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the daughter of Saturn, incited further by this,hurled the Trojans, the Greeks and pitiless Achilles had left,round the whole ocean, keeping them far from Latium:they wandered for many years, driven by fate over all the seas.Such an effort it was to found the Roman people.They were hardly out of sight of Sicily’s isle, in deeper water,joyfully spreading sail, bronze keel ploughing the brine,when Juno, nursing the eternal wound in her breast,spoke to herself: ‘Am I to abandon my purpose, conquered,unable to turn the Teucrian king away from Italy!Why, the fates forbid it. Wasn’t Pallas able to burnthe Argive fleet, to sink it in the sea, because of the guiltand madness of one single man, Ajax, son of Oileus?She herself hurled Jupiter’s swift fire from the clouds,scattered the ships, and made the sea boil with storms:She caught him up in a water-spout, as he breathed flamefrom his pierced chest, and pinned him to a sharp rock:yet I, who walk about as queen of the gods, wifeand sister of Jove, wage war on a whole race, for so many years.Indeed, will anyone worship Juno’s power from now on,or place offerings, humbly, on her altars?’BkI:50-80 Juno Asks Aeolus for HelpSo debating with herself, her heart inflamed, the goddesscame to Aeolia, to the country of storms, the placeof wild gales. Here in his vast cave, King Aeolus,keeps the writhing winds, and the roaring tempests,under control, curbs them with chains and imprisonment.They moan angrily at the doors, with a mountain’s vast murmurs:Aeolus sits, holding his sceptre, in his high stronghold,softening their passions, tempering their rage: if not,they’d surely carry off seas and lands and the highest heavens,with them, in rapid flight, and sweep them through the air.But the all-powerful Father, fearing this, hid them10

in dark caves, and piled a high mountain mass over themand gave them a king, who by fixed agreement, would knowhow to give the order to tighten or slacken the reins.Juno now offered these words to him, humbly:‘Aeolus, since the Father of gods, and king of men,gave you the power to quell, and raise, the waves with the winds,there is a people I hate sailing the Tyrrhenian Sea,bringing Troy’s conquered gods to Italy:Add power to the winds, and sink their wrecked boats,or drive them apart, and scatter their bodies over the sea.I have fourteen Nymphs of outstanding beauty:of whom I’ll name Deiopea, the loveliest in looks,joined in eternal marriage, and yours for ever, so that,for such service to me as yours, she’ll spend all her yearswith you, and make you the father of lovely children.’Aeolus replied: ‘Your task, O queen, is to decidewhat you wish: my duty is to fulfil your orders.You brought about all this kingdom of mine, the sceptre,Jove’s favour, you gave me a seat at the feasts of the gods,and you made me lord of the storms and the tempests.’BkI:81-123 Aeolus Raises the StormWhen he had spoken, he reversed his trident and struckthe hollow mountain on the side: and the winds, formed ranks,rushed out by the door he’d made, and whirled across the earth.They settle on the sea, East and West wind,and the wind from Africa, together, thick with storms,stir it all from its furthest deeps, and roll vast waves to shore:follows a cry of men and a creaking of cables.Suddenly clouds take sky and day awayfrom the Trojan’s eyes: dark night rests on the sea.It thunders from the pole, and the aether flashes thick fire,and all things threaten immediate death to men.Instantly Aeneas groans, his limbs slack with cold:11

stretching his two hands towards the heavens,he cries out in this voice: ‘Oh, three, four times fortunatewere those who chanced to die in front of their father’s eyesunder Troy’s high walls! O Diomede, son of Tydeusbravest of Greeks! Why could I not have fallen, at your hand,in the fields of Ilium, and poured out my spirit,where fierce Hector lies, beneath Achilles’s spear,and mighty Sarpedon: where Simois rolls, and sweeps awayso many shields, helmets, brave bodies, of men, in its waves!’Hurling these words out, a howling blast from the north,strikes square on the sail, and lifts the seas to heaven:the oars break: then the prow swings round and offersthe beam to the waves: a steep mountain of water follows in a mass.Some ships hang on the breaker’s crest: to others the yawning deepshows land between the waves: the surge rages with sand.The south wind catches three, and whirls them onto hidden rocks(rocks the Italians call the Altars, in mid-ocean,a vast reef on the surface of the sea) three the east wind drivesfrom the deep, to the shallows and quick-sands (a pitiful sight),dashes them against the bottom, covers them with a gravel mound.A huge wave, toppling, strikes one astern, in front of his very eyes,one carrying faithful Orontes and the Lycians.The steersman’s thrown out and hurled headlong, face down:but the sea turns the ship three times, driving her round,in place, and the swift vortex swallows her in the deep.Swimmers appear here and there in the vast waste,men’s weapons, planking, Trojan treasure in the waves.Now the storm conquers Iloneus’s tough ship, now Achates,now that in which Abas sailed, and old Aletes’s:their timbers sprung in their sides, all the shipslet in the hostile tide, and split open at the seams.BkI:124-156 Neptune IntervenesNeptune, meanwhile, greatly troubled, saw that the sea12

