The Aeneid by Virgil (best novel books to read TXT) đ
Description
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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Of vengeance taken in so just a cause;
The punishâd crime shall set my soul at ease,
And murmâring manes of my friends appease.â
Thus while I rave, a gleam of pleasing light
Spread oâer the place; and, shining heavânly bright,
My mother stood revealâd before my sight
Never so radiant did her eyes appear;
Not her own star confessâd a light so clear:
Great in her charms, as when on gods above
She looks, and breathes herself into their love.
She held my hand, the destinâd blow to break;
Then from her rosy lips began to speak:
âMy son, from whence this madness, this neglect
Of my commands, and those whom I protect?
Why this unmanly rage? Recall to mind
Whom you forsake, what pledges leave behind.
Look if your helpless father yet survive,
Or if Ascanius or CreĂŒsa live.
Around your house the greedy Grecians err;
And these had perishâd in the nightly war,
But for my presence and protecting care.
Not Helenâs face, nor Paris, was in fault;
But by the gods was this destruction brought.
Now cast your eyes around, while I dissolve
The mists and films that mortal eyes involve,
Purge from your sight the dross, and make you see
The shape of each avenging deity.
Enlightenâd thus, my just commands fulfil,
Nor fear obedience to your motherâs will.
Where yon disorderâd heap of ruin lies,
Stones rent from stones; where clouds of dust ariseâ â
Amid that smother Neptune holds his place,
Below the wallâs foundation drives his mace,
And heaves the building from the solid base.
Look where, in arms, imperial Juno stands
Full in the Scaean gate, with loud commands,
Urging on shore the tardy Grecian bands.
See! Pallas, of her snaky buckler proud,
Bestrides the towâr, refulgent throâ the cloud:
See! Jove new courage to the foe supplies,
And arms against the town the partial deities.
Haste hence, my son; this fruitless labour end:
Haste, where your trembling spouse and sire attend:
Haste; and a motherâs care your passage shall befriend.â
She said, and swiftly vanishâd from my sight,
Obscure in clouds and gloomy shades of night.
I lookâd, I listenâd; dreadful sounds I hear;
And the dire forms of hostile gods appear.
Troy sunk in flames I saw, nor could prevent;
And Ilium from its old foundations rent;
Rent like a mountain ash, which darâd the winds,
And stood the sturdy strokes of labâring hinds.
About the roots the cruel ax resounds;
The stumps are piercâd with oft-repeated wounds:
The war is felt on high; the nodding crown
Now threats a fall, and throws the leafy honours down.
To their united force it yields, thoâ late,
And mourns with mortal groans thâ approaching fate:
The roots no more their upper load sustain;
But down she falls, and spreads a ruin throâ the plain.
âDescending thence, I scape throâ foes and fire:
Before the goddess, foes and flames retire.
Arrivâd at home, he, for whose only sake,
Or most for his, such toils I undertake,
The good Anchises, whom, by timely flight,
I purposâd to secure on Idaâs height,
Refusâd the journey, resolute to die
And add his funârals to the fate of Troy,
Rather than exile and old age sustain.
âGo you, whose blood runs warm in evâry vein.
Had Heavân decreed that I should life enjoy,
Heavân had decreed to save unhappy Troy.
âTis, sure, enough, if not too much, for one,
Twice to have seen our Ilium overthrown.
Make haste to save the poor remaining crew,
And give this useless corpse a long adieu.
These weak old hands suffice to stop my breath;
At least the pitying foes will aid my death,
To take my spoils, and leave my body bare:
As for my sepulcher, let Heavân take care.
âTis long since I, for my celestial wife
Loathâd by the gods, have draggâd a lingâring life;
Since evâry hour and moment I expire,
Blasted from heavân by Joveâs avenging fire.â
This oft repeated, he stood fixâd to die:
Myself, my wife, my son, my family,
Intreat, pray, beg, and raise a doleful cryâ â
âWhat, will he still persist, on death resolve,
And in his ruin all his house involve!â
He still persists his reasons to maintain;
Our prayârs, our tears, our loud laments, are vain.
âUrgâd by despair, again I go to try
The fate of arms, resolvâd in fight to die:
âWhat hope remains, but what my death must give?
Can I, without so dear a father, live?
You term it prudence, what I baseness call:
Could such a word from such a parent fall?
If Fortune please, and so the gods ordain,
That nothing should of ruinâd Troy remain,
And you conspire with Fortune to be slain,
The way to death is wide, thâ approaches near:
For soon relentless Pyrrhus will appear,
Reeking with Priamâs bloodâ âthe wretch who slew
The son (inhuman) in the fatherâs view,
And then the sire himself to the dire altar drew.
O goddess mother, give me back to Fate;
Your gift was undesirâd, and came too late!
Did you, for this, unhappy me convey
Throâ foes and fires, to see my house a prey?
Shall I my father, wife, and son behold,
Weltâring in blood, each otherâs arms infold?
Haste! gird my sword, thoâ spent and overcome:
âTis the last summons to receive our doom.
I hear thee, Fate; and I obey thy call!
Not unrevengâd the foe shall see my fall.
Restore me to the yet unfinishâd fight:
My death is wanting to conclude the night.â
Armâd once again, my glittâring sword I wield,
While thâ other hand sustains my weighty shield,
And forth I rush to seek thâ abandonâd field.
I went; but sad CreĂŒsa stoppâd my way,
And cross the threshold in my passage lay,
Embracâd my knees, and, when I would have gone,
Shewâd me my feeble sire and tender son:
âIf death be your design, at least,â said she,
âTake us along to share your destiny.
If any farther hopes in arms remain,
This place, these pledges of your love, maintain.
To whom do you expose your fatherâs life,
Your sonâs, and mine, your now forgotten wife!â
While thus she fills the house with clamârous cries,
Our hearing is diverted by our eyes:
For, while I held my son, in the short space
Betwixt our kisses and our last embrace;
Strange to relate, from young IĂŒlusâ head
A lambent flame arose, which gently spread
Around his brows, and on his temples fed.
Amazâd, with running water we prepare
To quench the sacred fire, and slake his hair;
But old Anchises, versâd in omens, rearâd
His hands to heavân, and this request preferrâd:
âIf any vows, almighty Jove, can bend
Thy will; if piety can prayârs commend,
Confirm the glad presage which thou art pleasâd to send.â
Scarce had he said, when,
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