When Turnus from Laurentum's bastion proud
published the war, and roused the dreadful note
of the harsh trumpet's song; when on swift steeds
the lash he laid and clashed his sounding arms;
then woke each warrior soul; all Latium stirred
with tumult and alarm; and martial rage
enkindled youth's hot blood. The chieftains proud,
Messapus, Ufens, and that foe of Heaven,
Mezentius, compel from far and wide
their loyal hosts, and strip the field and farm
of husbandmen. To seek auxiliar arms
they send to glorious Diomed's domain
the herald Venulus, and bid him cry:
“Troy is to Latium come; Aeneas' fleet
has come to land. He brings his vanquished gods,
and gives himself to be our destined King.
Cities not few accept him, and his name
through Latium waxes large. But what the foe
by such attempt intends, what victory
is his presumptuous hope, if Fortune smile,
Aetolia's lord will not less wisely fear
than royal Turnus or our Latin King.”
Thus Latium's cause moved on. Meanwhile the heir
of great Laomedon, who knew full well
the whole wide land astir, was vexed and tossed
in troubled seas of care.
This way and that
his swift thoughts flew, and scanned with like dismay
each partial peril or the general storm.
Thus the vexed waters at a fountain's brim,
smitten by sunshine or the silver sphere
of a reflected moon, send forth a beam
of flickering light that leaps from wall to wall,
or, skyward lifted in ethereal flight,
glances along some rich-wrought, vaulted dome.
Now night had fallen, and all weary things,
all shapes of beast or bird, the wide world o'er,
lay deep in slumber. So beneath the arch
of a cold sky Aeneas laid him down
upon the river-bank, his heart sore tried
by so much war and sorrow, and gave o'er
his body to its Iong-delayed repose.
There, 'twixt the poplars by the gentle stream,
the River-Father, genius of that place,
old Tiberinus visibly uprose;
a cloak of gray-green lawn he wore, his hair
o'erhung with wreath of reeds. In soothing words
thus, to console Aeneas' cares, he spoke:
“Seed of the gods! who bringest to my shore
thy Trojan city wrested from her foe,
a stronghold everlasting, Latium's plain
and fair Laurentum long have looked for thee.
Here truly is thy home. Turn not away.
Here the true guardians of thy hearth shall be.
Fear not the gathering war. The wrath of Heaven
has stilled its swollen wave. A sign I tell:
Lest thou shouldst deem this message of thy sleep
a vain, deluding dream, thou soon shalt find
in the oak-copses on my margent green,
a huge sow, with her newly-littered brood
of thirty young; along the ground she lies,
snow-white, and round her udders her white young.
There shall thy city stand, and there thy toil
shall find untroubled rest. After the lapse
of thrice ten rolling years, Ascanius
shall found a city there of noble name,
White-City, Alba; 't is no dream I sing!
But I instruct thee now by what wise way
th' impending wars may bring thee victory:
receive the counsel, though the words be few:
within this land are men of Arcady,
of Pallas' line, who, following in the train
of King Evander and his men-at-arms,
built them a city in the hills, and chose
(honoring Pallas, their Pelasgian sire),
the name of Pallanteum. They make war
incessant with the Latins. Therefore call
this people to thy side and bind them close
in federated power. My channel fair
and shaded shore shall guide thee where they dwell,
and thy strong oarsmen on my waters borne
shall mount my falling stream. Rise, goddess-born,
and ere the starlight fade give honor due
to Juno, and with supplicating vow
avert her wrath and frown. But unto me
make offering in thy victorious hour,
in time to come. I am the copious flood
which thou beholdest chafing at yon shores
and parting fruitful fields: cerulean stream
of Tiber, favored greatly of high Heaven.
Here shall arise my house magnificent,
a city of all cities chief and crown.”
So spake the river-god, and sank from view
down to his deepest cave; then night and sleep
together from Aeneas fled away.
He rose, and to the orient beams of morn
his forehead gave; in both his hollowed palms
he held the sacred waters of the stream,
and called aloud: “O ye Laurentian nymphs,
whence flowing rills be born, and chiefly thou,
O Father Tiber, worshipped stream divine,
accept Aeneas, and from peril save!
If in some hallowed lake or haunted spring
thy power, pitying my woes, abides,
or wheresoe'er the blessed place be found
whence first thy beauty flows, there evermore
my hands shall bring thee gift and sacrifice.
O chief and sovereign of Hesperian streams,
O river-god that hold'st the plenteous horn,
protect us, and confirm thy words divine!”
He spoke; then chose twin biremes from the fleet,
gave them good gear and armed their loyal crews.
But, lo! a sudden wonder met his eyes:
white gleaming through the grove, with all her brood
white like herself, on the green bank the Sow
stretched prone. The good Aeneas slew her there,
Great Juno, for a sacrifice to thee,
himself the priest, and with the sucklings all
beside shine altar stood. So that whole night
the god of Tiber calmed his swollen wave,
ebbing or lingering in silent flow,
till like some gentle lake or sleeping pool
his even waters lay, and strove no more
against the oarsmen's toil. Upon their way
they speed with joyful sound; the well-oiled wood
slips through the watery floor; the wondering waves,
and all the virgin forests wondering,
behold the warriors in far-shining arms
their painted galleys up the current drive.
O'er the long reaches of the winding flood
their sturdy oars outweary the slow course
of night and day. Fair groves of changeful green
arch o'er their passage, and they seem to cleave
green forests in the tranquil wave below.
Now had the flaming sun attained his way
to the mid-sphere of heaven, when they discerned
walls and a citadel in distant view,
with houses few and far between; 't was there,
where sovran Rome to-day has rivalled Heaven,
Evander's realm its slender strength displayed:
swiftly they turned their prows and neared the town.
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