The Aeneid | Page 3

the man I sing, who, forc'd by fate,
And haughty Juno's
unrelenting hate,
Expell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan shore.
Long

labors, both by sea and land, he bore,
And in the doubtful war, before
he won
The Latian realm, and built the destin'd town;
His banish'd
gods restor'd to rites divine,
And settled sure succession in his line,

From whence the race of Alban fathers come,
And the long glories of
majestic Rome.
O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
What goddess was
provok'd, and whence her hate;
For what offense the Queen of Heav'n
began
To persecute so brave, so just a man;
Involv'd his anxious
life in endless cares,
Expos'd to wants, and hurried into wars!
Can
heav'nly minds such high resentment show,
Or exercise their spite in
human woe?
Against the Tiber's mouth, but far away,
An ancient town was seated
on the sea;
A Tyrian colony; the people made
Stout for the war, and
studious of their trade:
Carthage the name; belov'd by Juno more

Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore.
Here stood her chariot;
here, if Heav'n were kind,
The seat of awful empire she design'd.

Yet she had heard an ancient rumor fly,
(Long cited by the people of
the sky,)
That times to come should see the Trojan race
Her
Carthage ruin, and her tow'rs deface;
Nor thus confin'd, the yoke of
sov'reign sway
Should on the necks of all the nations lay.
She
ponder'd this, and fear'd it was in fate;
Nor could forget the war she
wag'd of late
For conqu'ring Greece against the Trojan state.

Besides, long causes working in her mind,
And secret seeds of envy,
lay behind;
Deep graven in her heart the doom remain'd
Of partial
Paris, and her form disdain'd;
The grace bestow'd on ravish'd
Ganymed,
Electra's glories, and her injur'd bed.
Each was a cause
alone; and all combin'd
To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.

For this, far distant from the Latian coast
She drove the remnants of
the Trojan host;
And sev'n long years th' unhappy wand'ring train

Were toss'd by storms, and scatter'd thro' the main.
Such time, such
toil, requir'd the Roman name,
Such length of labor for so vast a
frame.

Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars,
Had left behind the
fair Sicilian shores,
Ent'ring with cheerful shouts the wat'ry reign,

And plowing frothy furrows in the main;
When, lab'ring still with
endless discontent,
The Queen of Heav'n did thus her fury vent:
"Then am I vanquish'd? must I yield?" said she,
"And must the
Trojans reign in Italy?
So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force;

Nor can my pow'r divert their happy course.
Could angry Pallas,
with revengeful spleen,
The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?

She, for the fault of one offending foe,
The bolts of Jove himself
presum'd to throw:
With whirlwinds from beneath she toss'd the ship,

And bare expos'd the bosom of the deep;
Then, as an eagle gripes
the trembling game,
The wretch, yet hissing with her father's flame,

She strongly seiz'd, and with a burning wound
Transfix'd, and
naked, on a rock she bound.
But I, who walk in awful state above,

The majesty of heav'n, the sister wife of Jove,
For length of years my
fruitless force employ
Against the thin remains of ruin'd Troy!

What nations now to Juno's pow'r will pray,
Or off'rings on my
slighted altars lay?"
Thus rag'd the goddess; and, with fury fraught.
The restless regions of
the storms she sought,
Where, in a spacious cave of living stone,

The tyrant Aeolus, from his airy throne,
With pow'r imperial curbs
the struggling winds,
And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds.

This way and that th' impatient captives tend,
And, pressing for
release, the mountains rend.
High in his hall th' undaunted monarch
stands,
And shakes his scepter, and their rage commands;
Which
did he not, their unresisted sway
Would sweep the world before them
in their way;
Earth, air, and seas thro' empty space would roll,
And
heav'n would fly before the driving soul.
In fear of this, the Father of
the Gods
Confin'd their fury to those dark abodes,
And lock'd 'em
safe within, oppress'd with mountain loads;

Impos'd a king, with
arbitrary sway,
To loose their fetters, or their force allay.
To whom

the suppliant queen her pray'rs address'd,
And thus the tenor of her
suit express'd:
"O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heav'n
The pow'r of tempests and
of winds has giv'n;
Thy force alone their fury can restrain,
And
smooth the waves, or swell the troubled mainA
race of wand'ring
slaves, abhorr'd by me,
With prosp'rous passage cut the Tuscan sea;

To fruitful Italy their course they steer,
And for their vanquish'd
gods design new temples there.
Raise all thy winds; with night
involve the skies;
Sink or disperse my fatal enemies.
Twice sev'n,
the charming daughters of the main,
Around my person wait, and
bear my train:
Succeed my wish, and second my design;
The fairest,
Deiopeia, shall be thine,
And make thee father of a happy line."
To this the god: "'T is yours, O queen, to will
The work which duty
binds me to fulfil.
These airy kingdoms, and this wide command,

Are all the presents of your bounteous hand:
Yours is my sov'reign's
grace; and, as your guest,
I sit with gods at their celestial feast;

Raise tempests at