The Aeneid. Публий Марон Вергилий

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СКАЧАТЬ graven in her heart the doom remain’d

      Of partial Paris, and her form disdain’d;

      The grace bestow’d on ravish’d Ganymed,

      Electra’s glories, and her injur’d bed.

      Each was a cause alone; and all combin’d

      To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.

      For this, far distant from the Latian coast

      She drove the remnants of the Trojan host;

      And sev’n long years th’ unhappy wand’ring train

      Were toss’d by storms, and scatter’d thro’ the main.

      Such time, such toil, requir’d the Roman name,

      Such length of labor for so vast a frame.

      Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars,

      Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores,

      Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign,

      And plowing frothy furrows in the main;

      When, lab’ring still with endless discontent,

      The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent:

      “Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?” said she,

      “And must the Trojans reign in Italy?

      So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force;

      Nor can my pow’r divert their happy course.

      Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen,

      The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?

      She, for the fault of one offending foe,

      The bolts of Jove himself presum’d to throw:

      With whirlwinds from beneath she toss’d the ship,

      And bare expos’d the bosom of the deep;

      Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game,

      The wretch, yet hissing with her father’s flame,

      She strongly seiz’d, and with a burning wound

      Transfix’d, and naked, on a rock she bound.

      But I, who walk in awful state above,

      The majesty of heav’n, the sister wife of Jove,

      For length of years my fruitless force employ

      Against the thin remains of ruin’d Troy!

      What nations now to Juno’s pow’r will pray,

      Or off’rings on my slighted altars lay?”

      Thus rag’d the goddess; and, with fury fraught.

      The restless regions of the storms she sought,

      Where, in a spacious cave of living stone,

      The tyrant Aeolus, from his airy throne,

      With pow’r imperial curbs the struggling winds,

      And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds.

      This way and that th’ impatient captives tend,

      And, pressing for release, the mountains rend.

      High in his hall th’ undaunted monarch stands,

      And shakes his scepter, and their rage commands;

      Which did he not, their unresisted sway

      Would sweep the world before them in their way;

      Earth, air, and seas thro’ empty space would roll,

      And heav’n would fly before the driving soul.

      In fear of this, the Father of the Gods

      Confin’d their fury to those dark abodes,

      And lock’d ’em safe within, oppress’d with mountain loads;

      Impos’d a king, with arbitrary sway,

      To loose their fetters, or their force allay.

      To whom the suppliant queen her pray’rs address’d,

      And thus the tenor of her suit express’d:

      “O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heav’n

      The pow’r of tempests and of winds has giv’n;

      Thy force alone their fury can restrain,

      And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main-

      A race of wand’ring slaves, abhorr’d by me,

      With prosp’rous passage cut the Tuscan sea;

      To fruitful Italy their course they steer,

      And for their vanquish’d gods design new temples there.

      Raise all thy winds; with night involve the skies;

      Sink or disperse my fatal enemies.

      Twice sev’n, the charming daughters of the main,

      Around my person wait, and bear my train:

      Succeed my wish, and second my design;

      The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine,

      And make thee father of a happy line.”

      To this the god: “’Tis yours, O queen, to will

      The work which duty binds me to fulfil.

      These airy kingdoms, and this wide command,

      Are all the presents of your bounteous hand:

      Yours is my sov’reign’s grace; and, as your guest,

      I sit with gods at their celestial feast;

      Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue;

      Dispose of empire, which I hold from you.”

      He said, and hurl’d against the mountain side

      His quiv’ring spear, and all the god applied.

      The raging winds СКАЧАТЬ