The Aeneid by Virgil (best novel books to read TXT) đ
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Virgilâs epic poem begins with Aeneas fleeing the ruins of Troy with his father Anchises and his young son Ascanius, with a plan to make a home in Italy. Because of a prophecy foretelling that the descendants of Aeneas will one day destroy Carthage, Junoâs favorite city, Juno orders the god of the winds to unleash a terrible storm. The ships are thrown off course and arrive at an African port. As Aeneas makes his way towards his new home he encounters Dido, Carthageâs queen, and falls deeply in love.
Although Charles W. Elliot stated that âthe modern appreciation of the Iliad and the Odyssey has tended to carry with it a depreciation of the Aeneid,â this epic poem continues to inspire artists, writers, and musicians centuries after its first telling. John Drydenâs translation captures the musicality of the original Latin verses while avoiding the stumbling of an English translation forced into dactylic hexameter.
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- Author: Virgil
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Forget the Greeks; be mine as thou wert theirs.
But truly tell, was it for force or guile,
Or some religious end, you raisâd the pile?â
Thus said the king. He, full of fraudful arts,
This well-invented tale for truth imparts:
âYe lamps of heavân!â he said, and lifted high
His hands now free, âthou venerable sky!
Inviolable powârs, adorâd with dread!
Ye fatal fillets, that once bound this head!
Ye sacred altars, from whose flames I fled!
Be all of you adjurâd; and grant I may,
Without a crime, thâ ungrateful Greeks betray,
Reveal the secrets of the guilty state,
And justly punish whom I justly hate!
But you, O king, preserve the faith you gave,
If I, to save myself, your empire save.
The Grecian hopes, and all thâ attempts they made,
Were only founded on Minervaâs aid.
But from the time when impious Diomede,
And false Ulysses, that inventive head,
Her fatal image from the temple drew,
The sleeping guardians of the castle slew,
Her virgin statue with their bloody hands
Polluted, and profanâd her holy bands;
From thence the tide of fortune left their shore,
And ebbâd much faster than it flowâd before:
Their courage languishâd, as their hopes decayâd;
And Pallas, now averse, refusâd her aid.
Nor did the goddess doubtfully declare
Her alterâd mind and alienated care.
When first her fatal image touchâd the ground,
She sternly cast her glaring eyes around,
That sparkled as they rollâd, and seemâd to threat:
Her heavânly limbs distillâd a briny sweat.
Thrice from the ground she leapâd, was seen to wield
Her brandishâd lance, and shake her horrid shield.
Then Calchas bade our host for flight
And hope no conquest from the tedious war,
Till first they sailâd for Greece; with prayârs besought
Her injurâd powâr, and better omens brought.
And now their navy plows the watâry main,
Yet soon expect it on your shores again,
With Pallas pleasâd; as Calchas did ordain.
But first, to reconcile the blue-eyâd maid
For her stolân statue and her towâr betrayâd,
Warnâd by the seer, to her offended name
We raisâd and dedicate this wondrous frame,
So lofty, lest throâ your forbidden gates
It pass, and intercept our better fates:
For, once admitted there, our hopes are lost;
And Troy may then a new Palladium boast;
For so religion and the gods ordain,
That, if you violate with hands profane
Minervaâs gift, your town in flames shall burn,
(Which omen, O ye gods, on Grecia turn!)
But if it climb, with your assisting hands,
The Trojan walls, and in the city stands;
Then Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn,
And the reverse of fate on us return.â
âWith such deceits he gainâd their easy hearts,
Too prone to credit his perfidious arts.
What Diomede, nor Thetisâ greater son,
A thousand ships, nor ten yearsâ siege, had doneâ â
False tears and fawning words the city won.
âA greater omen, and of worse portent,
Did our unwary minds with fear torment,
Concurring to produce the dire event.
Laocoon, Neptuneâs priest by lot that year,
With solemn pomp then sacrificâd a steer;
When, dreadful to behold, from sea we spied
Two serpents, rankâd abreast, the seas divide,
And smoothly sweep along the swelling tide.
Their flaming crests above the waves they show;
Their bellies seem to burn the seas below;
Their speckled tails advance to steer their course,
And on the sounding shore the flying billows force.
And now the strand, and now the plain they held;
Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fillâd;
Their nimble tongues they brandishâd as they came,
And lickâd their hissing jaws, that sputterâd flame.
We fled amazâd; their destinâd way they take,
And to Laocoon and his children make;
And first around the tender boys they wind,
Then with their sharpenâd fangs their limbs and bodies grind.
The wretched father, running to their aid
With pious haste, but vain, they next invade;
Twice round his waist their winding volumes rollâd;
And twice about his gasping throat they fold.
The priest thus doubly chokâd, their crests divide,
And towâring oâer his head in triumph ride.
With both his hands he labours at the knots;
His holy fillets the blue venom blots;
His roaring fills the flitting air around.
Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound,
He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies,
And with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies.
Their tasks performâd, the serpents quit their prey,
And to the towâr of Pallas make their way:
Couchâd at her feet, they lie protected there
By her large buckler and protended spear.
Amazement seizes all; the genâral cry
Proclaims Laocoon justly doomâd to die,
Whose hand the will of Pallas had withstood,
And dared to violate the sacred wood.
All vote tâ admit the steed, that vows be paid
And incense offerâd to thâ offended maid.
A spacious breach is made; the town lies bare;
Some hoisting levers, some the wheels prepare
And fasten to the horseâs feet; the rest
With cables haul along thâ unwieldly beast.
Each on his fellow for assistance calls;
At length the fatal fabric mounts the walls,
Big with destruction. Boys with chaplets crownâd,
And choirs of virgins, sing and dance around.
Thus raisâd aloft, and then descending down,
It enters oâer our heads, and threats the town.
O sacred city, built by hands divine!
O valiant heroes of the Trojan line!
Four times he struck: as oft the clashing sound
Of arms was heard, and inward groans rebound.
Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate,
We haul along the horse in solemn state;
Then place the dire portent within the towâr.
Cassandra cried, and cursâd thâ unhappy hour;
Foretold our fate; but, by the godâs decree,
All heard, and none believâd the prophecy.
With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste,
In jollity, the day ordainâd to be the last.
Meantime the rapid heavâns rollâd down the light,
And on the shaded ocean rushâd the night;
Our men, secure, nor guards nor sentries held,
But easy sleep their weary limbs compellâd.
The Grecians had embarkâd their naval powârs
From Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores,
Safe under covert of the silent night,
And guided by thâ imperial galleyâs light;
When Sinon, favourâd by the partial gods,
Unlockâd the horse, and opâd his dark abodes;
Restorâd to vital air our hidden foes,
Who joyful from their long confinement rose.
Tysander bold, and Sthenelus their guide,
And dire Ulysses down the cable slide:
Then Thoas, Athamas, and Pyrrhus haste;
Nor was the Podalirian hero last,
Nor injurâd Menelaus, nor the famâd
EpeĂŒs, who the fatal engine framâd.
A nameless crowd succeed; their forces join
Tâ invade the town, oppressâd with sleep and wine.
Those few they find awake first meet their fate;
Then to their fellows they unbar the gate.
âââTwas in the dead of night, when
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