Then Achilles went forth to battle, inspired with a rage and

thirst for vengeance that made him irresistible. The bravest

warriors fled before him or fell by his lance. Hector, cautioned

by Apollo, kept aloof, but the god, assuming the form of one of

Priam's sons, Lycaon, urged AEneas to encounter the terrible

warrior. AEneas, though he felt himself unequal, did not decline

the combat. He hurled his spear with all his force against the

shield, the work of Vulcan. It was formed of five metal plates;

two were of brass, two of tin, and one of gold. The spear

pierced two thicknesses, but was stopped in the third. Achilles

threw his with better success. It pierced through the shield of

Aeneas, but glanced near his shoulder and made no wound. Then

AEneas seized a stone, such as two men of modern times could

hardly lift, and was about to throw it, and Achilles, with sword

drawn, was about to rush upon him, when Neptune, who looked out

upon the contest, moved with pity for AEneas, who he saw would

surely fall a victim if not speedily rescued, spread a cloud

between the combatants, and lifting AEneas from the ground, bore

him over the heads of warriors and steeds to the rear of the

battle. Achilles, when the mist cleared away, looked round in

vain for his adversary, and acknowledging the prodigy, turned his

arms against other champions. But none dared stand before him,

and Priam looking down from his city walls beheld his whole army

in full flight towards the city. He gave command to open wide

the gates to receive the fugitives, and to shut them as soon as

the Trojans should have passed, lest the enemy should enter

likewise. But Achilles was so close in pursuit that that would

have been impossible if Apollo had not, in the form of Agenor,

Priam's son, encountered Achilles for a while, then turned to

fly, and taken the way apart from the city. Achilles pursued and

had chased his supposed victim far from the walls, when Apollo

disclosed himself, and Achilles, perceiving how he had been

deluded, gave up the chase.

But when the rest had escaped into the town Hector stood without,

determined to await the combat. His old father called to him

from the walls and begged him to retire nor tempt the encounter.

His mother, Hecuba, also besought him to the same effect, but all

in vain. "How can I," said he to himself, "by whose command the

people went to this day's contest, where so many have fallen,

seek safety for myself against a single foe? But what if I offer

him to yield up Helen and all her treasures and ample of our own

beside? Ah no! It is too late. He would not even hear me

through, but slay me while I spoke." While he thus ruminated,

Achilles approached, terrible as Mars, his armor flashing

lighting as he moved. At that sight Hector's heart failed him

and he fled. Achilles swiftly pursued. They ran, still keeping

near the walls, till they had thrice encircled the city. As

often as Hector approached the walls Achilles intercepted him and

forced him to keep out in a wider circle. But Apollo sustained

Hector's strength, and would not let him sink in weariness. Then

Pallas, assuming the form of Deiphobus, Hector's bravest brother,

appeared suddenly at his side. Hector saw him with delight, and,

thus strengthened, stopped his flight and turned to meet

Achilles. Hector threw his spear, which struck the shield of

Achilles and bounded back. He turned to receive another from the

hand of Deiphobus, but Deiphobus was gone. Then Hector

understood his doom and said, "Alas! It is plain this is my hour

to die! I thought Deiphobus at hand, but Pallas deceived me, and

he is still in Troy. But I will not fall inglorious." So

saying, he drew his falchion from his side and rushed at once to

combat. Achilles, secured behind his shield, waited the approach

of Hector. When he came within reach of his spear, Achilles,

choosing with his eye a vulnerable part where the armor leaves

the neck uncovered, aimed his spear at that part, and Hector

fell, death-wounded, and feebly said, "Spare my body! Let my

parents ransom it, and let me receive funeral rites from the sons

and daughters of Troy." To which Achilles replied, "Dog, name

not ransom nor pity to me, on whom you have brought such dire

distress. No! Trust me, nought shall save thy carcass from the

dogs. Though twenty ransoms and thy weight in gold were offered,

I would refuse it all."

So saying, he stripped the body of its armor, and fastening cords

to the feet, tied them behind his chariot, leaving the body to

trail along the ground. Then mounting the chariot he lashed the

steeds, and so dragged the body to and fro before the city. What

words can tell the grief of King Priam and Queen Hecuba at this

sight! His people could scarce restrain the old king from

rushing forth. He threw himself in the dust, and besought them

each by name to give him way. Hecuba's distress was not less

violent. The citizens stood round them weeping. The sound of

the mourning reached the ears of Andromache, the wife of Hector,

as she sat among her maidens at work, and anticipating evil she

went forth to the wall. When she saw the sight there presented,

she would have thrown herself headlong from the wall, but fainted

and fell into the arms of her maidens. Recovering, she bewailed

her fate, picturing to herself her country ruined, herself a

captive, and her son dependent for his bread on the charity of

strangers.

