The Aeneid. Публий Марон Вергилий

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СКАЧАТЬ draw a line along the shore;

      I lay the deep foundations of a wall,

      And Aenos, nam’d from me, the city call.

      To Dionaean Venus vows are paid,

      And all the pow’rs that rising labors aid;

      A bull on Jove’s imperial altar laid.

      Not far, a rising hillock stood in view;

      Sharp myrtles on the sides, and cornels grew.

      There, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes,

      And shade our altar with their leafy greens,

      I pull’d a plant—with horror I relate

      A prodigy so strange and full of fate.

      The rooted fibers rose, and from the wound

      Black bloody drops distill’d upon the ground.

      Mute and amaz’d, my hair with terror stood;

      Fear shrunk my sinews, and congeal’d my blood.

      Mann’d once again, another plant I try:

      That other gush’d with the same sanguine dye.

      Then, fearing guilt for some offense unknown,

      With pray’rs and vows the Dryads I atone,

      With all the sisters of the woods, and most

      The God of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast,

      That they, or he, these omens would avert,

      Release our fears, and better signs impart.

      Clear’d, as I thought, and fully fix’d at length

      To learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength:

      I bent my knees against the ground; once more

      The violated myrtle ran with gore.

      Scarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb

      Of wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb,

      A groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew’d

      My fright, and then these dreadful words ensued:

      ‘Why dost thou thus my buried body rend?

      O spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend!

      Spare to pollute thy pious hands with blood:

      The tears distil not from the wounded wood;

      But ev’ry drop this living tree contains

      Is kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins.

      O fly from this unhospitable shore,

      Warn’d by my fate; for I am Polydore!

      Here loads of lances, in my blood embrued,

      Again shoot upward, by my blood renew’d.’

      “My falt’ring tongue and shiv’ring limbs declare

      My horror, and in bristles rose my hair.

      When Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent,

      Old Priam, fearful of the war’s event,

      This hapless Polydore to Thracia sent:

      Loaded with gold, he sent his darling, far

      From noise and tumults, and destructive war,

      Committed to the faithless tyrant’s care;

      Who, when he saw the pow’r of Troy decline,

      Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join;

      Broke ev’ry bond of nature and of truth,

      And murder’d, for his wealth, the royal youth.

      O sacred hunger of pernicious gold!

      What bands of faith can impious lucre hold?

      Now, when my soul had shaken off her fears,

      I call my father and the Trojan peers;

      Relate the prodigies of Heav’n, require

      What he commands, and their advice desire.

      All vote to leave that execrable shore,

      Polluted with the blood of Polydore;

      But, ere we sail, his fun’ral rites prepare,

      Then, to his ghost, a tomb and altars rear.

      In mournful pomp the matrons walk the round,

      With baleful cypress and blue fillets crown’d,

      With eyes dejected, and with hair unbound.

      Then bowls of tepid milk and blood we pour,

      And thrice invoke the soul of Polydore.

      “Now, when the raging storms no longer reign,

      But southern gales invite us to the main,

      We launch our vessels, with a prosp’rous wind,

      And leave the cities and the shores behind.

      “An island in th’ Aegaean main appears;

      Neptune and wat’ry Doris claim it theirs.

      It floated once, till Phoebus fix’d the sides

      To rooted earth, and now it braves the tides.

      Here, borne by friendly winds, we come ashore,

      With needful ease our weary limbs restore,

      And the Sun’s temple and his town adore.

      “Anius, the priest and king, with laurel crown’d,

      His hoary locks with purple fillets bound,

      Who saw my sire the Delian shore ascend,

      Came forth with eager haste to meet his friend;

      Invites him to his palace; and, in sign

      Of ancient love, their plighted hands they join.

      Then to the temple of the god I went,

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