Aeneid Full Section

[1–14] At regina gravi iamdudum saucia cura volnus alit venis, et caeco carpitur igni. Multa viri virtus animo, multusque recursat gentis honos: haerent infixi pectore voltus verbaque, nec placidam membris dat cura quietem. Postera Phoebea lustrabat lampade terras, umentemque Aurora polo dimoverat umbram, cum sic unanimam adloquitur male sana sororem: 'Anna soror, quae me suspensam insomnia terrent! Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes, quem sese ore ferens, quam forti pectore et armis! Credo equidem, nec vana fides, genus esse deorum. Degeneres animos timor arguit: heu, quibus ille iactatus fatis! Quae bella exhausta canebat!'

But the queen, who for a long time now had been wounded by severe pain, nourishes the wound with her veins and is consumed by the hidden fire. The hero’s courage and the splendour of his lineage recur frequently to her mind. His features and words stick firmly impressed in her heart and her anxiety does not allow peaceful rest to her limbs. The next day was illuminating the earth with the light of Phoebus and Dawn had moved the moist darkness from the sky, when, barely sane, she thus addresses her like-minded sister: “Anna, my sister, what visions frighten me and keep me in suspense! Who is this strange guest who has approached our dwelling? What a noble aspect he bears, with what a brave heart and arms (is he endowed)! I believe, and my trust is not unfounded, that his family is divine. It is base-born minds that fear reveals. Alas, by what fates has he been tossed! What wars that he has endured did he relate!”

[15–30] Si mihi non animo fixum immotumque sederet, ne cui me vinclo vellem sociare iugali, postquam primus amor deceptam morte fefellit; si non pertaesum thalami taedaeque fuisset, huic uni forsan potui succumbere culpae. Anna, fatebor enim, miseri post fata Sychaei coniugis et sparsos fraterna caede Penatis, solus hic inflexit sensus, animumque labantem impulit: adgnosco veteris vestigia flammae. Sed mihi vel tellus optem prius ima dehiscat, vel Pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras, pallentis umbras Erebi noctemque profundam, ante, Pudor, quam te violo, aut tua iura resolvo. Ille meos, primus qui me sibi iunxit, amores abstulit; ille habeat secum servetque sepulchro.' Sic effata sinum lacrimis implevit obortis.

“If it were not settled, fixed and immovable in my mind not to want to join myself to anyone in the bond of marriage after my first love deceived me and cheated me by death, if I had not been tired of the marriage bed and torch, perhaps I might have succumbed to this single temptation. Anna (for I will confess it), since the death of my poor husband Sychaeus and the household gods bespattered by a brother’s slaughter, this man is the only one who has affected my feelings and stimulated my wavering spirit. I recognise the traces of the old flame. But I would wish either that the lowest depths of earth would yawn open for me, or that the all-powerful father with his lightning would drive me to the shades below, the pale shadows of Erebus and its deep night, before I violate you, chastity, or break your laws. That man, who first joined me to him, has taken away my feelings of love; let him possess them and guard them with him in the tomb.” Thus she spoke and filled her bosom with the tears which had sprung up.

[31–44] Anna refert: 'O luce magis dilecta sorori, solane perpetua maerens carpere iuventa, nec dulcis natos, Veneris nec praemia noris? Id cinerem aut Manis credis curare sepultos? Esto: aegram nulli quondam flexere mariti, non Libyae, non ante Tyro; despectus Iarbas ductoresque alii, quos Africa terra triumphis dives alit: placitone etiam pugnabis amori? Nec venit in mentem, quorum consederis arvis? Hinc Gaetulae urbes, genus insuperabile bello, et Numidae infreni cingunt et inhospita Syrtis; hinc deserta siti regio, lateque furentes Barcaei. Quid bella Tyro surgentia dicam, germanique minas?'