When Achilles and the Greeks had taken their revenge on the

killer of Patroclus they busied themselves in paying due funeral

rites to their friend. A pile was erected, and the body burned

with due solemnity; and then ensued games of strength and skill,

chariot races, wrestling, boxing, and archery. Then the chiefs

sat down to the funeral banquet and after that retired to rest.

But Achilles neither partook of the feast nor of sleep. The

recollection of his lost friend kept him awake, remembering their

companionship in toil and dangers, in battle or on the perilous

deep. Before the earliest dawn he left his tent, and joining to

his chariot his swift steeds, he fastened Hector's body to be

dragged behind. Twice he dragged him round the tomb of

Patroclus, leaving him at length stretched in the dust. But

Apollo would not permit the body to be torn or disfigured with

all this abuse, but preserved it free from all taint or

defilement.

When Achilles indulged his wrath in thus disgracing brave Hector,

Jupiter in pity summoned Thetis to his presence. He told her to

go to her son and prevail on him to restore the body of Hector to

his friends. Then Jupiter sent Iris to King Priam to encourage

him to go to Achilles and beg the body of his son. Iris

delivered her message, and Priam immediately prepared to obey.

He opened his treasures and took out rich garments and cloths,

with ten talents in gold and two splendid tripods and a golden

cup of matchless workmanship. Then he called to his sons and

bade them draw forth his litter and place in it the various

articles designed for a ransom to Achilles.

When all was ready, the old king with a single companion, as aged

as himself, the herald Idaeus, drove forth from the gates,

parting there with Hecuba his queen, and all his friends, who

lamented him as going to certain death.

But Jupiter, beholding with compassion the venerable king, sent

Mercury to be his guide and protector. Mercury, assuming the

form of a young warrior, presented himself to the aged couple,

and while at the sight of him they hesitated whether to fly or

yield, the god approached, and grasping Priam's hand, offered to

be their guide to Achilles' tent. Priam gladly accepted his

offered service, and he, mounting the carriage, assumed the reins

and soon conveyed them to the tent of Achilles. Mercury's wand

put to sleep all the guards, and without hindrance he introduced

Priam into the tent where Achilles sat, attended hy two of his

warriors. The old king threw himself at the feet of Achilles and

kissed those terrible hands which had destroyed so many of his

sons. "Think, O Achilles," he said, "of thy own father, full of

days like me, and trembling on the gloomy verge of life. Perhaps

even now some neighbor chief oppresses him, and there is none at

hand to succor him in his distress. Yet doubtless knowing that

Achilles lives he still rejoices, hoping that one day he shall

see thy face again. But no comfort cheers me, whose bravest

sons, so late the flower of Ilium, all have fallen. Yet one I

had, one more than all the rest the strength of my age, whom

fighting for his country, thou hast slain. I come to redeem his

body, bringing inestimable ransom with me. Achilles, reverence

the gods! Recollect thy father! For his sake show compassion to

me!" These words moved Achilles and he wept; remembering by

turns his absent father and his lost friend. Moved with pity of

Priam's silver locks and beard, he raised him from the earth and

thus spake: "Priam, I know that thou has reached this place

conducted by some god, for without divine aid no mortal even in

the prime of youth had dared the attempt. I grant thy request;

moved thereto by the evident will of Jove." So saying he arose,

and went forth with his two friends, and unloaded of its charge

the litter, leaving two mantles and a robe for the covering of

the body, which they placed on the litter, and spread the

garments over it, that not unveiled it should be borne back to

Troy. Then Achilles dismissed the old king with his attendants,

having first pledged himself to allow a truce of twelve days for

the funeral solemnities.

As the litter approached the city and was descried from the

walls, the people poured forth to gaze once more on the face of

their hero. Foremost of all, the mother and the wife of Hector

came, and at the sight of the lifeless body renewed their

lamentations. The people all wept with them, and to the going

down of the sun there was no pause or abatement of their grief.

The next day preparations were made for the funeral solemnities.

For nine days the people brought wood and built the pile, and on

the tenth they placed the body on the summit and applied the

torch; while all Troy, thronging forth, encompassed the pile.

When it had completely burned, they quenched the cinders with

wine, collected the bones and placed them in a golden urn, which

they buried in the earth, and reared a pile of stones over the

spot.

"Such honors Ilium to her hero paid,

And peaceful slept the mighty Hector's shade."