was churned with vast murmur, and the storm was looseand the still waters welled from their deepest levels:he raised his calm face from the waves, gazing over the deep.He sees Aeneas’s fleet scattered all over the ocean,the Trojans crushed by the breakers, and the plummeting sky.And Juno’s anger, and her stratagems, do not escape her brother.He calls the East and West winds to him, and then says:‘Does confidence in your birth fill you so? Winds, do you dare,without my intent, to mix earth with sky, and cause such trouble,now? You whom I – ! But it’s better to calm the running waves:you’ll answer to me later for this misfortune, with a differentpunishment. Hurry, fly now, and say this to your king:control of the ocean, and the fierce trident, were given to me,by lot, and not to him. He owns the wild rocks, home to you,and yours, East Wind: let Aeolus officiate in his palace,and be king in the closed prison of the winds.’So he speaks, and swifter than his speech, he calms the swollen sea,scatters the gathered cloud, and brings back the sun.Cymothoë and Triton, working together, thrust the shipsfrom the sharp reef: Neptune himself raises them with his trident,parts the vast quicksand, tempers the flood,and glides on weightless wheels, over the tops of the waves.As often, when rebellion breaks out in a great nation,and the common rabble rage with passion, and soon stonesand fiery torches fly (frenzy supplying weapons),if they then see a man of great virtue, and weighty service,they are silent, and stand there listening attentively:he sways their passions with his words and soothes their hearts:so all the uproar of the ocean died, as soon as their father,gazing over the water, carried through the clear sky, wheeledhis horses, and gave them their head, flying behind in his chariot.BkI:157-222 Shelter on the Libyan CoastThe weary followers of Aeneas made efforts to set a course13

for the nearest land, and tacked towards the Libyan coast.There is a place there in a deep inlet: an island forms a harbourwith the barrier of its bulk, on which every wave from the deepbreaks, and divides into diminishing ripples.On this side and that, vast cliffs and twin crags loom in the sky,under whose summits the whole sea is calm, far and wide:then, above that, is a scene of glittering woods,and a dark grove overhangs the water, with leafy shade:under the headland opposite is a cave, curtained with rock,inside it, fresh water, and seats of natural stone,the home of Nymphs. No hawsers moor the weary shipshere, no anchor, with its hooked flukes, fastens them.Aeneas takes shelter here with seven ships gatheredfrom the fleet, and the Trojans, with a passion for dry land,disembarking, take possession of the sands they longed for,and stretch their brine-caked bodies on the shore.At once Achates strikes a spark from his flint,catches the fire in the leaves, places dry fuel round it,and quickly has flames among the kindling.Then, wearied by events, they take out wheat, damagedby the sea, and implements of Ceres, and prepare to parchthe grain over the flames, and grind it on stone.Aeneas climbs a crag meanwhile, and searches the whole prospectfar and wide over the sea, looking if he can see anythingof Antheus and his storm-tossed Phrygian galleys,or Capys, or Caicus’s arms blazoned on a high stern.There’s no ship in sight: he sees three stags wanderingon the shore: whole herds of deer follow at their back,and graze in long lines along the valley.He halts at this, and grasps in his hand his bowand swift arrows, shafts that loyal Achates carries,and first he shoots the leaders themselves, their heads,with branching antlers, held high, then the mass, with his shafts,and drives the whole crowd in confusion among the leaves:The conqueror does not stop until he’s scattered seven huge14

carcasses on the ground, equal in number to his ships.Then he seeks the harbour, and divides them among all his friends.Next he shares out the wine that the good Acestes had stowedin jars, on the Trinacrian coast, and that hero had given themon leaving: and speaking to them, calmed their sad hearts:‘O friends (well, we were not unknown to trouble before)O you who’ve endured worse, the god will grant an end to this too.You’ve faced rabid Scylla, and her deep-sounding cliffs:and you’ve experienced the Cyclopes’s rocks:remember your courage and chase away gloomy fears:perhaps one day you’ll even delight in remembering this.Through all these misfortunes, these dangerous times,we head for Latium, where the fates hold peaceful livesfor us: there Troy’s kingdom can rise again. Endure,and preserve yourselves for happier days.’So his voice utters, and sick with the weight of care, he pretendshope, in his look, and stifles the pain deep in his heart.They make ready the game, and the future feast:they flay the hides from the ribs and lay the flesh bare:some cut it in pieces, quivering, and fix it on spits,others place cauldrons on the beach, and feed them with

and brought his gods to Latium: from that the Latin people came, the lords of Alba Longa, the walls of noble Rome. Muse, tell me the cause: how was she offended in her divinity, how was she