Day followed day,
while favoring breezes beckoned us to sea,
and swelled the waiting canvas as they blew.
Then to the prophet-priest I made this prayer:
“Offspring of Troy, interpreter of Heaven!
Who knowest Phoebus' power, and readest well
the tripod, stars, and vocal laurel leaves
to Phoebus dear, who know'st of every bird
the ominous swift wing or boding song,
O, speak! For all my course good omens showed,
and every god admonished me to sail
in quest of Italy's far-distant shores;
but lone Celaeno, heralding strange woe,
foretold prodigious horror, vengeance dark,
and vile, unnatural hunger. How elude
such perils? Or by what hard duty done
may such huge host of evils vanquished be?”
Then Helenus, with sacrifice of kine
in order due, implored the grace of Heaven,
unloosed the fillets from his sacred brow,
and led me, Phoebus, to thy temple's door,
awed by th' o'er-brooding godhead, whose true priest,
with lips inspired, made this prophetic song:
“O goddess-born, indubitably shines
the blessing of great gods upon thy path
across the sea; the heavenly King supreme
thy destiny ordains; 't is he unfolds
the grand vicissitude, which now pursues
a course immutable. I will declare
of thy large fate a certain bounded part;
that fearless thou may'st view the friendly sea,
and in Ausonia's haven at the last
find thee a fixed abode.
Than this no more
the Sister Fates to Helenus unveil,
and Juno, Saturn's daughter, grants no more.
First, that Italia (which nigh at hand
thou deemest, and wouldst fondly enter in
by yonder neighboring bays) lies distant far
o'er trackless course and long, with interval
of far-extended lands. Thine oars must ply
the waves of Sicily; thy fleet must cleave
the large expanse of that Ausonian brine;
the waters of Avernus thou shalt see,
and that enchanted island where abides
Aeaean Circe, ere on tranquil shore
thou mayest plant thy nation. Lo! a sign
I tell thee; hide this wonder in thy heart:
Beside a certain stream's sequestered wave,
thy troubled eyes, in shadowy flex grove
that fringes on the river, shall descry
a milk-white, monstrous sow, with teeming brood
of thirty young, new littered, white like her,
all clustering at her teats, as prone she lies.
There is thy city's safe, predestined ground,
and there thy labors' end. Vex not thy heart
about those ‘tables bitten’, for kind fate
thy path will show, and Phoebus bless thy prayer.
But from these lands and yon Italian shore,
where from this sea of ours the tide sweeps in,
escape and flee, for all its cities hold
pernicious Greeks, thy foes: the Locri there
have builded walls; the wide Sallentine fields
are filled with soldiers of Idomeneus;
there Meliboean Philoctetes' town,
petilia, towers above its little wall.
Yea, even when thy fleet has crossed the main,
and from new altars built along the shore
thy vows to Heaven are paid, throw o'er thy head
a purple mantle, veiling well thy brows,
lest, while the sacrificial fire ascends
in offering to the gods, thine eye behold
some face of foe, and every omen fail.
Let all thy people keep this custom due,
and thou thyself be faithful; let thy seed
forever thus th' immaculate rite maintain.
After departing hence, thou shalt be blown
toward Sicily, and strait Pelorus' bounds
will open wide. Then take the leftward way:
those leftward waters in long circuit sweep,
far from that billowy coast, the opposing side.
These regions, so they tell, in ages gone
by huge and violent convulsion riven
(Such mutability is wrought by time),
sprang wide asunder; where the doubled strand
sole and continuous lay, the sea's vast power
burst in between, and bade its waves divide
Hesperia's bosom from fair Sicily,
while with a straitened firth it interflowed
their fields and cities sundered shore from shore.
The right side Scylla keeps; the left is given
to pitiless Charybdis, who draws down
to the wild whirling of her steep abyss
the monster waves, and ever and anon
flings them at heaven, to lash the tranquil stars.
But Scylla, prisoned in her eyeless cave,
thrusts forth her face, and pulls upon the rocks
ship after ship; the parts that first be seen
are human; a fair-breasted virgin she,
down to the womb; but all that lurks below
is a huge-membered fish, where strangely join
the flukes of dolphins and the paunch of wolves.
Better by far to round the distant goal
of the Trinacrian headlands, veering wide
from thy true course, than ever thou shouldst see
that shapeless Scylla in her vaulted cave,
where grim rocks echo her dark sea-dogs' roar.