Pope's Homer

Chapter XXI

The Fall of Troy. Return of the Greeks. Orestes and Electra

The story of the Iliad ends with the death of Hector, and it is

from the Odyssey and later poems that we learn the fate of the

other heroes. After the death of Hector, Troy did not

immediately fall, but receiving aid from new allies still

continued its resistance. One of these allies was Memnon, the

AETHIOPIAN prince, whose story we have already told. Another was

Penthesilea, queen of the Amazons, who came with a band of female

warriors. All the authorities attest their valor and the fearful

effect of their war-cry. Penthesilea slew many of the bravest

warriors, but was at last slain by Achilles. But when the hero

bent over his fallen foe, and contemplated her beauty, youth and

valor, he bitterly regretted his victory. Thersites, an insolent

brawler and demagogue, ridiculed his grief, and was in

consequence slain by the hero.

Achilles by chance had seen Polyxena, daughter of King Priam,

perhaps on occasion of the truce which was allowed the Trojans

for the burial of Hector. He was captivated with her charms, and

to win her in marriage agreed to use his influence with the

Greeks to grant peace to Troy. While in the temple of Apollo,

negotiating the marriage, Paris discharged at him a poisoned

arrow, which guided by Apollo, wounded Achilles in the heel, the

only vulnerable part about him. For Thetis, his mother, had

dipped him when an infant in the river Styx, which made every

part of him invulnerable except the heel by which she held him.

(The story of the invulnerability of Achilles is not found in

Homer, and is inconsistent with his account. For how could

Achilles require the aid of celestial armor if he were

invulnerable?)

The body of Achilles, so treacherously slain, was rescued by Ajax

and Ulysses. Thetis directed the Greeks to bestow her son's

armor on the hero who, of all survivors, should be judged most

deserving of it. Ajax and Ulysses were the only claimants; a

select number of the other chiefs were appointed to award the

prize. It was awarded to Ulysses, thus placing wisdom before

valor; whereupon Ajax slew himself. On the spot where his blood

sank into the earth a flower sprang up, called the hyacinth,

bearing on its leaves the first two letters of the name of Ajax,

Ai, the Greek for "woe." Thus Ajax is a claimant with the boy

Hyacinthus for the honor of giving birth to this flower. There

is a species of Larkspur which represents the hyacinth of the

poets in preserving the memory of this event, the Delphinium

Ajacis Ajax's Larkspur.

It was now discovered that Troy could not be taken but by the

arrows of Hercules. They were in possession of Philoctetes, the

friend who had been with Hercules at the last, and lighted his

funeral pyre. Philoctetes had joined the Grecian expedition

against Troy, but had accidentally wounded his foot with one of

the poisoned arrows, and the smell from his wound proved so

offensive that his companions carried him to the Isle of Lemnos

and left him there. Diomedes was now sent to induce him to

rejoin the army. He succeeded. Philoctetes was cured of his

wound by Machaon, and Paris was the first victim of the fatal

arrows. In his distress Paris bethought him of one whom in his

prosperity he had forgotten. This was the nymph OEnone, whom he

had married when a youth, and had abandoned for the fatal beauty

Helen. OEnone, remembering the wrongs she had suffered, refused

to heal the wound, and Paris went back to Troy and died. OEnone

quickly repented, and hastened after him with remedies, but came

too late, and in her grief hung herself.

Tennyson has chosen OEnone as the subject of a short poem; but he

has omitted the concluding part of the story, the return of Paris

wounded, her cruelty and subsequent repentance.

"---- Hither came at noon

Mournful OENONE, wandering forlorn

Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills.

Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck

Floated her hair, or seemed to float in rest.

She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine,

Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade

Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"'O Mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,

Dear Mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

I waited underneath the dawning hills,

Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark,

And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine:

Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris,

Leading a jet-black goat, white-horned, white-hooved,

Come up from reedy Simois, all alone.

"'O Mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

Far off the torrent called me from the cliff:

Far up the solitary morning smote

The streaks of virgin snow. With downdropt eyes

I sat alone: white-breasted like a star

Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard-skin

Drooped from his shoulder, but his sunny hair

Clustered about his temples like a God's,

And his cheek brightened as the foambow brightens

When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart

Went forth to embrace him coming, ere he came.

"'Dear Mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm

Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,

That smelt ambrosially, and while I looked

And listened, the full-flowing river of speech

Came down upon my heart.

"My own OENONE,

Beautiful-browed OENONE, my own soul,

Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingraven

'For the most fair,' would seem award it thine

As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt

The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace

Of movement, and the charm of married brows."

