Virgil, Aeneid, transl. Allen Mandelbaum

Virgil, The Aeneid, transl. Allen Mandelbaum, Bantam Classics, New York, 2004.

I sing of arms and of a man: his fate
had made him fugitive; (opening, pg 1)

There was an ancient city they called Carthage—
a colony of refugees from Tyre—
…
This land was Juno’s favorite…
The goddess had this hope and tender plan:
For Carthage to become the capital
Of nations, … (2)

For long yeas they were cast across all waters,
Fate-driven, wandering form sea to sea.
It was so hard to found the race of Rome. (2)

In his enormous cave King Aeolus
Restrains the wrestling winds, loud hurricanes;
He tames and sways they with his chains and prison.
They rage in indignation at their cages;
…
…he soothes their souls
and calms their madness. Were it not for this,
then surely they would carry off the sea
and lands and steepest heaven, sweeping them
across the emptiness. But fearing that,
the all-able Father hid the winds within
dark caverns, heaping over them high mountains;
and he assigned to them a king… (3)

I have twice-seven nymphs with splendid bodies;
The loveliest of them is Deiopea,
And I shall join her to you in sure marriage
And name her as your own, that she may spend
All of her years with you, to make you father
Of fair sons. For such service, such return.” (3-4)

Black night hangs on the waters, heavens thunder,
And frequent lightning glitters in the air;
Everything intends quick death to men.
/
At once Aeneas’ limbs fall slack with chill.
He groans and stretches both hands to the stars.
He calls aloud: “O, three and four times blessed
Were those who died before their fathers’ eyes
Beneath the walls of Troy. … (4)

But Neptune felt the fracas and the frenzy;
And shaken by the unleashed winds, the wrenching
Of the still currents from the deep seabed,
He raised his tranquil head above the surface.
And he can see the galleys of Aeneas
Scattered across the waters, …
Her brother did not miss the craft and wrath
Of Juno. Catching that, he calls up both
The east wind and the west. His words are these:
/
“Has pride of birth made you so insolent?
So, Winds, you dare to mingle sky and land,
Heave high such masses, without my command?
… tell your kings these things:
that not to him, but me, has destiny
allotted the dominion of the sea (5-6)

So Neptune speaks and, quicker than his tongue,
Brings quiet to the swollen waters,
…
and just as, often, when crowd of people
is rocked by a rebellion, and the rabble
rage in their minds, and firebrands and stones
fly fast—for fury finds its weapons—if,
by chance, they see a man remarkable
for righteousness and service, they are silent
and stand attentively; and he controls
their passion by his words and cools their spirits
so all the clamor of the sea subsided (6)

Meanwhile Aeneas climbs a crag to seek
A prospect far and wide across the deep,
If he can only make out anything
Of Antheus and his Phrygian galleys, or
Of Capys, or the armor of Caicus
Of his high stern. There is no ship in sight;
All he can see are three stags wandering
Along the shore, ..
He halted, snatched his bow and racing arrows,
The weapons carried by the true Achates.
And first he lays the leaders low, their heads
Held high with tree-like antlers; then he drives
The herds headlong into the leafy groves;
They panic, like a rabble, at his arrows.
He does not stay his hand until he stretches,
Victoriously, seven giant bodies
Along the ground, in number like his galleys.

With food
Their strength comes back again. Along the grass
They stretch and fill their bellies full of fat
Venison meat and well-aged wine. That done—
Their hunger banished by their feasting and
The tables cleared—their talk is long, uncertain
Between their hope and fear, (8)

Their food and talk were done when Jupiter,
While gazing from the peaks of upper air
Across the waters winged with canvas and
Low-lying lands and shores and widespread people,
Stood high upon the pinnacle of heaven
Until he set his sight on Libya’s kingdom. (9)

With battle
Forgotten, savage generations shall
Grow generous.
… The gruesome gates
of war, with tightly welded iron plates,
shall be shut fast. Within, unholy Rage
shall sit on his ferocious weapons, bound
behind his back by a hundred knots of brass;
he shall groan horribly with bloody lips.” (11)

