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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Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,
When Hectorâs ghost before my sight appears:
A bloody shroud he seemâd, and bathâd in tears;
Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain,
Thessalian coursers draggâd him oâer the plain.
Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust
Throâ the borâd holes; his body black with dust;
Unlike that Hector who returnâd from toils
Of war, triumphant, in Aeacian spoils,
Or him who made the fainting Greeks retire,
And launchâd against their navy Phrygian fire.
His hair and beard stood stiffenâd with his gore;
And all the wounds he for his country bore
Now streamâd afresh, and with new purple ran.
I wept to see the visionary man,
And, while my trance continued, thus began:
âO light of Trojans, and support of Troy,
Thy fatherâs champion, and thy countryâs joy!
O, long expected by thy friends! from whence
Art thou so late returnâd for our defence?
Do we behold thee, wearied as we are
With length of labours, and with toils of war?
After so many funârals of thy own
Art thou restorâd to thy declining town?
But say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace
Deforms the manly features of thy face?â
âTo this the spectre no reply did frame,
But answerâd to the cause for which he came,
And, groaning from the bottom of his breast,
This warning in these mournful words expressâd:
âO goddess-born! escape, by timely flight,
The flames and horrors of this fatal night.
The foes already have possessâd the wall;
Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall.
Enough is paid to Priamâs royal name,
More than enough to duty and to fame.
If by a mortal hand my fatherâs throne
Could be defended, âtwas by mine alone.
Now Troy to thee commends her future state,
And gives her gods companions of thy fate:
From their assistance walls expect,
Which, wandâring long, at last thou shalt erect.â
He said, and brought me, from their blest abodes,
The venerable statues of the gods,
With ancient Vesta from the sacred choir,
The wreaths and relics of thâ immortal fire.
âNow peals of shouts come thundâring from afar,
Cries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war:
The noise approaches, thoâ our palace stood
Aloof from streets, encompassâd with a wood.
Louder, and yet more loud, I hear thâ alarms
Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms.
Fear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay,
But mount the terrace, thence the town survey,
And hearken what the frightful sounds convey.
Thus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne,
Crackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn;
Or deluges, descending on the plains,
Sweep oâer the yellow year, destroy the pains
Of labâring oxen and the peasantâs gains;
Unroot the forest oaks, and bear away
Flocks, folds, and trees, and undistinguishâd prey:
The shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far
The wasteful ravage of the watâry war.
Then Hectorâs faith was manifestly clearâd,
And Grecian frauds in open light appearâd.
The palace of DeĂŻphobus ascends
In smoky flames, and catches on his friends.
Ucalegon burns next: the seas are bright
With splendour not their own, and shine with Trojan light.
New clamours and new clangours now arise,
The sound of trumpets mixâd with fighting cries.
With frenzy seizâd, I run to meet thâ alarms,
Resolvâd on death, resolvâd to die in arms,
But first to gather friends, with them tâ oppose
If fortune favourâd, and repel the foes;
Spurrâd by my courage, by my country firâd,
With sense of honour and revenge inspirâd.
âPantheus, Apolloâs priest, a sacred name,
Had scapâd the Grecian swords, and passâd the flame:
With relics loaden, to my doors he fled,
And by the hand his tender grandson led.
âWhat hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run?
Where make a stand? and what may yet be done?â
Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan:
âTroy is no more, and Ilium was a town!
The fatal day, thâ appointed hour, is come,
When wrathful Joveâs irrevocable doom
Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands.
The fire consumes the town, the foe commands;
And armed hosts, an unexpected force,
Break from the bowels of the fatal horse.
Within the gates, proud Sinon throws about
The flames; and foes for entrance press without,
With thousand others, whom I fear to name,
More than from Argos or Mycenae came.
To sevâral posts their parties they divide;
Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide:
The bold they kill, thâ unwary they surprise;
Who fights finds death, and death finds him who flies.
The warders of the gate but scarce maintain
Thâ unequal combat, and resist in vain.â
âI heard; and Heavân, that well-born souls inspires,
Prompts me throâ lifted swords and rising fires
To run where clashing arms and clamour calls,
And rush undaunted to defend the walls.
Ripheus and Iphâitas by my side engage,
For valour one renownâd, and one for age.
Dymas and Hypanis by moonlight knew
My motions and my mien, and to my party drew;
With young Coroebus, who by love was led
To win renown and fair Cassandraâs bed,
And lately brought his troops to Priamâs aid,
Forewarnâd in vain by the prophetic maid.
Whom when I saw resolvâd in arms to fall,
And that one spirit animated all:
âBrave souls!â said Iâ ââbut brave, alas! in vainâ â
Come, finish what our cruel fates ordain.
You see the despârate state of our affairs,
And heavânâs protecting powârs are deaf to prayârs.
The passive gods behold the Greeks defile
Their temples, and abandon to the spoil
Their own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire
To save a sinking town, involvâd in fire.
Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes:
Despair of life the means of living shows.â
So bold a speech incouragâd their desire
Of death, and added fuel to their fire.
âAs hungry wolves, with raging appetite,
Scour throâ the fields, nor fear the stormy nightâ â
Their whelps at home expect the promisâd food,
And long to temper their dry chaps in bloodâ â
So rushâd we forth at once; resolvâd to die,
Resolvâd, in death, the last extremes to try.
We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare
Thâ unequal combat in the public square:
Night was our friend; our leader was despair.
What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night?
What eyes can weep the sorrows and affright?
An ancient and imperial city falls:
The streets are fillâd with frequent funerals;
Houses and holy temples float in blood,
And hostile nations make a common flood.
Not only Trojans fall; but, in their turn,
The vanquishâd triumph, and the victors mourn.
Ours take new courage from despair and night:
Confusâd the fortune is, confusâd the fight.
All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears;
And grisly Death in sundry shapes
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