"'Dear Mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

He prest the blossom of his lips to mine,

And added, "This was cast upon the board,

When all the full-faced presence of the gods

Hanged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon

Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twas due;

But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve

Delivering, that to me, by common voice

Elected umpire, Her‚ comes to-day,

Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each

This meed of fairest. Thou within the cave

Beyond yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,

May'st well behold them unbeheld, unheard

Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of gods."'"

There was in Troy a celebrated statue of Minerva called the

Palladium. It was said to have fallen from heaven, and the

belief was that the city could not be taken so long as this

statue remained within it. Ulysses and Diomedes entered the city

in disguise, and succeeded in obtaining the Palladium, which they

carried off to the Grecian camp.

But Troy still held out, and the Greeks began to despair of ever

subduing it by force, and by advice of Ulysses resolved to resort

to stratagem. They pretended to be making preparations to

abandon the siege, and a portion of the ships were withdrawn, and

lay hid behind a neighboring island. The Greeks then constructed

an immense WOODEN HORSE, which they gave out was intended as a

propitiatory offering to Minerva, but in fact was filled with

armed men. The remaining Greeks then betook themselves to their

ships and sailed away, as if for a final departure. The Trojans,

seeing the encampment broken up and the fleet gone, concluded the

enemy to have abandoned the siege. The gates were thrown open,

and the whole population issued forth rejoicing at the long-

prohibited liberty of passing freely over the scene of the late

encampment. The great horse was the chief object of curiosity.

All wondered what it could be for. Some recommended to take it

into the city as a trophy; others felt afraid of it.

While they hesitate, Laocoon, the priest of Neptune, exclaims,

"What madness, citizens, is this! Have you not learned enough of

Grecian fraud to be on your guard against it? For my part I fear

the Greeks even when they offer gifts." So saying he threw his

lance at the horse's side. It struck, and a hollow sound

reverberated like a groan. Then perhaps the people might have

taken his advice and destroyed the fatal horse and all its

contents; but just at that moment a group of people appeared

dragging forward one who seemed a prisoner and a Greek.

Stupefied with terror he was brought before the chiefs, who

reassured him, promising that his life should be spared on

condition of his returning true answers to the questions asked

him. He informed them that he was a Greek, Sinon by name, and

that in consequence of the malice of Ulysses he had been left

behind by his countrymen at their departure. With regard to the

wooden horse, he told them that it was a propitiatory offering to

Minerva, and made so huge for the express purpose of preventing

its being carried within the city; for Calchas the prophet had

told them that if the Trojans took possession of it, they would

assuredly triumph over the Greeks. This language turned the tide

of the people's feelings, and they began to think how they might

best secure the monstrous horse and the favorable auguries

connected with it, when suddenly a prodigy occurred which left no

room to doubt. There appeared advancing over the sea two immense

serpents. They came upon the land, and the crowd fled in all

directions. The serpents advanced directly to the spot where

Laocoon stood with his two sons. They first attacked the

children, winding round their bodies and breathing their

pestilential breath in their faces. The father, attempting to

rescue them, is next seized and involved in the serpents' coils.

He struggles to tear them away, but they overpower all his

efforts and strangle him and the children in their poisonous

folds. This event was regarded as a clear indication of the

displeasure of the gods at Laocoon's irreverent treatment of the

wooden horse, which they no longer hesitated to regard as a

sacred object and prepared to introduce with due solemnity into

the city. This was done with songs and triumphal acclamations,

and the day closed with festivity. In the night the armed men

who were enclosed in the body of the horse, being led out by the

traitor Sinon, opened the gates of the city to their friends who

had returned under cover of the night. The city was set on fire;

the people, overcome with feasting and sleep, put to the sword,

and Troy completely subdued.

One of the most celebrated groups of statuary in existence is

that of Laocoon and his children in the embrace of the serpents.

"There is a cast of it in the Boston Athenaeum; the original is

in the Vatican at Rome. The following lines are from the Childe

Harold of Byron:

"Now turning to the Vatican go see

Laocoon's torture dignifying pain;

A father's love and mortal's agony

With as immortal's patience blending; vain

The struggle! Vain against the coiling strain

And gripe and deepening of the dragon's grasp

The old man's clinch; the long envenomed chain

Rivets the living links; the enormous asp

Enforces pang on pang and stifles gasp on gasp."

The comic poets will also occasionally borrow a classical

allusion. The following is from Swift's description of a City

Shower:

"Boxed in a chair the beau impatient sits,

While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits,

And over and anon with frightful din

The leather sounds; he trembles from within.

