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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Imposâd a king, with arbitrary sway,
To loose their fetters, or their force allay.
To whom the suppliant queen her prayârs addressâd,
And thus the tenor of her suit expressâd:
âO Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heavân
The powâr of tempests and of winds has givân;
Thy force alone their fury can restrain,
And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled mainâ â
A race of wandâring slaves, abhorrâd by me,
With prospârous passage cut the Tuscan sea;
To fruitful Italy their course they steer,
And for their vanquishâd gods design new temples there.
Raise all thy winds; with night involve the skies;
Sink or disperse my fatal enemies.
Twice sevân, the charming daughters of the main,
Around my person wait, and bear my train:
Succeed my wish, and second my design;
The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine,
And make thee father of a happy line.â
To this the god: âââTis yours, O queen, to will
The work which duty binds me to fulfil.
These airy kingdoms, and this wide command,
Are all the presents of your bounteous hand:
Yours is my sovâreignâs grace; and, as your guest,
I sit with gods at their celestial feast;
Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue;
Dispose of empire, which I hold from you.â
He said, and hurlâd against the mountain side
His quivâring spear, and all the god applied.
The raging winds rush throâ the hollow wound,
And dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground;
Then, settling on the sea, the surges sweep,
Raise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep.
South, East, and West with mixâd confusion roar,
And roll the foaming billows to the shore.
The cables crack; the sailorsâ fearful cries
Ascend; and sable night involves the skies;
And heavân itself is ravishâd from their eyes.
Loud peals of thunder from the poles ensue;
Then flashing fires the transient light renew;
The face of things a frightful image bears,
And present death in various forms appears.
Struck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief,
With lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief;
And, âThrice and four times happy those,â he cried,
âThat under Ilian walls before their parents died!
Tydides, bravest of the Grecian train!
Why could not I by that strong arm be slain,
And lie by noble Hector on the plain,
Or great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields
Where SimoĂŻs rolls the bodies and the shields
Of heroes, whose dismemberâd hands yet bear
The dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!â
Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails,
Fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails,
And rent the sheets; the raging billows rise,
And mount the tossing vessels to the skies:
Nor can the shivâring oars sustain the blow;
The galley gives her side, and turns her prow;
While those astern, descending down the steep,
Throâ gaping waves behold the boiling deep.
Three ships were hurried by the southern blast,
And on the secret shelves with fury cast.
Those hidden rocks thâ Ausonian sailors knew:
They callâd them Altars, when they rose in view,
And showâd their spacious backs above the flood.
Three more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood,
Dashâd on the shallows of the moving sand,
And in mid ocean left them moorâd a-land.
Orontesâ bark, that bore the Lycian crew,
(A horrid sight!) evân in the heroâs view,
From stem to stern by waves was overborne:
The trembling pilot, from his rudder torn,
Was headlong hurlâd; thrice round the ship was tossâd,
Then bulgâd at once, and in the deep was lost;
And here and there above the waves were seen
Arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men.
The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way,
And suckâd throâ loosenâd planks the rushing sea.
Ilioneus was her chief: Alethes old,
Achates faithful, Abas young and bold,
Endurâd not less; their ships, with gaping seams,
Admit the deluge of the briny streams.
Meantime imperial Neptune heard the sound
Of raging billows breaking on the ground.
Displeasâd, and fearing for his watâry reign,
He rearâd his awful head above the main,
Serene in majesty; then rollâd his eyes
Around the space of earth, and seas, and skies.
He saw the Trojan fleet dispersâd, distressâd,
By stormy winds and wintry heavân oppressâd.
Full well the god his sisterâs envy knew,
And what her aims and what her arts pursue.
He summonâd Eurus and the western blast,
And first an angry glance on both he cast;
Then thus rebukâd: âAudacious winds! from whence
This bold attempt, this rebel insolence?
Is it for you to ravage seas and land,
Unauthorizâd by my supreme command?
To raise such mountains on the troubled main?
Whom Iâ âbut first âtis fit the billows to restrain;
And then you shall be taught obedience to my reign.
Hence! to your lord my royal mandate bearâ â
The realms of ocean and the fields of air
Are mine, not his. By fatal lot to me
The liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea.
His powâr to hollow caverns is confinâd:
There let him reign, the jailer of the wind,
With hoarse commands his breathing subjects call,
And boast and bluster in his empty hall.â
He spoke; and, while he spoke, he smoothâd the sea,
Dispellâd the darkness, and restorâd the day.
Cymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train
Of beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main,
Clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands:
The god himself with ready trident stands,
And opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands;
Then heaves them off the shoals. Whereâer he guides
His finny coursers and in triumph rides,
The waves unruffle and the sea subsides.
As, when in tumults rise thâ ignoble crowd,
Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud;
And stones and brands in rattling volleys fly,
And all the rustic arms that fury can supply:
If then some grave and pious man appear,
They hush their noise, and lend a listâning ear;
He soothes with sober words their angry mood,
And quenches their innate desire of blood:
So, when the Father of the Flood appears,
And oâer the seas his sovâreign trident rears,
Their fury falls: he skims the liquid plains,
High on his chariot, and, with loosenâd reins,
Majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains.
The weary Trojans ply their shatterâd oars
To nearest land, and make the Libyan shores.
Within a long recess there lies a bay:
An island shades it from the rolling sea,
And forms a port secure for ships to ride;
Broke by the jutting land, on either side,
In double streams the briny waters glide.
Betwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene
Appears above, and groves for ever green:
A grot is formâd beneath, with mossy seats,
To rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats.
Down throâ the crannies of the living walls
The crystal streams descend in murmâring
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