But Venus had enough of his complaints,
And so she interrupted his lament:
/
“Whoever you may be, I hardly think
the heaven-dwellers hold a grudge against you:
the breadth of life is yours, and you are near
a Tyrian city. …
For I can tell you truthfully: your comrades
Are given back to you, your fleet is saved
…
Look there, where you can make out twice-six swans
That gladly file along, whom once the bird
Of Jupiter had scattered, swooping down
Form upper air into the open sky.
And now, in long array, they either seem
To settle down or else to hover, waiting
And watching those that have already landed;
And just as they, returning, play with rustling
Wings, as they wheel about the sky in crews,
And give themselves to song—not otherwise
Your ships and youths are either in the harbor
Or near its mouth with swelling sails. Only
Move on and follow where this pathway leads.” (15)

And just as, on the banks of the Eurotas
Or though the heights of Cynthus, when Diana
Incites her dancers, and her followers,
A thousand moutain-nymphs, press in behind her,
She wears a quiver slung across her shoulder;
And as she makes her way, she towers over
All other goddesses; gladness excites
Latona’s silent breast: even so, Dido;
So, in her joy, she moved among the throng (18)

“O Queen,
whom Jupiter has granted this: to bring
to being a new city, (19)

Ascanius, …
But I shall lull the royal boy to sleep
On high Cythera or Idalium
And hide him in my holy house, so that
He cannot know—or interrupt—our trap.
…
But Venus pours upon Ascanius
A gentle rest. She takes him to her breast
Caressingly; and as a goddess can,
She carries him to her Idalium
Where, in high groves, mild marjoram enfolds him
In flowers and the breath of its sweet shade. (25)

Ulysseys, … inventor of impieties (34)

For all
The gods on whom this kingdom stood have quit
Our shrines and altars, gone away. The city
That you would help is now in flames. Then let
Us rush to arms and die. The lost have only
This one deliverance: to hope for none.’
/
“So were these young men’s spirits spurred to fury.
Then—just as plundering wolves in a black fog,
When driven blindly by their belly’s endless
Frenzy, for they have left behind their cubs
To wait with thirsty jaws—through enemies,
Through swords we pass to certain death; we make
Our way into the heart of Troy; around us
The black night hovers with its hollow shade. (40)

And here Coroebus, glad
At our success and spirits, cries: ‘My comrades,
Where Fortune first points out the path of safety,
Where first she shows herself auspicious, there
Must be the way to follow: let us change
Our shields, take Danaan armor for ourselves.
If that be guile or valor—who would ask
In war? Our enemies will give us weapons.’ (41)

Pyrrhus himself, among the first, takes up
A two-edged ax and cracks the stubborn gates.
He rips the bronze-bound portals off their hinges,
Cuts through a beam, digs out tough oak: the breach
Is vast, gaping mouth. The inner house
Is naked now, the long halls, open; naked,
The private rooms of Priam and the ancient
Kings; and the Greeks can see the threshold guards. (44)

“But now, when I had reached my father’s threshold,
Anchises’ ancient house, our home—and I
Longed so to carry him to the high mountains
And south him first—he will not let his life
Be drawn out after Troy has fallen, he
Will not endure exile: ‘You whose lifeblood
Is fresh, whose force is still intact and tough,
You hurry your escape; if heaven’s lords
Had wanted longer life for me, they would
Have saved my home. It is enough—and more—
That I have lived beyond one fall and sack
Of Troy. Call out your farewell to my body
As it is now, thus laid out, thus; and then
Be gone. I shall find death by my own hand;
The enemy will pity me and seek
My spoils. The loss of burial is easy.
For hated by the gods and useless, I
Have lingered out my years too long already, (49)