So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed

Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed,

(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,

Instead of paying chairmen, run them through;)

Laocoon struck the outside with a spear,

And each imprisoned champion quaked with fear."

King Priam lived to see the downfall of his kingdom, and was

slain at last on the fatal night when the Greeks took the city.

He had armed himself and was about to mingle with the combatants,

but was prevailed on by Hecuba, his aged queen, to take refuge

with herself and his daughters as a suppliant at the altar of

Jupiter. While there, his youngest son Polites, pursued by

Pyrrhus (Pyrrhus's exclamation, "Not such aid nor such defenders

does the time require," has become proverbial.), the son of

Achilles, rushed in wounded, and expired at the feet of his

father; whereupon Priam, overcome with indignation, hurled his

spear with feeble hand against Pyrrhus, and was forthwith slain

by him.

Queen Hecuba and her daughter Cassandra were carried captives to

Greece. Cassandra had been loved by Apollo, and he gave her the

gift of prophecy; but afterwards offended with her, he rendered

the gift unavailing by ordaining that her predictions should

never be believed. Polyxena, another daughter, who had been

loved by Achilles, was demanded by the ghost of this warrior, and

was sacrificed by the Greeks upon his tomb.

From Schiller's poem "Cassandra":

"And men my prophet wail deride!

The solemn sorrow dies in scorn;

And lonely in the waste, I hide

The tortured heart that would forewarn.

Amid the happy, unregarded,

Mock'd by their fearful joy, I trod;

Oh, dark to me the lot awarded,

Thou evil Pythian God!

"Thine oracle, in vain to be,

Oh, wherefore am I thus consigned,

With eyes that every truth must see,

Lone in the city of the blind?

Cursed with the anguish of a power

To view the fates I may not thrall,

The hovering tempest still must lower,

The horror must befall!

Boots it th veil to lift, and give

To sight the frowning fates beneath?

For error is the life we live,

And, oh, our knowledge is but death!

Take back the clear and awful mirror,

Shut from my eyes the blood-red glare;

Thy truth is but the gift of terror,

When mortal lips declare.

"My blindness give to me once more,

They gay dim senses that rejoice;

The past's delighted songs are o'er

For lips that speak a prophet's voice.

To me the future thou hast granted;

I miss the moment from the chain

The happy present hour enchanted!

Take back thy gift again!"

Sir Edw. L. Bulwer's translation

MENELAUS AND HELEN

Our readers will be anxious to know the fate of Helen, the fair

but guilty occasion of so much slaughter. On the fall of Troy

Menelaus recovered possession of his wife, who had not ceased to

love him, though she had yielded to the might of Venus and

deserted him for another. After the death of Paris she aided the

Greeks secretly on several occasions, and in particular when

Ulysses and Diomedes entered the city in disguise to carry off

the Palladium. She saw and recognized Ulysses, but kept the

secret, and even assisted them in obtaining the image. Thus she

became reconciled to her husband, and they were among the first

to leave the shores of Troy for their native land. But having

incurred the displeasure of the gods they were driven by storms

from shore to shore of the Mediterranean, visiting Cyprus,

Phoenicia and Egypt. In Egypt they were kindly treated and

presented with rich gifts, of which Helen's share was a golden

spindle and a basket on wheels. The basket was to hold the wool

and spools for the queen's work.

Dyer, in his poem of The Fleece, thus alludes to the incident:

"----many yet adhere

To the ancient distaff at the bosom fixed.

Casting the whirling spindle as they walk.

. . . . . . . . . .

This was of old, in no inglorious days,

The mode of spinning, when the Egyptian prince

A golden distaff gave that beauteous nymph,

Too beauteous Helen; no uncourtly gift."

Milton also alludes to a famous recipe for an invigorating

draught, called Nepenthe, which the Egyptian queen gave to Helen:

"Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone

In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena,

Is of such power to stir up joy as this,

To life so friendly or so cool to thirst."

Comus

Menelaus and Helen at length arrived in safety at Sparta, resumed

their royal dignity, and lived and reigned in splendor; and when

Telemachus, the son of Ulysses, in search of his father, arrived

at Sparta, he found Menelaus and Helen celebrating the marriage

of their daughter Hermione to Neoptolemus, son of Achilles.

In "the Victory Feast," Schiller thus reviews the return of the

Greek heroes.

"The son of Atreus, king of men,

The muster of the hosts surveyed,

How dwindled from the thousands, when

Along Scamander first arrayed!

