The Aeneid. Публий Марон Вергилий

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СКАЧАТЬ in his mind the Trojan hero stood,

      And long’d to break from out his ambient cloud:

      Achates found it, and thus urg’d his way:

      “From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay?

      What more can you desire, your welcome sure,

      Your fleet in safety, and your friends secure?

      One only wants; and him we saw in vain

      Oppose the Storm, and swallow’d in the main.

      Orontes in his fate our forfeit paid;

      The rest agrees with what your mother said.”

      Scarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way,

      The mists flew upward and dissolv’d in day.

      The Trojan chief appear’d in open sight,

      August in visage, and serenely bright.

      His mother goddess, with her hands divine,

      Had form’d his curling locks, and made his temples shine,

      And giv’n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace,

      And breath’d a youthful vigor on his face;

      Like polish’d ivory, beauteous to behold,

      Or Parian marble, when enchas’d in gold:

      Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke,

      And thus with manly modesty he spoke:

      “He whom you seek am I; by tempests toss’d,

      And sav’d from shipwreck on your Libyan coast;

      Presenting, gracious queen, before your throne,

      A prince that owes his life to you alone.

      Fair majesty, the refuge and redress

      Of those whom fate pursues, and wants oppress,

      You, who your pious offices employ

      To save the relics of abandon’d Troy;

      Receive the shipwreck’d on your friendly shore,

      With hospitable rites relieve the poor;

      Associate in your town a wand’ring train,

      And strangers in your palace entertain:

      What thanks can wretched fugitives return,

      Who, scatter’d thro’ the world, in exile mourn?

      The gods, if gods to goodness are inclin’d;

      If acts of mercy touch their heav’nly mind,

      And, more than all the gods, your gen’rous heart.

      Conscious of worth, requite its own desert!

      In you this age is happy, and this earth,

      And parents more than mortal gave you birth.

      While rolling rivers into seas shall run,

      And round the space of heav’n the radiant sun;

      While trees the mountain tops with shades supply,

      Your honor, name, and praise shall never die.

      Whate’er abode my fortune has assign’d,

      Your image shall be present in my mind.”

      Thus having said, he turn’d with pious haste,

      And joyful his expecting friends embrac’d:

      With his right hand Ilioneus was grac’d,

      Serestus with his left; then to his breast

      Cloanthus and the noble Gyas press’d;

      And so by turns descended to the rest.

      The Tyrian queen stood fix’d upon his face,

      Pleas’d with his motions, ravish’d with his grace;

      Admir’d his fortunes, more admir’d the man;

      Then recollected stood, and thus began:

      “What fate, O goddess-born; what angry pow’rs

      Have cast you shipwrack’d on our barren shores?

      Are you the great Aeneas, known to fame,

      Who from celestial seed your lineage claim?

      The same Aeneas whom fair Venus bore

      To fam’d Anchises on th’ Idaean shore?

      It calls into my mind, tho’ then a child,

      When Teucer came, from Salamis exil’d,

      And sought my father’s aid, to be restor’d:

      My father Belus then with fire and sword

      Invaded Cyprus, made the region bare,

      And, conqu’ring, finish’d the successful war.

      From him the Trojan siege I understood,

      The Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood.

      Your foe himself the Dardan valor prais’d,

      And his own ancestry from Trojans rais’d.

      Enter, my noble guest, and you shall find,

      If not a costly welcome, yet a kind:

      For I myself, like you, have been distress’d,

      Till Heav’n afforded me this place of rest;

      Like you, an alien in a land unknown,

      I learn to pity woes so like my own.”

      She said, and to the palace led her guest;

      Then offer’d incense, and proclaim’d a feast.

      Nor yet less careful for her absent friends,

      Twice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends;

      Besides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs,

      With bleating cries, attend their milky dams;

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