A sudden omen—wonderful to tell:
Between the hands, before the faces of
His grieving parents, over Iulius’ head
There leaps a lithe flametip that seems to shed
A radiance; …
‘O Jupiter, all-able one, if you
are moved by any prayers, …
confirm these omens.’
“No sooner had the old man spoken so
than sudden thunder crashed upon the left,
… At last,
won over by this sign, my father rises, (51)

We journey through dark places;
And I, who just before could not be stirred
By any weapons cast at me or by
The crowds of Greeks in charging columns, now
Am terrified by all the breezes, startled
By every sound, in fear for son and father. (52)

Then, just as soon as we can trust the sea,
As soon as the air allows us tranquil waters
And while the south wind, softly whispering,
Invites to journeying, my comrades crowd
The beach to launch our fleet. We leave the harbor.
Our eyes have lost the cities and the land. (57)

…do not desert the tedious
Trials of your journeying. Your home is elsewhere.
For Delian Apollo did not call
the coasts of Crete your site for settlement.
There is a place the Greeks have named Hesperia—
an ancient land with strong arms and fat soil.
The men who lived there were Oenotrians;
but now it is said that their descendants call
the country “Italy” after their leader. (lines 213-221, 60)

“On entering the harbor, we can see
glad herds of cattle scattered through the fields
and flocks of goats, unguarded, on the grass.
We fall upon them with our swords; we call
the gods and Jove himself to share our spoils.
Along the curving coast we build our couches.
We feast on those rich meats. But suddenly,
shaking our their wings with a great clanging,
the Harpies, horrible, swoop from the hilltops;
and plundering our banquet with the filthy
touch of their talons, they foul everything.
Their terrifying scream leaps from that stench. [62]
…
…But again,
though from another quarter of the heavens
and from dark dens, the clanging crowd descends;
they fall upon their prey with crooked talons,
defiling all our feast. I call my comrades
to arms, to war against the cruel tribe.
…
No blow can wound their wings or scar their backs.
…
“One only—prophetess of misery,
Celaeno—perches on a towering rock.
Her cry breaks out: ‘Sons of Laomedon,
We let you slaughter oxen, kill our bullocks;
But in return you wage a war to drive
The guiltless Harpies form their father’s kingdom. (63)

“And having gained uphoped-for land, we kindle
the altars with our offerings. We give
our gifts to Jupiter and crowd the beaches
of Actium with Trojan games. My comrades
strip naked; sleek with oil, they try their strength
in Ilian wrestling matches, glad to have
slipped past so many Argive towns, held fast
to flight among a crowd of enemies. (64)

When on your way you reach the town of Cumae,
the sacred lakes, the loud wood of Avernus,
there you will see the frenzied prophetess.
Deep in her cave of rock she charts the fates,
Consigning to the leaves her words and symbols.
Whatever verses she had written down
Upon the leaves, she puts in place and order
And then abandons them inside her cavern.
When all is still, that order is not troubled;
But when soft winds are stirring and the door,
Turning upon its hinge, disturbs the tender
Leaves, then she never cares to catch the verses
That flutter through the hollow grotto, never
Recalls their place or joins them all together.
Her visitors, when they have had no counsel,
Depart, and then detest the Sibyl’s cavern.
Let no expense of time be counted here,
Though comrades chide and though the journey urge
Your sails to take the waves of favoring
Sea breezes sell their folds for voyaging.
But visit her, the prophetess, with prayers,
That she reveal the oracles herself
And willingly unlock her voice and lips.
She will unfold for you who are the peoples
Of Italy, the wars that are to come,
And in what way you are to flee or face
Each crisis. Worshipped properly, she grants
Prosperous voyages. These things are all
The gods allow my tongue to chant and tell. (69-70)

But now the guests are gone. The darkened moon,
In turn, conceals its light, the setting stars
Invite to sleep; inside the vacant hall
She grieves alone and falls upon the couch
That he has left. Absent, she sees, she hears
The absent one or draws Ascanius,
His son and counterfeit, into her arms,
As if his shape might cheat her untellable love.
/
Her towers rise no more; the youth of Carthage
No longer exercise at arms or build
Their harbors or sure battlements for war;
The works are idle, broken off; the massive,
Menacing rampart walls, even the crane,
Defier of the sky, now lie neglected. (82)