With sorrow and the cloudy thought,

The great king's stately look grew dim,

Of all the hosts to Ilion brought,

How few to Greece return with him!

Still let the song to gladness call,

For those who yet their home shall greet!

For them the blooming life is sweet;

Return is not for all!

"Nor all who reach their native land

May long the joy of welcome feel;

Beside the household gods may stand

Grim Murder, with awaiting steel

And they who 'scape the foe, may die

Beneath the foul, familiar glaive.

Thus he to whom prophetic eye

Her light the wise Minerva gave;

'Ah! Bless'd, whose hearth, to memory true

The goddess keeps unstained and pure;

For woman's guile is deep and sure,

And falsehood loves the new!'

"The Spartan eyes his Helen's charms,

By the best blood of Greece recaptured;

Round that fair form his glowing arms

(A second bridal) wreath, enraptured.

Woe waits the work of evil birth,

Revenge to deeds unblessed is given!

For watchful o'er the things of earth,

The eternal council-halls of heaven.

Yes, ill shall never ill repay;

Jove to the impious hands that stain

The altar of man's heart,

Again the doomer's doom shall weigh!"

Sir Edw. L. Bulwer's translation

AGAMEMNON, ORESTES, AND ELECTRA

Agamemnon, the general-in-chief of the Greeks, the brother of

Menelaus, who had been drawn into the quarrel to avenge another's

wrongs, was not so fortunate in the issue as his brother. During

his absence his wife Clytemnestra had been false to him, and when

his return was expected, she, with her paramour, AEgisthus, laid

a plan for his destruction, and at the banquet given to celebrate

his return, murdered him.

The conspirators intended also to slay his son Orestes, a lad not

yet old enough to be an object of apprehension, but from whom, if

he should be suffered to grow up, there might be danger.

Electra, the sister of Orestes, saved her brother's life by

sending him secretly away to his uncle Strophius, king of Phocis.

In the palace of Strophius, Orestes grew up with the king's son,

Pylades, and formed with him that ardent friendship which has

become proverbial. Electra frequently reminded her brother hy

messengers of the duty of avenging his father's death, and when

grown up he consulted the oracle of Delphi, which confirmed him

in his design. He therefore repaired in disguise to Argos,

pretending to he a messenger from Strophius, who had come to

announce the death of Orestes, and brought the ashes of the

deceased in a funeral urn. After visiting his father's tomb and

sacrificing upon it, according to the rites of the ancients, he

made himself known to his sister Electra, and soon after slew

both AEgisthus and Clytemnestra.

This revolting act, the slaughter of a mother by her son, though

alleviated by the guilt of the victim and the express command of

the gods, did not fail to awaken in the breasts of the ancients

the same abhorrence that it does in ours. The Eumenides,

avenging deities, seized upon Orestes, and drove him frantic from

land to land. Pylades accompanied him in his wanderings, and

watched over him. At length in answer to a second appeal to the

oracle, he was directed to go to Tauris in Scythia, and to bring

thence a statue of Diana which was believed to have fallen from

heaven. Accordingly Orestes and Pylades went to Tauris, where

the barbarous people were accustomed to sacrifice to the goddess

all strangers who fell into their hands. The two friends were

seized and carried bound to the temple to be made victims. But

the priestess of Diana was no other than Iphigenia, the sister of

Orestes, who, our readers will remember, was snatched away by

Diana, at the moment when she was about to be sacrificed.

Ascertaining from the prisoners who they were, Iphigenia

disclosed herself to them, and the three made their escape with

the statue of the goddess, and returned to Mycenae.

But Orestes was not yet relieved from the vengeance of the

Erinnyes. At length he took refuge with Minerva at Athens. The

goddess afforded him protection, and appointed the court of

Areopagus to decide his fate. The Erinnyes brought forward their

accusation, and Orestes made the command of the Delphic oracle

his excuse. When the court voted and the voices were equally

divided, Orestes was acquitted by the command of Minerva.

Byron, in Childe Harold, Canto IV, alludes to the story of

Orestes:

"O thou who never yet of human wrong

Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis!

Thou who didst call the Furies from the abyss,

And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss,

For that unnatural retribution, just,

Had it but been from hands less near, in this,

Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust!"

One of the most pathetic scenes in the ancient drama is that in

which Sophocles represents the meeting of Orestes and Electra, on

his return from Phocis. Orestes, mistaking Electra for one of

the domestics, and desirous of keeping his arrival a secret till

the hour of vengeance should arrive, produces the urn in which

his ashes are supposed to rest. Electra, believing him to be

really dead, takes the urn, and embracing it, pours forth her

grief in language full of tenderness and despair.

