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The Aeneid
The Aeneid
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The Aeneid


And, wearied, on Cyclopian shores we run.

The port capacious, and secure from wind,

Is to the foot of thund’ring Aetna join’d.

By turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high;

By turns hot embers from her entrails fly,

And flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky.

Oft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown,

And, shiver’d by the force, come piecemeal down.

Oft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow,

Fed from the fiery springs that boil below.

Enceladus, they say, transfix’d by Jove,

With blasted limbs came tumbling from above;

And, where he fell, th’ avenging father drew

This flaming hill, and on his body threw.

As often as he turns his weary sides,

He shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides.

In shady woods we pass the tedious night,

Where bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright,

Of which no cause is offer’d to the sight;

For not one star was kindled in the sky,

Nor could the moon her borrow’d light supply;

For misty clouds involv’d the firmament,

The stars were muffled, and the moon was pent.

“Scarce had the rising sun the day reveal’d,

Scarce had his heat the pearly dews dispell’d,

When from the woods there bolts, before our sight,

Somewhat betwixt a mortal and a sprite,

So thin, so ghastly meager, and so wan,

So bare of flesh, he scarce resembled man.

This thing, all tatter’d, seem’d from far t’ implore

Our pious aid, and pointed to the shore.

We look behind, then view his shaggy beard;

His clothes were tagg’d with thorns, and filth his limbs besmear’d;

The rest, in mien, in habit, and in face,

Appear’d a Greek, and such indeed he was.

He cast on us, from far, a frightful view,

Whom soon for Trojans and for foes he knew;

Stood still, and paus’d; then all at once began

To stretch his limbs, and trembled as he ran.

Soon as approach’d, upon his knees he falls,

And thus with tears and sighs for pity calls:

‘Now, by the pow’rs above, and what we share

From Nature’s common gift, this vital air,

O Trojans, take me hence! I beg no more;

But bear me far from this unhappy shore.

’Tis true, I am a Greek, and farther own,

Among your foes besieg’d th’ imperial town.

For such demerits if my death be due,

No more for this abandon’d life I sue;

This only favor let my tears obtain,