thy rest. Lay down the weary head.
Steal tired eyes from toiling. I will do
thine office for thee, just a little space.”
But Palinurus, lifting scarce his eyes,
thus answered him: “Have I not known the face
of yonder placid seas and tranquil waves?
Put faith in such a monster? Could I trust —
I, oft by ocean's treacherous calm betrayed —
my lord Aeneas to false winds and skies?”
So saying, he grasped his rudder tight, and clung
more firmly, fixing on the stars his eyes.
Then waved the god above his brows a branch
wet with the dews of Lethe and imbued
with power of Stygian dark, until his eyes
wavered and slowly sank. The slumberous snare
had scarce unbound his limbs, when, leaning o'er,
the god upon the waters flung him forth,
hands clutching still the helm and ship-rail torn,
and calling on his comrades, but in vain.
Then soared th' immortal into viewless air;
and in swift course across the level sea
the fleet sped safe, protected from all fear
by Neptune's vow. Yet were they drawing nigh
the sirens' island-steep, where oft are seen
white, bleaching bones, and to the distant ear
the rocks roar harshly in perpetual foam.
Then of his drifting fleet and pilot gone
Aeneas was aware, and, taking helm,
steered through the midnight waves, with many a sigh;
and, by his comrade's pitiable death
sore-smitten, cried, “O, thou didst trust too far
fair skies and seas, and liest without a grave,
my Palinurus, in a land unknown!”
Cite This Text