Then fortune veered and different aspect wore.
For 'ere the sacred funeral games are done,
Saturnian Juno from high heaven sent down
the light-winged Iris to the ships of Troy,
giving her flight good wind—still full of schemes
and hungering to avenge her ancient wrong.
Unseen of mortal eye, the virgin took
her pathway on the thousand-colored bow,
and o'er its gliding passage earthward flew.
She scanned the vast assemblage; then her gaze
turned shoreward, where along the idle bay
the Trojan galleys quite unpeopled rode.
But far removed, upon a lonely shore,
a throng of Trojan dames bewailed aloud
their lost Anchises, and with tears surveyed
the mighty deep. “O weary waste of seas!
What vast, untravelled floods beyond us roll!”
So cried they with one voice, and prayed the gods
for an abiding city; every heart
loathed utterly the long, laborious sea.
Then in their midst alighted, not unskilled
in working woe, the goddess; though she wore
nor garb nor form divine, but made herself
one Beroe, Doryclus' aged wife,
who in her happier days had lineage fair
and sons of noble name; in such disguise
she called the Trojan dames:“O ye ill-starred,
that were not seized and slain by Grecian foes
under your native walls! O tribe accursed,
what death is Fate preparing? Since Troy fell
the seventh summer flies, while still we rove
o'er cruel rocks and seas, from star to star,
from alien land to land, as evermore
we chase, storm-tossed, that fleeting Italy
across the waters wide. Behold this land
of Eryx, of Acestes, friend and kin;
what hinders them to raise a rampart here
and build a town? O city of our sires!
O venerated gods from haughty foes
rescued in vain! Will nevermore a wall
rise in the name of Troy? Shall I not see
a Xanthus or a Simois, the streams
to Hector dear? Come now! I lead the way.
Let us go touch their baneful ships with fire!
I saw Cassandra in a dream. Her shade,
prophetic ever, gave me firebrands,
and cried, ‘Find Ilium so! The home for thee
is where thou art.’ Behold, the hour is ripe
for our great act! No longer now delay
to heed the heavenly omen. Yonder stand
four altars unto Neptune.
'T is the god,
the god himself, gives courage for the deed,
and swift-enkindling fire.” So having said,
she seized a dreadful brand; then, lifting high,
waved it all flaming, and with furious arm
hurled it from far. The Ilian matrons gazed,
bewildered and appalled. But one, of all
the eldest, Pyrgo, venerated nurse
of Priam's numerous sons, exclaimed, “Nay, nay!
This is no Beroe, my noble dames.
Doryclus knew her not. Behold and see
her heavenly beauty and her radiant eyes!
What voice of music and majestic mien,
what movement like a god! Myself am come
from Beroe sick, and left her grieving sore
that she, she only, had no gift to bring
of mournful honor to Anchises' shade.”
She spoke. The women with ill-boding eyes
looked on the ships. Their doubting hearts were torn
'twixt tearful passion for the beauteous isle
their feet then trod, and that prophetic call
of Fate to lands unknown. Then on wide wings
soared Iris into heaven, and through the clouds
clove a vast arch of light. With wonder dazed,
the women in a shrieking frenzy rose,
took embers from the hearth-stones, stole the fires
upon the altars—faggots, branches, brands —
and rained them on the ships.
The god of fire,
through thwarts and oars and bows of painted fir,
ran in unbridled flame. Swift to the tomb
of Sire Anchises, to the circus-seats,
the messenger Eumelus flew, to bring
news of the ships on fire; soon every eye
the clouds of smoke and hovering flame could see.
Ascanius, who had led with smiling brow
his troops of horse, accoutred as he was,
rode hot-haste to the turmoil of the camp,
nor could his guards restrain . “What madness now?
What is it ye would do?” he cried. “Alas!
Ill-fated women! Not our enemies,
nor the dread bulwarks of the Greek ye burn,
but all ye have to hope for. Look at me,
your own Ascanius!” His helmet then
into their midst he flung, which he had worn
for pageantry of war. Aeneas, too,
with Trojan bands sped thither. But far off,
the women, panic-scattered on the shore,
fled many ways, and deep in caverned crags
or shadowed forests hid them, for they Ioathed
their deed and life itself; their thoughts were changed;
they knew their kin and husbands, and their hearts
from Juno were set free.
But none the less
the burning and indomitable flames
raged without stay; beneath the ships' smeared sides
the hempen fuel puffed a lingering smoke,
as, through the whole bulk creeping, the slow fire
devoured its way; and little it availed
that strong men fought the fire with stream on stream.
Then good Aeneas from his shoulder rent
his garment, and with lifted hands implored
the help of Heaven. “O Jove omnipotent!
If thou not yet thy wrath implacable
on every Trojan pourest, if thou still
hast pity, as of old, for what men bear,
O, grant my fleet deliverance from this flame!
From uttermost destruction, Father, save
our desperate Trojan cause! Or even now —
last cruelty! thy fatal thunders throw.
If this be my just meed, let thy dread arm
confound us all.” But scarce the prayer is said,
when with a bursting deluge a dark storm
falls, marvellous to see; while hills and plains
with thunder shake, and to each rim of heaven
spreads swollen cloud-rack, black with copious rain
and multitudinous gales. The full flood pours
on every ship, and all the smouldering beams
are drenched, until the smoke and flames expire
and (though four ships be lost) the burning fleet
rides rescued from its doom.
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