Anna replied, “O you who are loved by your sister more than life itself, will you wear yourself out grieving alone throughout your youth and not know sweet children nor the pleasures of love? Is that what you believe the ashes or the spirits of the dead care for? So be it. In your suffering, no suitors have diverted you in the past, neither in Libya, nor in Tyre previously. Spurned are Iarbas and other leaders whom the land of Africa, rich in triumphs, nurtures. Will you even fight against a love which pleases you? Do you not recall in whose fields you have settled? On one side the cities of the Gaetuli, a race unconquerable in war, and the unbridled Numidians and inhospitable Syrtis surround you; on the other side, there is a region deserted because of drought, and the Barcaei raging far and wide. Need I mention the wars arising from Tyre and the threatening anger of your brother?”

[45–55] Dis equidem auspicibus reor et Iunone secunda hunc cursum Iliacas vento tenuisse carinas. Quam tu urbem, soror, hanc cernes, quae surgere regna coniugio tali! Teucrum comitantibus armis Punica se quantis attollet gloria rebus! Tu modo posce deos veniam, sacrisque litatis indulge hospitio, causasque innecte morandi, dum pelago desaevit hiemps et aquosus Orion, quassataeque rates, dum non tractabile caelum.' His dictis incensum animum inflammavit amore, spemque dedit dubiae menti, solvitque pudorem.

“For my part, I think it was with the gods as your protectors and Juno’s approval that the Trojan ships held this course with the help of the wind. What a city this is, sister, which you will see rise, what kingdoms, with such a union! With the arms of the Trojans accompanying us, to what great achievements will the glory of Carthage rise itself! Just ask the gods for pardon, and after holy offerings have been made, give full rein to your hospitality, and weave reasons for delay, until the storm at sea and rainy Orion have lost their rage, and while the ships are (still) shattered, while the weather is not fit for sailing.” By these words, the inflamed Dido’s heart with strong passion, gave hope to her wavering mind, and released her sense of shame.

[56–67] Principio delubra adeunt, pacemque per aras exquirunt; mactant lectas de more bidentis legiferae Cereri Phoeboque patrique Lyaeo, Iunoni ante omnis, cui vincla iugalia curae. Ipsa, tenens dextra pateram, pulcherrima Dido candentis vaccae media inter cornua fundit, aut ante ora deum pinguis spatiatur ad aras, instauratque diem donis, pecudumque reclusis pectoribus inhians spirantia consulit exta. Heu vatum ignarae mentes! quid vota furentem, quid delubra iuvant? Est mollis flamma medullas interea, et tacitum vivit sub pectore volnus.

First of all, they approach the shrines and seek peace from altar to altar; they sacrifice two-year-old sheep selected in accordance with custom to Ceres the law giver, to Apollo and father Bacchus, but above all to Juno, to whom the bonds of marriage are (a special) care. Most beautiful Dido herself, holding the dish in her right hand, pours the blood (a libation) over the middle of the horns of a gleaming white cow, or promenades before the faces of the gods towards the altars rich in fat, renewing the day with gifts, and gazing into the laid bare breasts of cattle, consults the (still) breathing internal organs. Alas for the ignorant minds of seers! What help are prayers or shrines to a mad person? The flame consumes the soft marrow in the meantime, and the silent wound lives beneath her breast.

[68–85] Uritur infelix Dido, totaque vagatur urbe furens, qualis coniecta cerva sagitta, quam procul incautam nemora inter Cresia fixit pastor agens telis, liquitque volatile ferrum nescius; illa fuga silvas saltusque peragrat Dictaeos; haeret lateri letalis arundo. Nunc media Aenean secum per moenia ducit, Sidoniasque ostentat opes urbemque paratam; incipit effari, mediaque in voce resistit; nunc eadem labente die convivia quaerit, Iliacosque iterum demens audire labores exposcit, pendetque iterum narrantis ab ore. Post, ubi digressi, lumenque obscura vicissim luna premit suadentque cadentia sidera somnos, sola domo maeret vacua, stratisque relictis incubat, illum absens absentem auditque videtque; aut gremio Ascanium, genitoris imagine capta, detinet, infandum si fallere possit amorem.