Milton, in one of his sonnets, says:

"The repeated air

Of sad Electra's poet had the power

To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare."

This alludes to the story that when, on one occasion, the city of

Athens was at the mercy of her Spartan foes, and it was proposed

to destroy it, the thought was rejected upon the accidental

quotation, by some one, of a chorus of Euripides.

TROY

After hearing so much about the city of Troy and its heroes, the

reader will perhaps be surprised to learn that the exact site of

that famous city is still a matter of dispute. There are some

vestiges of tombs on the plain which most nearly answers to the

description given by Homer and the ancient geographers, but no

other evidence of the former existence of a great city. Byron

thus describes the present appearance of the scene:

"The winds are high, and Helle's tide

Rolls darkly heaving to the main;

And night's descending shadows hide

That field with blood bedewed in vain,

The desert of old Priam's pride,

The tombs, sole relics of his reign,

All save immortal dreams that could beguile

The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle."

Bride of Abydos.

Chapter XXII

Adventures of Ulysses. The Lotus-Eaters. Cyclopes. Circe.

Sirens. Scylla and Charybdis. Calypso

The romantic poem of the Odyssey is now to engage our attention.

It narrates the wanderings of Ulysses (Odysseus in the Greek

language) in his return from Troy to his own kingdom of Ithaca.

From Troy the vessels first made land at Ismarus, a city of the

Ciconians, where, in a skirmish with the inhabitants, Ulysses

lost six men from each ship. Sailing thence they were overtaken

by a storm which drove them for nine days along the sea till they

reached the country of the Lotus-eaters. Here, after watering,

Ulysses sent three of his men to discover who the inhabitants

were. These men on coming among the Lotus-eaters were kindly

entertained by them, and were given some of their own food, the

lotus-plant to eat. The effect of this food was such that those

who partook of it lost all thoughts of home and wished to remain

in that country. It was by main force that Ulysses dragged these

men away, and he was even obliged to tie them under the benches

of his ship. (Tennyson in the Lotus-eaters has charmingly

expressed the dreamy languid feeling which the lotus-food is said

to have produced:

"How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream

With half-shut eyes ever to seem

Falling asleep in a half-dream!

To dream and dream, like yonder amber light

Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;

To hear each other's whispered speech;

Eating the lotus, day by day,

To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,

And tender curving lines of creamy spray;

To lend our hearts and spirits wholly

To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;

To muse and brood and live again in memory,

With those old faces of our infancy

Heaped over with a mound of grass,

Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass.")

They next arrived at the country of the Cyclopes. The Cyclopes

were giants, who inhabited an island of which they were the only

possessors. The name means "round eye," and these giants were so

called because they had but one eye, and that placed in the

middle of the forehead. They dwelt in caves and fed on the wild

productions of the island and on what their flocks yielded, for

they were shepherds. Ulysses left the main body of his ships at

anchor, and with one vessel went to the Cyclopes' island to

explore for supplies. He landed with his companions, carrying

with them a jar of wine for a present, and coming to a large cave

they entered it, and finding no one within examined its contents.

They found it stored with the riches of the flock, quantities of

cheese, pails and bowls of milk, lambs and kids in their pens,

all in nice order. Presently arrived the master of the cave,

Polyphemus, bearing an immense bundle of firewood, which he threw

down before the cavern's mouth. He then drove into the cave the

sheep and goats to be milked, and, entering, rolled to the cave's

mouth an enormous rock, that twenty oxen could not draw. Next he

sat down and milked his ewes, preparing a part for cheese, and

setting the rest aside for his customary drink. Then turning

round his great eye he discerned the strangers, and growled out

to them, demanding who they were, and where from. Ulysses

replied most humbly, stating that they were Greeks, from the

great expedition that had lately won so much glory in the

conquest of Troy; that they were now on their way home, and

finished by imploring his hospitality in the name of the gods.

