The Aeneid. Публий Марон ВергилийЧитать онлайн книгу.

       And dreadful ev’n the silence of the night.

       Then to my father’s house I make repair,

       With some small glimpse of hope to find her there.

       Instead of her, the cruel Greeks I met;

       The house was fill’d with foes, with flames beset.

       Driv’n on the wings of winds, whole sheets of fire,

       Thro’ air transported, to the roofs aspire.

       From thence to Priam’s palace I resort,

       And search the citadel and desert court.

       Then, unobserv’d, I pass by Juno’s church:

       A guard of Grecians had possess’d the porch;

       There Phoenix and Ulysses watch the prey,

       And thither all the wealth of Troy convey:

       The spoils which they from ransack’d houses brought,

       And golden bowls from burning altars caught,

       The tables of the gods, the purple vests,

       The people’s treasure, and the pomp of priests.

       A rank of wretched youths, with pinion’d hands,

       And captive matrons, in long order stands.

       Then, with ungovern’d madness, I proclaim,

       Thro’ all the silent street, Creusa’s name:

       Creusa still I call; at length she hears,

       And sudden thro’ the shades of night appears.

       Appears, no more Creusa, nor my wife,

       But a pale spectre, larger than the life.

       Aghast, astonish’d, and struck dumb with fear,

       I stood; like bristles rose my stiffen’d hair.

       Then thus the ghost began to soothe my grief

       ‘Nor tears, nor cries, can give the dead relief.

       Desist, my much-lov’d lord, t’ indulge your pain;

       You bear no more than what the gods ordain.

       My fates permit me not from hence to fly;

       Nor he, the great controller of the sky.

       Long wand’ring ways for you the pow’rs decree;

       On land hard labours, and a length of sea.

       Then, after many painful years are past,

       On Latium’s happy shore you shall be cast,

       Where gentle Tiber from his bed beholds

       The flow’ry meadows, and the feeding folds.

       There end your toils; and there your fates provide

       A quiet kingdom, and a royal bride:

       There fortune shall the Trojan line restore,

       And you for lost Creusa weep no more.

       Fear not that I shall watch, with servile shame,

       Th’ imperious looks of some proud Grecian dame;

       Or, stooping to the victor’s lust, disgrace

       My goddess mother, or my royal race.

       And now, farewell! The parent of the gods

       Restrains my fleeting soul in her abodes:

       I trust our common issue to your care.’

       She said, and gliding pass’d unseen in air.

       I strove to speak: but horror tied my tongue;

       And thrice about her neck my arms I flung,

       And, thrice deceiv’d, on vain embraces hung.

       Light as an empty dream at break of day,

       Or as a blast of wind, she rush’d away.

      “Thus having pass’d the night in fruitless pain,

       I to my longing friends return again,

       Amaz’d th’ augmented number to behold,

       Of men and matrons mix’d, of young and old;

       A wretched exil’d crew together brought,

       With arms appointed, and with treasure fraught,

       Resolv’d, and willing, under my command,

       To run all hazards both of sea and land.

       The Morn began, from Ida, to display

       Her rosy cheeks; and Phosphor led the day:

       Before the gates the Grecians took their post,

       And all pretence of late relief was lost.

       I yield to Fate, unwillingly retire,

       And, loaded, up the hill convey my sire.”