Unlucky Dido burns and wanders throughout the whole city in her madness, like a deer when the arrow is shot, which the shepherd, attacking with his weapon, has pierced her, off her guard, far away amid the Cretan groves and has left in it the flying weapon, unaware: the deer in its flight wanders through the woods and Cretan glades, but the fatal arrow sticks in her side. Now she leads Aeneas with her through the midst of the city and shows him the Phoenician riches and a ready-made city. She begins to speak but stops in the middle of her utterance; then, as the daylight slips away, she seeks the same banquet, demands madly to hear the Trojan toils once again, and hangs again on the lips of the narrator. Afterwards, when they have parted, and the dim moon in turn suppresses her light and the setting stars advise sleep, alone in her empty home she grieves and lies on the abandoned couch. Him, the absent one, she, absent, hears and sees; or, captivated by the likeness to his father, holds Ascanius in her bosom, in the hope that she can cheat her unspeakable love.

[86–98] Non coeptae adsurgunt turres, non arma iuventus exercet, portusve aut propugnacula bello tuta parant; pendent opera interrupta, minaeque murorum ingentes aequataque machina caelo. Quam simul ac tali persensit peste teneri cara Iovis coniunx, nec famam obstare furori, talibus adgreditur Venerem Saturnia dictis: 'Egregiam vero laudem et spolia ampla refertis tuque puerque tuus, magnum et memorabile nomen, una dolo divom si femina victa duorum est! Nec me adeo fallit veritam te moenia nostra suspectas habuisse domos Karthaginis altae. Sed quis erit modus, aut quo nunc certamine tanto?'

The towers which had begun do not rise, the young men do not employ tools or prepare the harbours or towers for safety against war. The works hang interrupted as do the huge projections of the walls and the crane reaching the sky. As soon as the beloved wife of Jupiter perceived distinctly that Dido was possessed with such a disease and that concern about her reputation did not stand in the way of her madness, the daughter of Saturn addressed Venus with the following words: “Outstanding, indeed, is the glory and splendid spoils you win, you and your boy (a great and memorable divinity), if it takes the guile of two gods to overcome one woman. Nor does it escape my notice nor your fear that, fearing our fortifications, you have suspected the homes of lofty Carthage. But what will be the end of it or what’s the point of such conflict now?”

[99–114] Quin potius pacem aeternam pactosque hymenaeos exercemus? Habes, tota quod mente petisti: ardet amans Dido, traxitque per ossa furorem. Communem hunc ergo populum paribusque regamus auspiciis; liceat Phrygio servire marito, dotalisque tuae Tyrios permittere dextrae.' Olli—sensit enim simulata mente locutam, quo regnum Italiae Libycas averteret oras—sic contra est ingressa Venus: 'Quis talia demens abnuat, aut tecum malit contendere bello, si modo, quod memoras, factum fortuna sequatur. Sed fatis incerta feror, si Iuppiter unam esse velit Tyriis urbem Troiaque profectis, miscerive probet populos, aut foedera iungi. Tu coniunx tibi fas animum temptare precando. Perge; sequar.'

“Rather, why don’t we work (to secure) everlasting peace and an agreed marriage? You have what you have sought with your whole mind: Dido is on fire with love and has drawn the madness throughout her bones. Therefore, let us rule this people jointly and with equal authority. Let Dido be allowed to be a slave to a Trojan husband and to entrust the Tyrians to your right hand as a dowry.” Venus began to speak thus in answer to Juno (for she realised that Juno had spoken with feigned intent in order to divert the kingdom of Italy to the shores of Libya): “Who would be so mad as to deny you such requests or prefer to fight in war with you? If only fortune would follow the event which you speak of. But I am uncertain and swayed by the fates, (wondering) whether Jupiter would want there to be one city for the Tyrians and those who set out from Troy, or whether he would approve the races being mixed or treaties being made between them. You are his wife, you have the right to test his feelings by entreaty. Go on, I will follow.”