Just as Apollo,
When in the winter he abandons Lycia
And Xanthus’ streams to visit his maternal
Delos, …
…
And binds his flowing hair with gentle leaves
And braids its strands with intertwining gold;
His arrows clatter on his shoulder; no
Less graceful is Aeneas as he goes;
An equal beauty fills his splendid face. (84)

Meanwhile confusion takes the sky, tremendous
Turmoil, and on its heels, rain mixed with hail.
…
Dido and the Trojan
Chieftain have reached the same cave. Primal Earth
And Juno, queen of marriages, together
Now give the signal: lightning fire flash,
The upper air is witness to their mating,
And from the highest hilltops shout the nymphs.
That day was her first day of death and ruin.
For neither how things seem nor how they are deemed
Moves Dido now, and she no longer thinks
Of furtive love. For Dido calls it marriage,
And with this name she covers up her fault. (85)

Because of you the tribes of Libya, all
The Nomad princes hate me, even my
Own Tyrians are hostile; and for you
My honor is gone and that good name that once
Was mine, (89)

I have never held
The wedding torches as a husband; I
Have never entered into such agreements.
If fate had granted me to guide my life
By my own auspices and to unravel
My troubles with unhampered will, then I
Should cherish first the town of Troy, the sweet
Remains of my own people and the tall
Rooftops of Priam would remain, my hands
Would plant again a second Pergamus
For my defeated men. But now Grynean
Apollo’s oracles would have me seize
Great Italy, the Lycian prophecies
Tell me of Italy: there is my love,
there is my homeland. If the fortresses
of Carthage and the vision of a city
in Libya can hold you, who are Phonecian,
why, then, begrudge the Trojans’ settling on
Ausonian soil? There is no harm: it is
Right that we, too, seek out a foreign kingdom. (90)

Then maddened by the fates, unhappy Dido
Calls out at last for death; it tires her
To see the curve of heaven. That she may
Not weaken in her plan to leave the light,
She sees, while placing offerings on the altars
With burning incense—terrible to tell—
The consecrated liquid turning black,
The outpoured wine becoming obscene blood.
But no one learns of this, not even Anna.
And more: inside her palace she had built
A marble temple to her former husband
That she held dear and honored wonderfully.
She wreathed that shrine with snow-white fleeces and
Holy-day leaves. And when the world was seized
By night, she seemed to hear the voice and words
Of her dead husband, calling out to Dido.
…
More, many prophecies of ancient seers
Now terrify her with their awful warnings.
And in her dreams it is the fierce Aeneas
Himself who drives her to insanity;
She always finds herself alone, abandoned,
And wandering without companions on
An endless journey, seeking out her people,
Her Tyrians, in a desert land: (95)

Did herself—
With salt cake in her hold hands, her girdle
Unfastened, and one foot free of its sandal,
Close by the altars and about to die—
Now calls upon the gods and stars, who know
The fates, as witness; then she prays to any
Power there may be, who is both just and watchful,
Who cares for those who love without requital.
/
Night. And across the earth the tired bodies
Were tasting tranquil sleep; the woods and savage
Waters were resting and the stars had reached
The midpoint of their gliding fall—when all
The fields are still, and animals and colored
Birds, near and far, that find their home beside
The limped lakes or haunt the countryside
In bristling thickets, sleep in silent night.
But not the sorrowing Phonecian; she
Can not submit to sleep, can not admit
Dark night into her eyes or breast; her cares
Increase; again love rises, surges in her;
She wavers on the giant tide of anger.
She will not let things rest but carries on;
She still revolves these thoughts within her heart:
“What can I do? Shall I, whom he has mocked,
go back again to my old suitors, begging,
seeking a wedding with Numidians whom
I have already often scorned as bridegrooms?
Or should I sail away on Trojan ships,
To suffer there even their harshest orders?
…
But even if I wish it, would they welcome
Someone so hated to their haughty ships?
…
What then? Shall I accompany, alone,
The exultant sailors in their flight? Or call
On all my Tyrians, on all my troops
To rush upon them? How can I urge on
Those I once dragged from Sidon, how can I
now force them back again upon the sea
And have them spread their canvas to the winds?
No; die as you deserve, and set aside
Your sorrow by the sword. My sister, you,
Won over by my tears—you were the first
To weigh me down with evils in my frenzy,
To drive me toward my enemy. Any why
Was it not given me to lead a guiltless
Life, never knowing marriage, like a wild
Beast, never to have touched such toils? I have not
Held fast the faith I swore before the ashes
of my Sychaeus.” This was her lament.
/
Aeneas on the high stern now was set
To leave; he tasted sleep; all things were ready. (96-8)

