Aeneid III.1-101
Aeneas continues his story. The Trojans wander. A bad thing happens with a bush. Apollo pitches in.
After the gods had seen fit to destroy Asia’s power
and Priam’s innocent people, and proud Ilium had fallen,
and all of Neptune’s Troy breathed smoke from the soil,
we were driven by the gods’ prophecies to search out
distant exile and deserted lands, and we built a fleet
below Antandros1 and the peaks of Phrygian Ida, unsure
where fate would carry us or where we’d be allowed to settle,
and we gathered our forces together. Summer had barely begun
when Anchises, my father, ordered us to set sail with destiny:
I left my native shore with tears, the harbour and the fields
where Troy once stood. I travelled the deep, an exile,
with my friends and my son and the great gods of our house.
Far off is a land of vast plains where Mars is worshipped
(worked by the Thracians) once ruled by fierce Lycurgus,
a friend of Troy in the past, and with gods who were allies
while fortune lasted. I went there, and founded my first city,
named Aeneadae from my name, on the shore
in the curving bay, beginning it despite fate’s adversity.
I was making a sacrifice to the gods and my mother Venus,
Dione’s daughter, with auspices for the work begun, and had killed
a fine bull on the shore for the supreme king of the sky-lords.
By chance, there was a mound nearby, crowned with cornel
bushes and bristling with dense spikes of myrtle.
I went near, and trying to tear up green wood from the soil
to decorate the altar with leafy branches, I saw
a wonder, dreadful and marvellous to tell of.
From the first bush, its broken roots torn from the ground,
drops of dark blood dripped and stained the earth with fluid.
An icy shiver gripped my limbs, and my blood chilled with terror.
Again I went on to pluck a stubborn shoot from another,
probing the hidden cause within: and dark blood
flowed from the bark of the second. Troubled greatly
in spirit, I prayed to the Nymphs of the wild,
and father Gradivus2, who rules the Thracian fields,
to look with due kindness on this vision and lessen
its significance. But when I attacked the third
with greater effort, straining with my knees against the sand
(to speak or be silent?), a mournful groan was audible
from deep in the mound, and a voice came to my ears:
“Why do you wound a poor wretch, Aeneas? Spare me now
in my tomb, don’t stain your virtuous hands. Troy bore me,
who am no stranger to you, nor does this blood flow from
some dull block. Oh, leave this cruel land, leave this shore
of greed: for I am Polydorus. Here a crop of iron spears
carpeted my transfixed corpse, and has ripened into sharp spines.”
Then truly I was stunned, my mind crushed by anxious dread,
my hair stood up on end, and my voice stuck in my throat.
Priam, the unfortunate, seeing the city encircled by the siege
and despairing of Trojan arms, once sent this Polydorus3 secretly,
with a great weight of gold, to be raised, by the Thracian king.
When the power of Troy was broken and her fortunes ebbed,
the Thracian broke every divine law to follow Agamemnon’s
cause, and his victorious army murders Polydorus and takes
the gold by force. Accursed hunger for gold, to what do you
not drive human hearts! When terror had left my bones,
I referred this divine vision to the people’s appointed leaders,
my father above all, and asked them what they thought.
All were of one mind, to leave this wicked land, and depart
a place of hospitality defiled, and sail our fleet before the wind.
So we renewed the funeral rites for Polydorus and piled
the earth high on his barrow: sad altars were raised
to the Shades, with dark sacred ribbons and black cypress,
the Trojan women around, hair streaming,
as is the custom: we offered foaming bowls of warm milk
and dishes of sacrificial blood, and bound the spirit
to its tomb, and raised a loud shout of farewell.
Then as soon as we’ve confidence in the waves, and the winds
grant us calm seas, and the soft whispering breeze calls to the deep,
my companions float the ships and crowd to the shore;
we set out from harbour, and lands and cities recede.
In the depths of the sea lies a sacred island4, dearest of all
to the mother of the Nereids, and Aegean Neptune,
that wandered by coasts and shores, until Apollo,
affectionately, tied it to high Myconos and Gyaros,
making it fixed and inhabitable, scorning the storms.
I sail there: it welcomes us peacefully, weary as we are,
to its safe harbour. Landing, we do homage to Apollo’s city.
King Anius, both king of the people and high-priest of Apollo,
his forehead crowned with the sacred headband and holy laurel,
meets us, and recognises an old friend in Anchises:
we clasp hands in greeting and enter his house.
I paid homage to the god’s temple of ancient stone:
“Grant us a true home, Apollo, grant a weary people walls
and a race and a city that will endure: protect this second
citadel of Troy, that survives the Greeks and pitiless Achilles.
Whom should we follow? Where do you command us to go?
Where should we settle? Grant us an omen, father, to stir our hearts.”
I had scarcely spoken: suddenly everything seemed to tremble,
the god’s thresholds and his laurel crowns, and the whole hill
round us moved, and the tripod groaned as the shrine split open.
Humbly we seek the earth, and a voice comes to our ears:
“Enduring Trojans, the land which first bore you from its
parent stock, that same shall welcome you, restored, to its
fertile breast. Search out your ancient mother.
There the house of Aeneas shall rule all shores,
his children’s children, and those that are born to them.”
So Phoebus spoke: and there was a great shout of joy mixed
with confusion, and all asked what walls those were, and where
it is Phoebus calls the wanderers to, commanding them to return.
