The Aeneid. Публий Марон Вергилий

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СКАЧАТЬ arms Aeneas took from conqu’ring Greeks.’

      Then I command to weigh; the seamen ply

      Their sweeping oars; the smoking billows fly.

      The sight of high Phaeacia soon we lost,

      And skimm’d along Epirus’ rocky coast.

      “Then to Chaonia’s port our course we bend,

      And, landed, to Buthrotus’ heights ascend.

      Here wondrous things were loudly blaz’d fame:

      How Helenus reviv’d the Trojan name,

      And reign’d in Greece; that Priam’s captive son

      Succeeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne;

      And fair Andromache, restor’d by fate,

      Once more was happy in a Trojan mate.

      I leave my galleys riding in the port,

      And long to see the new Dardanian court.

      By chance, the mournful queen, before the gate,

      Then solemniz’d her former husband’s fate.

      Green altars, rais’d of turf, with gifts she crown’d,

      And sacred priests in order stand around,

      And thrice the name of hapless Hector sound.

      The grove itself resembles Ida’s wood;

      And Simois seem’d the well-dissembled flood.

      But when at nearer distance she beheld

      My shining armor and my Trojan shield,

      Astonish’d at the sight, the vital heat

      Forsakes her limbs; her veins no longer beat:

      She faints, she falls, and scarce recov’ring strength,

      Thus, with a falt’ring tongue, she speaks at length:

      “‘Are you alive, O goddess-born?’ she said,

      ‘Or if a ghost, then where is Hector’s shade?’

      At this, she cast a loud and frightful cry.

      With broken words I made this brief reply:

      ‘All of me that remains appears in sight;

      I live, if living be to loathe the light.

      No phantom; but I drag a wretched life,

      My fate resembling that of Hector’s wife.

      What have you suffer’d since you lost your lord?

      By what strange blessing are you now restor’d?

      Still are you Hector’s? or is Hector fled,

      And his remembrance lost in Pyrrhus’ bed?’

      With eyes dejected, in a lowly tone,

      After a modest pause she thus begun:

      “‘O only happy maid of Priam’s race,

      Whom death deliver’d from the foes’ embrace!

      Commanded on Achilles’ tomb to die,

      Not forc’d, like us, to hard captivity,

      Or in a haughty master’s arms to lie.

      In Grecian ships unhappy we were borne,

      Endur’d the victor’s lust, sustain’d the scorn:

      Thus I submitted to the lawless pride

      Of Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride.

      Cloy’d with possession, he forsook my bed,

      And Helen’s lovely daughter sought to wed;

      Then me to Trojan Helenus resign’d,

      And his two slaves in equal marriage join’d;

      Till young Orestes, pierc’d with deep despair,

      And longing to redeem the promis’d fair,

      Before Apollo’s altar slew the ravisher.

      By Pyrrhus’ death the kingdom we regain’d:

      At least one half with Helenus remain’d.

      Our part, from Chaon, he Chaonia calls,

      And names from Pergamus his rising walls.

      But you, what fates have landed on our coast?

      What gods have sent you, or what storms have toss’d?

      Does young Ascanius life and health enjoy,

      Sav’d from the ruins of unhappy Troy?

      O tell me how his mother’s loss he bears,

      What hopes are promis’d from his blooming years,

      How much of Hector in his face appears?’

      She spoke; and mix’d her speech with mournful cries,

      And fruitless tears came trickling from her eyes.

      “At length her lord descends upon the plain,

      In pomp, attended with a num’rous train;

      Receives his friends, and to the city leads,

      And tears of joy amidst his welcome sheds.

      Proceeding on, another Troy I see,

      Or, in less compass, Troy’s epitome.

      A riv’let by the name of Xanthus ran,

      And I embrace the Scaean gate again.

      My friends in porticoes were entertain’d,

      And feasts and pleasures thro’ the city reign’d.

      The tables fill’d the spacious hall around,

      And golden bowls with sparkling wine were crown’d.

      Two days we pass’d in mirth, till friendly gales,

      Blown from the south supplied our swelling sails.

      Then СКАЧАТЬ