[114–128] Tum sic excepit regia Iuno: 'Mecum erit iste labor: nunc qua ratione, quod instat confieri possit, paucis, adverte, docebo. Venatum Aeneas unaque miserrima Dido in nemus ire parant, ubi primos crastinus ortus extulerit Titan, radiisque retexerit orbem. His ego nigrantem commixta grandine nimbum, dum trepidant alae, saltusque indagine cingunt, desuper infundam, et tonitru caelum omne ciebo. Diffugient comites et nocte tegentur opaca: speluncam Dido dux et Troianus eandem devenient; adero, et, tua si mihi certa voluntas, conubio iungam stabili propriamque dicabo, hic hymenaeus erit.' Non adversata petenti adnuit, atque dolis risit Cytherea repertis.

Then queenly Juno replied as follows: “That task will be my concern. Now, in a few words, I will instruct you (pay attention) by what method the present matter can be achieved. Aeneas and Dido most worthy of pity are preparing to go hunting together into a wood, when tomorrow’s Sun lifts up its first rising and reveals the world with its rays. Upon these I shall pour from above a black storm cloud with hail intermixed, while the horsemen bustle about and surround the woodland with nets, and I will shake the whole sky with thunder. Their companions will flee and they will be hidden in the obscure darkness. Dido and the Trojan leader will come to the same cave. I shall be there, and if I am certain of your goodwill towards me, I will join them in lasting marriage and dedicate her as his own. This will be their marriage.” Venus, not opposing her request, agreed and laughed at her shameful deception.

[529–546] At non infelix animi Phoenissa, nec umquam solvitur in somnos, oculisve aut pectore noctem accipit: ingeminant curae, rursusque resurgens saevit amor, magnoque irarum fluctuat aestu. Sic adeo insistit, secumque ita corde volutat: 'En, quid ago? Rursusne procos inrisa priores experiar, Nomadumque petam conubia supplex, quos ego sim totiens iam dedignata maritos? Iliacas igitur classes atque ultima Teucrum iussa sequar? Quiane auxilio iuvat ante levatos, et bene apud memores veteris stat gratia facti? Quis me autem, fac velle, sinet, ratibusve superbis invisam accipiet? Nescis heu, perdita, necdum Laomedonteae sentis periuria gentis? Quid tum, sola fuga nautas comitabor ovantes, an Tyriis omnique manu stipata meorum inferar, et, quos Sidonia vix urbe revelli, rursus agam pelago, et ventis dare vela iubebo?'

But the Phoenician, unhappy in spirit, is never relaxed in sleep or receives the darkness in her eyes or breast. Her anxieties redouble, and her love, rising again, rages and swells on a mighty tide of angry feelings. Thus, then, she persists and talks over (the situation) with herself in her heart: “Well then, what am I doing? Am I to try my former suitors again and be mocked, and in supplication seek marriage with the Nomads although I have already so many times previously despised them as husbands? So, am I to follow the Trojan fleets and the ultimate orders of the Trojans? Because (of course) it pleases those who were previously supported by my help, and gratitude stands firm among those who are well mindful of the ancient deed. However, who will put up with me — assuming I was willing — or welcome me, an object of hate, in their proud ships? Alas, ruined one, don’t you understand and don’t you realise yet the treachery of the Trojan race? What then? Shall I, alone, accompany the rejoicing sailors in their flight? Shall I pursue, closely accompanied by the Tyrians and the whole band of my followers, and again drive to the sea those whom I, with difficulty, tore away from the Phoenician city and order them to set sail?”

[547–559] Quin morere, ut merita es, ferroque averte dolorem. Tu lacrimis evicta meis, tu prima furentem his, germana, malis oneras atque obicis hosti. Non licuit thalami expertem sine crimine vitam degere, more ferae, tales nec tangere curas! Non servata fides cineri promissa Sychaeo!' Tantos illa suo rumpebat pectore questus. Aeneas celsa in puppi, iam certus eundi, carpebat somnos, rebus iam rite paratis. Huic se forma dei voltu redeuntis eodem obtulit in somnis, rursusque ita visa monere est—omnia Mercurio similis, vocemque coloremque et crinis flavos et membra decora iuventa:

“Nay rather, die, as you have deserved, and remove your grief with the sword. You, sister, overcome by my tears, you were the first to burden me in my madness with these evils and expose me to the enemy. I was not allowed to spend my life without recriminations and free from marriage like an animal, nor experience such anxieties. The vow promised to my husband Sychaeus has not been kept to his ashes.” Such great complaints she let burst forth from her breast.