Mercury…
“You, goddess-born, how can you lie asleep
at such a crisis? Madman, can’t you see
the threats around you, can’t you hear the breath
of kind west winds? She conjures injuries
and awful crimes, she means to die, she stirs
the shifting surge of restless anger. Why
not flee this land headlong, while there is time?
You soon will see the waters churned by wreckage,
Ferocious torches blaze, and beaches flame,
If morning finds you lingering on this coast.
Be on your way. Enough delays. An ever
Uncertain and inconstant thing is woman.”
This said, he was at one with the black night. (98)

And could I not
Have dragged his body off, and scattered him
Piecemeal upon the waters, limb by limb?
Or butchered all his comrades, even served
Ascanius himself as a banquet dish
Upon his father’s table? True enough—
The battle might have ended differently.
That does not matter. for, about to die,
Need I fear anyone? I should have carried
My torches to his camp and filled his decks
With fire, destroyed the son, the father, that
Whole race, and then have thrown myself upon them. (99)

…take up my prayers. If it must be
that he, a traitor, is to touch his harbor,
float to his coasts, and so the fates of Jove
demand and if this end is fixed; yet let
him suffer war and struggles with audacious
nations, and then—when banished form his borders
and torn from the embrace of Iulus—let him
beg aid and watch his people’s shameful slaughter.
…
Do not let love or treaty tie our peoples.
May an avenger rise up form my bones,
One who will track with firebrand and sword
The Dardan settlers, now and in the future, (99-100)

But Dido, desperate, beside herself
With awful undertakings, eyes bloodshot
And rolling, and her quivering cheeks flecked
With stains and pale with coming death, now bursts
Across the inner courtyards of her palace.
She mounts in madness that high pyre, unsheathes
The Dardan sword, a gift not sought for such
An end. And when she saw the Trojan’s clothes
And her familiar bed, she checked her tought
And tears a little, lay upon the couch
And spoke her final words: “O relics, dear
While fate and god allowed, receives my spirit
And free me from these cares; for I have lived
And journeyed through the course assigned by fortune.
And now my Shade will pass, illustrious,
Beneath the earth; I have built a handsome city,
Have seen my walls rise up, avenged a husband,
Won satisfaction from a hostile brother:
O fortune, too fortunate—if only
The ships of Troy had never touched our coasts.”
She spoke and pressed her face into the couch.
“I shall die unavenged, but I shall die,”
she says. “Thus, thus, I gladly go below
to shadows. May the savage Dardan drink
with his won eyes this fire from the deep
and take with him the omen of my death.”
/
Then Dido’s words were done, and her companions
Can see her fallen on the sword; the blade
Is foaming with her blood, her hands are bloodstained.
Now clamor rises to the high rooftop.
Now rumor riots through the startled city.
The lamentations, keening, shrieks of women
Sound through the houses; (101)

Meanwhile Aeneas, well upon his way,
Was sailing steadfast with his galleys, cutting
The waves blown black beneath the north wind, gazing
Back—watching where the walls of Carthage glowed
With sad Elissa’s flames. They cannot know
What caused so vast a blaze, and yet the Trojans
Know well the pain when passion is profaned
And how a woman driven wild can act;
Their hearts are drawn through dark presentiments. (103)

