The Aeneid. Публий Марон Вергилий

my mien, and to my party drew;

       With young Coroebus, who by love was led

       To win renown and fair Cassandra’s bed,

       And lately brought his troops to Priam’s aid,

       Forewarn’d in vain by the prophetic maid.

       Whom when I saw resolv’d in arms to fall,

       And that one spirit animated all:

       ‘Brave souls!’ said I, ‘but brave, alas! in vain:

       Come, finish what our cruel fates ordain.

       You see the desp’rate state of our affairs,

       And heav’n’s protecting pow’rs are deaf to pray’rs.

       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, involv’d in fire.

       Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes:

       Despair of life the means of living shows.’

       So bold a speech incourag’d their desire

       Of death, and added fuel to their fire.

      “As hungry wolves, with raging appetite,

       Scour thro’ the fields, nor fear the stormy night;

       Their whelps at home expect the promis’d food,

       And long to temper their dry chaps in blood:

       So rush’d we forth at once; resolv’d to die,

       Resolv’d, in death, the last extremes to try.

       We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare

       Th’ 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 fill’d 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 vanquish’d triumph, and the victors mourn.

       Ours take new courage from despair and night:

       Confus’d the fortune is, confus’d the fight.

       All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears;

       And grisly Death in sundry shapes appears.

       Androgeos fell among us, with his band,

       Who thought us Grecians newly come to land.

       ‘From whence,’ said he, ‘my friends, this long delay?

       You loiter, while the spoils are borne away:

       Our ships are laden with the Trojan store;

       And you, like truants, come too late ashore.’

       He said, but soon corrected his mistake,

       Found, by the doubtful answers which we make:

       Amaz’d, he would have shunn’d th’ unequal fight;

       But we, more num’rous, intercept his flight.

       As when some peasant, in a bushy brake,

       Has with unwary footing press’d a snake;

       He starts aside, astonish’d, when he spies

       His rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes;

       So from our arms surpris’d Androgeos flies.

       In vain; for him and his we compass’d round,

       Possess’d with fear, unknowing of the ground,

       And of their lives an easy conquest found.

       Thus Fortune on our first endeavor smil’d.

       Coroebus then, with youthful hopes beguil’d,

       Swoln with success, and a daring mind,

       This new invention fatally design’d.

       ‘My friends,’ said he, ‘since Fortune shows the way,

       ’Tis fit we should th’ auspicious guide obey.

       For what has she these Grecian arms bestow’d,

       But their destruction, and the Trojans’ good?

       Then change we shields, and their devices bear:

       Let fraud supply the want of force in war.

       They find us arms.’ This said, himself he dress’d

       In dead Androgeos’ spoils, his upper vest,

       His painted buckler, and his plumy crest.

       Thus Ripheus, Dymas, all the Trojan train,

       Lay down their own attire, and strip the slain.

       Mix’d with the Greeks, we go with ill presage,

       Flatter’d with hopes to glut our greedy rage;

       Unknown, assaulting whom we blindly meet,

       And strew with Grecian carcasses the street.

       Thus while their straggling parties we defeat,

       Some to the shore and safer ships retreat;

       And some, oppress’d with more ignoble fear,

       Remount the hollow horse, and pant in secret there.

      “But, ah! what use of valour can be made,

       When heav’n’s propitious pow’rs refuse their aid!

       Behold the royal prophetess, the fair

       Cassandra, dragg’d by her dishevel’d hair,

       Whom not Minerva’s shrine, nor sacred bands,

       In safety could protect from sacrilegious hands:

       On heav’n she cast her eyes, she sigh’d, she cried,

       (’Twas all she could) her tender arms were tied.

       So sad a sight Coroebus could not bear;

       But, fir’d with rage, distracted with despair,

       Amid the barb’rous ravishers he flew:

       Our leader’s rash example we pursue.

       But storms of stones, from the proud temple’s height,

       Pour down, and on our batter’d helms alight:

       We from our friends receiv’d this fatal blow,

       Who thought us Grecians, as we seem’d in show.

       They aim at the mistaken crests, from high;

       And ours beneath the pond’rous ruin lie.

       Then, mov’d with anger and disdain, to see

       Their troops dispers’d, the royal virgin free,

       The Grecians rally, and their pow’rs unite,

       With fury charge us, and renew the fight.

       The brother kings with Ajax join their force,

       And the whole squadron of Thessalian horse.

      “Thus, when the rival winds their quarrel try,

       Contending for the kingdom of the sky,

       South, east, and west, on airy coursers borne;

       The whirlwind gathers, and the woods are torn:

       Then Nereus strikes the deep; the billows rise,

       And, mix’d with ooze and sand, pollute the skies.