Aeneas on the lofty prow, now determined to go, was enjoying dreams, having already duly prepared the preliminary arrangements. The shape of a god returning with the same appearance presented itself to him in his dreams and again seemed to warn him as follows: it was like Mercury in all respects, both in his voice, colour, golden locks and the graceful limbs of youth.

[560–579] 'Nate dea, potes hoc sub casu ducere somnos, nec, quae te circum stent deinde pericula, cernis, demens, nec Zephyros audis spirare secundos? Illa dolos dirumque nefas in pectore versat, certa mori, varioque irarum fluctuat aestu. Non fugis hinc praeceps, dum praecipitare potestas? Iam mare turbari trabibus, saevasque videbis conlucere faces, iam fervere litora flammis, si te his attigerit terris Aurora morantem. Heia age, rumpe moras. Varium et mutabile semper femina.' Sic fatus, nocti se immiscuit atrae. Tum vero Aeneas, subitis exterritus umbris, corripit e somno corpus, sociosque fatigat: 'Praecipites vigilate, viri, et considite transtris; solvite vela citi. Deus aethere missus ab alto festinare fugam tortosque incidere funes ecce iterum stimulat. Sequimur te, sancte deorum, quisquis es, imperioque iterum paremus ovantes. Adsis o placidusque iuves, et sidera caelo dextra feras.'

“Goddess born, can you prolong your dreams during this situation, and do you not perceive, also, the dangers which stand around you, mad fool, and do not hear favourable West Winds blowing? That woman is turning over in her breast treacherous acts and dreadful wrong, determined to die, and is stirring up various surges of angry feelings. Will you not flee from here hastily, while you have the chance to make haste? You will see the sea already churned up by ships and fierce torches gleaming, and the shores already glowing with flames, if Dawn finds you lingering in these lands. Quick, come on, break off delays. Woman is a variable and changeable thing.” Having spoken thus, he blended into the dark night. Then indeed, Aeneas, utterly terrified by the sudden ghost, snatched his body from sleep and chivvies his followers to make haste: “Wake up, men, and sit down at the benches; unfurl the sails quickly. Behold, a god sent from high heaven, urges you to hasten your flight again and cut the twisted ropes. We follow you, holy one of the gods, whoever you are, and joyfully obey your command again. May you be present, and help, O gentle one, and bring favourable constellations in the sky.”

[579–594] Dixit, vaginaque eripit ensem fulmineum, strictoque ferit retinacula ferro. Idem omnes simul ardor habet, rapiuntque ruuntque; litora deseruere; latet sub classibus aequor; adnixi torquent spumas et caerula verrunt. Et iam prima novo spargebat lumine terras Tithoni croceum linquens Aurora cubile. Regina e speculis ut primum albescere lucem vidit, et aequatis classem procedere velis, litoraque et vacuos sensit sine remige portus, terque quaterque manu pectus percussa decorum, flaventesque abscissa comas, 'Pro Iuppiter, ibit hic' ait 'et nostris inluserit advena regnis? Non arma expedient, totaque ex urbe sequentur, deripientque rates alii navalibus? Ite, ferte citi flammas, date vela, impellite remos!'

He finished speaking and snatches his flashing sword from its scabbard and strikes the cables with the drawn blade. The same enthusiasm possesses everyone at the same time; they hurry and rush about; they have (already) left the shores and the sails beneath the fleet; striving they churn the foam and sweep the dark blue (sea). And now, the first light of Dawn, leaving the saffron-coloured couch of Tithonus, was sprinkling the lands with new light. When the queen from her watchtower saw the first light brightening and the fleet making headway with even sails and took in the shore and harbour empty of oarsmen, having beaten her beautiful breast three or four times with her hand and tearing her golden hair, she said, “Ah, Jupiter! Will this man go and a stranger mock our kingdom? Will not (some) procure arms and pursue from the whole city, while others snatch the ships from the dockyards? Go, bring flames quickly, give out weapons, press upon the oars!”