But when black Night rode high upon her chariot
And took possession of the heavens, then
Down from the sky image of his father
Anchises seemed to glide. His sudden words:
…
Jove, who drove off the fire from our fleet
And from high heaven pitied you at last,
Has sent me here. Obey the excellent
Advice old Nautes gives; and take your chosen
Young men, your bravest hearts, to Italy.
…
Yet first draw near the lower halls of Dis
And through the lands of deep Avernus seek,
My son, a meeting with me. I am not
Among sad Shades, in impious Tartarus;
My home is in Elysium, among
The gracious gatherings of the pious ones.
You shall be shown the way there by the chaste
Sibyl—but after offering blood from many
Black cattle. You will learn of all your race
And of the walls that have been given you.
And now farewell. (126)

These were the words he wept and said. He lets
The reins that curb the fleet fall salck; at last
He glides to the Euobean coasts of Cumae.
The Trojans turn their prows around to sea;
Tenacious teeth, their anchors grips the ships;
The curving keels line up, they fringe the beach.
A band of keen young men leap toward the land
That is Hesperia. Some seek the seeds
Of fire hidden in the veins of flint,
Some scour the forest and the tangled dens
Of beasts and point to newfound streams. But pius
Aeneas seeks the peaks where high Apollo
Is king and, in a deep, enormous grotto,
The awful Sibyl has her secret home,
For there the seer of Delos so inspires
Her mind and soul that she may know the future. (131)

The giant flank of that Euobean crag
Has been dug out into a cave; a hundred
Broad ways lead to that place, a hundred gates;
As many voices rush form these—the Sibyl’s
Replies. Just as the Trojans reached the threshold,
The virgin cried: “Now call upon the Fates
For oracles. The god is here! The god!”
As she says this before the doors, her face
Is disarrayed; her breast heaves, and her wild
Heart swells with frenzy; she is taller now;
her voice is more than human, for the power
of god is closing in, he breathes upon her.
“And are you slow to offer vows and prayers,
Trojan Aeneas? Are you slow?” she shouts.
“The terrifying house will never open
its giant jaws before your vows are spoken.”
/
The Sibyl spoke and then was still. The Trojans’
Tough bones were shaken by chill shuddering.
Their king pours prayers from his deepest breast:
“Phoebus, you always pitied Troy’s hard trials,
…
but after this, and at long last, we grasp
the shores of fleeing Italy; may Troy’s
fortune have followed us so far—no farther!
…
And you, most holy priestess, you who know
What is to come (I do not ask for any
Lads that have not been promised by my fates),
O let the Trojans rest in Latium
Together with their wandering deities
And Troy’s tormented gods. Then I shall raise
A temple of Apollo and Diana
…
Great shrines await
You, priestess, too, within our Latin kingdom; (133)

But she has not yet given way to Phoebus:
She rages, savage, in her cavern, tries
To drive the great god from her breast. So much
The more, he tires out her raving mouth;
He tames her wild heart, shapes by crushing force.
And now the hundred great gates of the house
Swing open of their priestess through the air:
“O you who are done, at last, with those great dangers
that lie upon the sea—
…
I see wars, horrid wars, the Tiber foaming
With much blood. (134)

…hero Aeneas
begins: “None of the trials you tell of, virgin,
is strange or unexpected: all of these
I have foreseen and journeyed in my thought.
One thing I ask: since here is said to be
The gateway of the lower king and here
The marsh of overflowing Acheron,
May it be granted me to go before
The face and presence of my dearest father? (135)

