The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse. Volumes 1 & 2. Virgil

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СКАЧАТЬ goddis hows Ilion ful of joy!

      O worthy Troiane wallis chevalrus!

      Four tymys stoppyt that monstre peralus,

      Evin at the entre of the portis wyde,

      And four sys the armour, that ilk tyde,10

      Clynkit and rang amyd the large belly;

      Bot netheles, intil our blynd fury,

      Forȝetting this, instantly we wirk,

      And forto drug and draw wald neuer irk,

      Quhil that myschancy monstre, quently bet,15

      Amyd the hallowit tempill vp was set.

      Cassandra than the fatis to cum tald plane,

      Bot, by command of Phebus, al was in vane;

      For thocht scho spayit the suthe, and maid na bowrd,

      Quhat euer scho said Troianys trowit nocht a word.20

      The tempillis of goddis and sanctuaryis all,

      We fey pepill, allace! quhat say I sall?

      Quhamtill this was the duylfull lattir day,

      With festuale flowris and bewys, as in May,

      Dyd weil anorn, and fest and ryot maid25

      Throu owt the town, and for myscheif was glaid.

      CAP. V.

      Grekis entrys by trayson in the cite,

      And how Hector apperis till Ene.

      Wyth this, the hevyn sa quhyrlit about his speir

      Out of the sey the dym nycht gan appeir,

      With hir dyrk weid bath erth and firmament

      Involwyng, by hir secret schaddowis quent

      Covering Gregion and Myrmydonys slyght;5

      Within the wallis to bed went euere wyght:

      Still warin all, and soft vapour of sleip

      Apon thar wery lymmys fast doith creip.

      Be than the army of mony a Gregioun,

      Stuffit in schippis, come fra Tenedon,10

      Stil, vnder frendly sylens of the moyn,

      To the kend costis speding thame ful soyn;

      And quhen the takynnyng, or the bail of fyre,

      Rays from the kyngis schip, vp byrnand schyre,

      Of the goddis be frawart destany15

      Synon preservit couth this syng aspy;

      The fyrryn closeris oppynnys, but noys or dyn,

      And Grekis, hyd the horssis cost within,

      Patent war maid to fight and to the ayr.

      Joyfull and blyth, from that boys statw thar,20

      Discending thai downlat by cordis atanys

      Thersander and Sthenelus, twa capitanys,

      The dowr Vlixes als, and Athamas,

      Pelyus nevo Pyrrus, and kyng Thoas,

      The first Machaon, and Menelaus,

      And the engyne forgyar hait Epeus;

      The cite thai invaid, and fast infest,

      With wyne and sleip yberyit and at rest.

      Slane ar the wachis liggyng on the wall;5

      Opnyt the portis, leyt in thar feris all,

      Togidder jonyt euery cumpany:

      Throu the cite sone rays the noys and scry.

      Thys was that tyme quhen the fyrst quyete

      Of naturale sleip, to quham na gyft mair swete,10

      Stelis on fordoverit mortale creaturis,

      And in thar swewynnys metis quent figuris.

      Lo! in my sleip, I se stand me befor,

      As to my syght, maist lamentabil Hector,

      Wyth large flude of teris, and al besprent,15

      As he, vmquhile, eftyr the cart was rent,

      With barknyt blude and powder: O God, quhat skath!

      Boldynnyt ful gret war feit and lymmys baith,

      By bandis of the cordis quhilk thame drewch.

      Ha! walloway! quhat harm and wo eneuch!20

      Quhat ane was he! how far changit from joy

      Of that Hector, quhilum returnyt to Troy,

      Cled with the spulȝe of hym Achillys,

      Or quhen the Troiane fyry blesis, I wys,

      On Grekis schippis, thyk fald he slang that day25

      Quhen that he slew the Duke Prothesylay!

      Hys fax and berd was fadyt quhar he stude,

      And all hys hayr was glotnyt ful of blude;

      Full mony woundis on his body bayr he,

      Quhilk, in defens of hys natyve cuntre,30

      About the wallys of Troy ressavyt he had.

      Me thocht, I first, wepyng and na thing glaid,

      Rycht reuerently begouth to clepe this man,

      And with sik dolorus wordis thus began:

      O thou, of Troy the lemand lamp of lycht!5

      O Troiane hope, maist ferm defens in fyght!

      Quhat has the tareit? quhy maid thou this delay,

      Hector, quham we desyrit mony a day?

      From quhat cuntre this wys cummyn art thou?

      That, eftir feil slauchter of thi frendis now,10

      And of thi folkis and cite efter huge payn,

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