[595–612] Quid loquor, aut ubi sum? Quae mentem insania mutat? Infelix Dido, nunc te facta impia tangunt. Tum decuit, cum sceptra dabas.—En dextra fidesque, quem secum patrios aiunt portare Penates, quem subiisse umeris confectum aetate parentem! Non potui abreptum divellere corpus, et undis spargere? Non socios, non ipsum absumere ferro Ascanium, patriisque epulandum ponere mensis?—Verum anceps pugnae fuerat fortuna: fuisset. Quem metui moritura? Faces in castra tulissem, implessemque foros flammis, natumque patremque cum genere extinxem, memet super ipsa dedissem. 'Sol, qui terrarum flammis opera omnia lustras, tuque harum interpres curarum et conscia Iuno, nocturnisque Hecate triviis ululata per urbes, et Dirae ultrices, et di morientis Elissae, accipite haec, meritumque malis advertite numen, et nostras audite preces.

“What am I saying? Or where am I? What madness is changing my mind? Unhappy Dido, is it now that your unholy deeds affect you? It was appropriate at that time when you gave (him) the sceptre. Behold the right hand and pledge of him who they allege brought his ancestral household gods with him, who they allege lifted up his father worn out by old age onto his shoulders! Could I not have snatched and torn apart his body and scattered it in the waves? Could I not have killed his companions and Ascanius himself with a sword and placed him on his father’s table as food? But the fortune of battle would have been doubtful. Suppose it had been: whom did I fear if I was about to die? I would have carried torches into the camp, filled the benches with flames and wiped out father and son together with the (whole) race and put myself on top as well. Sun, who brightly surveys all the works of the earth with your rays, and you, Juno, mediator and aware of these anxieties, Hecate, howling at crossroads at night throughout the cities, and avenging Furies and gods of the dying Elissa, receive these (complaints) and direct upon these evils the power which they deserve and hear our prayers.

[612–629] Si tangere portus infandum caput ac terris adnare necesse est, et sic fata Iovis poscunt, hic terminus haeret: at bello audacis populi vexatus et armis, finibus extorris, complexu avulsus Iuli, auxilium imploret, videatque indigna suorum funera; nec, cum se sub leges pacis iniquae tradiderit, regno aut optata luce fruatur, sed cadat ante diem, mediaque inhumatus harena. Haec precor, hanc vocem extremam cum sanguine fundo. Tum vos, o Tyrii, stirpem et genus omne futurum exercete odiis, cinerique haec mittite nostro munera. Nullus amor populis, nec foedera sunto. Exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor, qui face Dardanios ferroque sequare colonos, nunc, olim, quocumque dabunt se tempore vires. Litora litoribus contraria, fluctibus undas imprecor, arma armis; pugnent ipsique nepotesque.'

“If it is inevitable for that accursed person to reach port and swim to land, and (if) the fates of Jupiter thus demand, this boundary is fixed; but harassed by war and the arms of a courageous race, banished from his territory, torn away from the embrace of Iulus, may he beg for help and see the unworthy deaths of his companions; and when he has surrendered to the conditions of an unjust peace, may he not enjoy kingship or the life he had prayed for, but may he fall before his (allotted) day and lie (unburied) in the midst of the sand. This is what I pray for, this is the last utterance which I am pouring forth with my blood. Then, O Tyrians, pursue with hatred the stock and the whole race to come, and send these gifts to my bones. Let there be no love and no treaties between the races. May you arise, unknown avenger, from my ashes to pursue with fire and sword the Trojan settlers, now, at some future time, at whatever time strength presents itself. I call for shores opposed to shores, waves to waves, arms to arms; may they fight, themselves and their descendants.”