Yea, more, if aught of prescience be bestowed
on Helenus, if trusted prophet he,
and Phoebus to his heart true voice have given,
O goddess-born, one counsel chief of all
I tell thee oft, and urge it o'er and o'er.
To Juno's godhead lift thy Ioudest prayer;
to Juno chant a fervent votive song,
and with obedient offering persuade
that potent Queen. So shalt thou, triumphing,
to Italy be sped, and leave behind
Trinacria. When wafted to that shore,
repair to Cumae's hill, and to the Lake
Avernus with its whispering grove divine.
There shalt thou see a frenzied prophetess,
who from beneath the hollow scarped crag
sings oracles, or characters on leaves
mysterious names. Whate'er the virgin writes,
on leaves inscribing the portentous song,
she sets in order, and conceals them well
in her deep cave, where they abide unchanged
in due array. Yet not a care has she,
if with some swinging hinge a breeze sweeps in,
to catch them as they whirl: if open door
disperse them flutterlig through the hollow rock,
she will not link their shifted sense anew,
nor re-invent her fragmentary song.
Oft her unanswered votaries depart,
scorning the Sibyl's shrine. But deem not thou
thy tarrying too Iong, whate'er thy stay.
Though thy companions chide, though winds of power
invite thy ship to sea, and well would speed
the swelling sail, yet to that Sibyl go.
Pray that her own lips may sing forth for thee
the oracles, uplifting her dread voice
in willing prophecy. Her rede shall tell
of Italy, its wars and tribes to be,
and of what way each burden and each woe
may be escaped, or borne. Her favoring aid
will grant swift, happy voyages to thy prayer.
Such counsels Heaven to my lips allows.
Arise, begone! and by thy glorious deeds
set Troy among the stars! “
So spake the prophet with benignant voice.
Then gifts he bade be brought of heavy gold
and graven ivory, which to our ships
he bade us bear; each bark was loaded full
with messy silver and Dodona's pride
of brazen cauldrons; a cuirass he gave
of linked gold enwrought and triple chain;
a noble helmet, too, with flaming crest
and lofty cone, th' accoutrement erewhile
of Neoptolemus. My father too
had fit gifts from the King; whose bounty then
gave steeds and riders; and new gear was sent
to every sea-worn ship, while he supplied
seafarers, kit to all my loyal crews.
Anchises bade us speedily set sail,
nor lose a wind so fair; and answering him,
Apollo's priest made reverent adieu:
“Anchises, honored by the love sublime
of Venus, self and twice in safety borne
from falling Troy, chief care of kindly Heaven,
th' Ausonian shore is thine. Sail thitherward!
For thou art pre-ordained to travel far
o'er yonder seas; far in the distance lies
that region of Ausonia, Phoebus' voice
to thee made promise of.
Onward, I say,
O blest in the exceeding loyal love
of thy dear son! Why keep thee longer now?
Why should my words yon gathering winds detain?”
Likewise Andromache in mournful guise
took last farewell, bringing embroidered robes
of golden woof; a princely Phrygian cloak
she gave Ascanius, vying with the King
in gifts of honor; and threw o'er the boy
the labors of her loom, with words like these:
“Accept these gifts, sweet youth, memorials
of me and my poor handicraft, to prove
th' undying friendship of Andromache,
once Hector's wife. Take these last offerings
of those who are thy kin—O thou that art
of my Astyanax in all this world
the only image! His thy lovely eyes!
Thy hands, thy lips, are even what he bore,
and like thy own his youthful bloom would be.”
Thus I made answer, turning to depart
with rising tears: “Live on, and be ye blessed,
whose greatness is accomplished! As for me,
from change to change Fate summons, and I go;
but ye have won repose. No leagues of sea
await your cleaving keel. Not yours the quest
of fading Italy's delusive shore.
Here a new Xanthus and a second Troy
your labor fashioned and your eyes may see—
more blest, I trust, less tempting to our foes!
If e'er on Tiber and its bordering vales
I safely enter, and these eyes behold
our destined walls, then in fraternal bond
let our two nations live, whose mutual boast
is one Dardanian blood, one common story.
Epirus with Hesperia shall be
one Troy in heart and soul. But this remains
for our sons' sons the happy task and care.”
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