And so Aeneas prayed, clasping the altar;
The prophetess began: “Born of the blood
Of gods and son of Troy’s Anchises, easy—
The way that leads into Avernus: day
And night the door of darkest Dis is open.
But to recall your steps, to rise again
Into the upper air: that is the labor;
…
Through all the central region runs a forest
Encircled by the black curves of Cocytus.
But if your mind is moved by such a love,
So great a longing, twice to swim the lake
Of Styx and twice to see black Tartarus,
And you are pleased to try this mad attempt,
Then, Trojan, hear what you must first accomplish.
A bough is hidden by a shady tree;
Its leaves and pliant stem are golden, set
Aside as sacred to Proserpina.
The grove serves as its screen, and shades enclose
The bough in darkened valleys. Only he
May pass beneath earth’s secret spaces who
First plucks the golden-leaved fruit of that tree.
Lovely Proserpina ordained that this
Be offered as gift. And when the first
Bough is torn off, a second grows again—
With leaves of gold, again of that same metal.
…
pluck it down by hand
as due: for if the Fates have summoned you,
the bough will break off freely, easily;
but otherwise, no power can overcome it,
hard iron cannot help to tear it off.
And more, the lifeless body of your friend
Now lies—but you have still to learn of this—
Defiling all your fleet with death, while you
Still ask your destiny and linger at
Our threshold. First, you are to carry him
To his own place of rest and burial
And bring black cattle as peace offering.
And so, at last, your eyes shall see the groves
Of Styx, the lands the living never pass.”
She spoke and then was silent. Her lips closed. (136)

If only
That golden bough might show itself to us
…
No sooner was this said than from the sky
Twin doves descended, there, before his eyes,
Settling along the green grass. And the chief
Of heroes recognized his mother’s birds
And prayed with gladness: “Be my guides…
…
they flew along as far
as sight could follow. But when they have reached
the jaws of foul Avernus, there they rise
and swiftly glide along the liquid air;
they settle, twins, on their desired treetop.
The gleam of gold was different, flickering
…
And at once Aeneas plucks it
And, eager, breaks the hesitating bough
And carries it into the Sibyl’s house. (138)

There was a wide-mouthed cavern, deep and vast
And rugged, sheltered by a shadowed lake
And darkened groves; such vapor poured from those
Black jaws to heaven’s vault, no bird oculd fly
Above unharmed (for which the Greeks have called
The place “Aornos,” or “The Birdless”) Here
The priestess places, first, four black-backed steers;
And she pours wine upon their brows and plucks
The topmost hairs between their horns and these
Casts on the sacred fires as offering,
Calling aloud on Hecate, the queen
Of heaven and of hell. Then others slit
The victims’ throats and catch warm blood in bowls.
Aeneas sacrifices with his sword
A black-fleeced lamb for Night, the Furies’ mother,
And Terra, her great sister; and for you,
Proserpina, he kills a barren heifer.
And then for Pluto, king of Styx, he raises
Noctural altars, laying on their fires
Whole carcasses of buls; he pours fat oil
Across the burning entrails. But no sooner
Are dawn and brightness of the early sun
Upon them than the ground roars underfoot,
And wooded ridges shudder, through the shadows
Dogs seem to howl as Hecate draws near.
“Away, away, you uninitiated,”
the priestess shrieks, “now leave the grove; only
Aeneas move ahead, unsheathe your sword;
You need your courage now; you need your heart.”
This said, she plunges, wild, into the open
Cavern; but with unfaltering steps Aeneas
Keeps pace beside his guide as she advances. (139)