Postquam res Asiae Priamique evertere gentem
immeritam visum superis, ceciditque superbum
Ilium et omnis humo fumat Neptunia Troia,
diversa exsilia et desertas quaerere terras
auguriis agimur divum, classemque sub ipsa 5
Antandro et Phrygiae molimur montibus Idae,
incerti quo fata ferant, ubi sistere detur,
contrahimusque viros. vix prima inceperat aestas
et pater Anchises dare fatis vela iubebat,
litora cum patriae lacrimans portusque relinquo 10
et campos ubi Troia fuit. feror exsul in altum
cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis.
Terra procul vastis colitur Mauortia campis
(Thraces arant) acri quondam regnata Lycurgo,
hospitium antiquum Troiae sociique penates 15
dum fortuna fuit. feror huc et litore curvo
moenia prima loco fatis ingressus iniquis
Aeneadasque meo nomen de nomine fingo.
sacra Dionaeae matri divisque ferebam
auspicibus coeptorum operum, superoque nitentem 20
caelicolum regi mactabam in litore taurum.
forte fuit iuxta tumulus, quo cornea summo
virgulta et densis hastilibus horrida myrtus.
accessi viridemque ab humo convellere silvam
conatus, ramis tegerem ut frondentibus aras, 25
horrendum et dictu video mirabile monstrum.
nam quae prima solo ruptis radicibus arbos
vellitur, huic atro liquuntur sanguine guttae
et terram tabo maculant. mihi frigidus horror
membra quatit gelidusque coit formidine sanguis. 30
rursus et alterius lentum convellere vimen
insequor et causas penitus temptare latentis;
ater et alterius sequitur de cortice sanguis.
multa movens animo Nymphas venerabar agrestis
Gradivumque patrem, Geticis qui praesidet arvis, 35
rite secundarent visus omenque levarent.
tertia sed postquam maiore hastilia nisu
adgredior genibusque adversae obluctor harenae,
(eloquar an sileam?) gemitus lacrimabilis imo
auditur tumulo et vox reddita fertur ad auris: 40
'quid miserum, Aenea, laceras? iam parce sepulto,
parce pias scelerare manus. non me tibi Troia
externum tulit aut cruor hic de stipite manat.
heu fuge crudelis terras, fuge litus auarum:
nam Polydorus ego. hic confixum ferrea texit 45
telorum seges et iaculis increvit acutis.'
tum vero ancipiti mentem formidine pressus
obstipui steteruntque comae et vox faucibus haesit.
Hunc Polydorum auri quondam cum pondere magno
infelix Priamus furtim mandarat alendum 50
Threicio regi, cum iam diffideret armis
Dardaniae cingique urbem obsidione videret.
ille, ut opes fractae Teucrum et Fortuna recessit,
res Agamemnonias victriciaque arma secutus
fas omne abrumpit: Polydorum obtruncat, et auro 55
ui potitur. quid non mortalia pectora cogis,
auri sacra fames! postquam pavor ossa reliquit,
delectos populi ad proceres primumque parentem
monstra deum refero, et quae sit sententia posco.
omnibus idem animus, scelerata excedere terra, 60
linqui pollutum hospitium et dare classibus Austros.
ergo instauramus Polydoro funus, et ingens
aggeritur tumulo tellus; stant Manibus arae
caeruleis maestae vittis atraque cupresso,
et circum Iliades crinem de more solutae; 65
inferimus tepido spumantia cymbia lacte
sanguinis et sacri pateras, animamque sepulcro
condimus et magna supremum voce ciemus.
Inde ubi prima fides pelago, placataque venti
dant maria et lenis crepitans vocat Auster in altum, 70
deducunt socii navis et litora complent;
provehimur portu terraeque urbesque recedunt.
sacra mari colitur medio gratissima tellus
Nereidum matri et Neptuno Aegaeo,
quam pius Arquitenens oras et litora circum 75
errantem Mycono e celsa Gyaroque revinxit,
immotamque coli dedit et contemnere ventos.
huc feror, haec fessos tuto placidissima portu
accipit; egressi veneramur Apollinis urbem.
rex Anius, rex idem hominum Phoebique sacerdos, 80
vittis et sacra redimitus tempora lauro
occurrit; veterem Anchisen agnovit amicum.
iungimus hospitio dextras et tecta subimus.
Templa dei saxo venerabar structa vetusto:
'da propriam, Thymbraee, domum; da moenia fessis 85
et genus et mansuram urbem; serva altera Troiae
Pergama, reliquias Danaum atque immitis Achilli.
quem sequimur? quoue ire iubes? ubi ponere sedes?
da, pater, augurium atque animis inlabere nostris.'
vix ea fatus eram: tremere omnia visa repente, 90
liminaque laurusque dei, totusque moveri
mons circum et mugire adytis cortina reclusis.
summissi petimus terram et vox fertur ad auris:
'Dardanidae duri, quae vos a stirpe parentum
prima tulit tellus, eadem vos ubere laeto 95
accipiet reduces. antiquam exquirite matrem.
hic domus Aeneae cunctis dominabitur oris
et nati natorum et qui nascentur ab illis.'
haec Phoebus; mixtoque ingens exorta tumultu
laetitia, et cuncti quae sint ea moenia quaerunt, 100
quo Phoebus vocet errantis iubeatque reverti.
Find the glossary for Aeneid Daily here; subscribe to receive daily posts.
A town on the other side of Mount Ida.
an epithet of Mars
Polydorus was Priam’s youngest son.
Delos, birthplace of Apollo and Diana