They moved along in darkness, through the shadows,
Beneath the lonely night,
…
Before the entrance, at the jaws of Orcus,
Both Grief and goading Cares have set their couches;
There pale Diseases dwell, and sad Old Age,
And Fear and Hunger, that worst counselor,
And ugly Poverty—shapes terrible
To see—and Death and Trials; Death’s brother, Sleep,
And all the evil Pleasures of the mind;
And War, whose fruits are death; and facing these,
The Furies’ iron chambers; and mad Strife,
Her serpent hair bound up with bloody garlands.
/
Among them stands a giant shaded elm,
A tree with spreading boughs and aged arms;
They say that is the home of empty Dreams
That cling, below, to every leaf. And more,
So many monstrous shapes of savage beasts
Are stabled there: Centaurs and double-bodiesd
Scyllas;
…
Aeneas, shaken suddenly
By terror, grips his sword; he offers naked
Steel and opposes those who come. Had not
His wise companion warned him they were only
Thin lives that glide without a body in
The hollow semblance of a form, he could
In vain have torn the shadows with his blade.
/
Here starts the pathway to the waters of
Tartarean Acheron. A whirlpool thick
With sludge, its giant eddy seething, vomits
All of its swirling sand into Cocytus.
Grim Charon is the squalid ferryman,
The guardian of these streams, these rivers; his
White hairs lie thick, disheveled on his chin;
His eyes are fires that stare, a filthy mantle
Hangs down his shoulder by a knot. Alone,
He poles the boat and tends the sails and carries
The dead in his dark ship, old as he is;
But old age in a god is tough and green.
/
And here a multitude was rushing, swarming
Shoreward, with men and mothers, bodies of
High-hearted heroes stripped of life, and boys
And unwed girls, and young men set upon
The pyre of death before their fathers’ eyes:
Thick as the leaves that with the early frost
Of autumn drop and fall within the forest,
…
All these you see are helpless and unburied.
That ferryman is Charon. And the waves
Will only carry souls that have a tomb. (140-1)

But when the goddess Hecate made me
The guardian of Avernus’ groves, then she
Revealed the penalties the gods decreed
And guided me through all the halls of hell. (149)

They came upon the lands of gladness, glades
Of gentleness, the Groves of Blessedness—
A gracious place. The air is generous;
The plains wear dazzling light; they have their very
Own sun and their own stars. Some exercise
Their limbs along the green gymnasiums
Or grapple on the golden sand, compete
In sport, and some keep time with moving feet
To dance and chant. There, too, the Thracian priest,
The long-robed Orpheus, plays, accompanying
With seven tones; and now his fingers strike
The strings, and now his quill of ivory.
/
The ancient race of Teucer, too, is here
Most handsome sons, great-hearted heroes born
In better years: Assaracus and Ilus
And Dardanus, hwo founded Pergamus.
From far Aeneas wonders at their phantom
Armor and chariots; their spears are planted,
Fixed in the ground; their horses graze and range
Freely across the plain. The very same
Delight that once was theirs in life—in arms
And chariots and care to pasture their
Sleek steeds—has followed to this underearth. (149-51)

“tell us what land, what place it is that holds
Anchises. It is for his sake we have come
Across the mighty streams of Erebus.”
/
The hero answered briefly: “None of us
Has one fixed home: we live in shady groves
And settle on soft riverbanks and meadows
Where fresh streams flow. But if the will within
Your heart is bent on this, then climb the hill
And I shall show to you and easy path.”
He spoke, and led the way, and from the ridge
He pointed out bright fields. Then they descended.
/
But in the deep of a green valley, father
Anchises, lost in thought, was studying
The souls of all his sons to come—
…
Three times
He tried to throw his arms around Anchises’
Neck; and three times the Shade escaped from that
Vain clasp—like light winds, or most like swift dreams. (152-3)

And so they wander over all that region,
Across the wide and misted plains, surveying
Everything. And when father Anchises
Has shown his son each scene and fired his soul
With love of coming glory, then he tells
Aeneas of the wars he must still wage,
Of the Laurentians, of Latinus’ city,
And how he is to flee or face each trial.
/
There are two gates of Sleep: the one is said
To be of horn, through it an easy exit
Is given to true Shades; the other is made
of polished ivory, perfect, glittering,
but through that way the Spirits send false dreams
into the world above. And here Anchises,
when he is done with words, accompanies
the Sibyl and his son together; and
he sends them through the gate of ivory.
Aeneas hurries to his ships, rejoins
His comrades, then he coasts along the shore
Straight to Caieta’s harbor. Form the prow
The anchor is cast. The sterns stand on the beach. (160)