Polyphemus deigned no answer, but reaching out his hand, seized

two of the Greeks, whom he hurled against the side of the cave,

and dashed out their brains. He proceeded to devour them with

great relish, and having made a hearty meal, stretched himself

out on the floor to sleep. Ulysses was tempted to seize the

opportunity and plunge his sword into him as he slept, but

recollected that it would only expose them all to certain

destruction, as the rock with which the giant had closed up the

door was far beyond their power to remove, and they would

therefore be in hopeless imprisonment. Next morning the giant

seized two more of the Greeks, and dispatched them in the same

manner as their companions, feasting on their flesh till no

fragment was left. He then moved away the rock from the door,

drove out his flocks, and went out, carefully replacing the

barrier after him. When he was gone Ulysses planned how he might

take vengeance for his murdered friends, and effect his escape

with his surviving companions. He made his men prepare a massive

bar of wood cut by the Cyclops for a staff, which they found in

the cave. They sharpened the end of it and seasoned it in the

fire, and hid it under the straw on the cavern floor. Then four

of the boldest were selected, with whom Ulysses joined himself as

a fifth. The Cyclops came home at evening, rolled away the stone

and drove in his flock as usual. After milking them and making

his arrangements as before, he seized two more of Ulysses'

companions and dashed their brains out, and made his evening meal

upon them as he had on the others. After he had supped, Ulysses,

approaching him, handed him a bowl of wine, saying, "Cyclops,

this is wine; taste and drink after thy meal of man's flesh." He

took and drank it, and was hugely delighted with it, and called

for more. Ulysses supplied him once and again, which pleased the

giant so much that he promised him as a favor that he should be

the last of the party devoured. He asked his name, to which

Ulysses replied, "My name is Noman."

After his supper the giant lay down to repose, and was soon sound

asleep. Then Ulysses with his four select friends thrust the end

of the stake into the fire till it was all one burning coal, then

poising it exactly above the giant's only eye, they buried it

deeply into the socket, twirling it round and round as a

carpenter does his auger. The howling monster filled the cavern

with his outcry, and Ulysses with his aids nimbly got out of his

way and concealed themselves in the cave. The Cyclops,

bellowing, called aloud on all the Cyclopes dwelling in the caves

around him, far and near. They on his cry flocked around the

den, and inquired what grievous hurt had caused him to sound such

an alarm and break their slumbers. He replied, "O friends, I

die, and Noman gives the blow." They answered, "If no man hurts

thee it is the stroke of Jove, and thou must bear it." So

saying, they left him groaning.

Next morning the Cyclops rolled away the stone to let his flock

out to pasture, but planted himself in the door of the cave to

feel of all as they went out, that Ulysses and his men should not

escape with them. But Ulysses had made his men harness the rams

of the flock three abreast, with osiers which they found on the

floor of the cave. To the middle ram of the three one of the

Greeks suspended himself, so protected by the exterior rams on

either side. As they passed, the giant felt of the animals'

backs and sides, but never thought of their bellies; so the men

all passed safe, Ulysses himself being on the last one that

passed. When they had got a few paces from the cavern, Ulysses

and his friends released themselves from their rams, and drove a

good part of the flock down to the shore to their boat. They put

them aboard with all haste, then pushed off from the shore, and

when at a safe distance Ulysses shouted, "Cyclops, the gods have

well requited thee for thy atrocious deeds. Know it is Ulysses

to whom thou owest thy shameful loss of sight." The Cyclops,

hearing this, seized a rock that projected from the side of the

mountain, and rending it from its bed he lifted it high in the

air, then exerting all his force, hurled it in the direction of

the voice. Down came the mass, just clearing the vessel's stern.

The ocean, at the plunge of the huge rock, heaved the ship

towards the land, so that it barely escaped being swamped by the

waves. When they had with the utmost difficulty pulled off

shore, Ulysses was about to hail the giant again, but his friends

besought him not to do so. He could not forbear, however,

letting the giant know that they had escaped his missile, but

waited till they had reached a safer distance than before, The

giant answered them with curses, but Ulysses and his friends

plied their oars vigorously, and soon regained their companions.

Ulysses next arrived at the island of AEolus. To this monarch

Jupiter had intrusted the government of the winds, to send them

forth or retain them at his will. He treated Ulysses hospitably,

and at his departure gave him, tied up in a leathern bag with a

silver string, such winds as might be hurtful and dangerous,

commanding fair winds to blow the barks towards their country.

Nine days they sped before the wind, and all that time Ulysses

had stood at the helm, without sleep. At last quite exhausted he

lay down to sleep. While he slept, the crew conferred together

about the mysterious bag, and concluded it must contain treasures

given by the hospitable King AEolus to their commander. Tempted

to secure some portion for themselves they loosed the string,

when immediately the winds rushed forth. The ships were driven

far from their course, and back again to the island they had just

left. AEolus was so indignant at their folly that he refused to

assist them further, and they were obliged to labor over their

course once more by means of their oars.

THE LAESTRYGONIANS

The next adventure was with the barbarous tribe of

Laestrygonians. The vessels pushed into the harbor, tempted by

the secure appearance of the cove, completely land-locked;

Ulysses alone moored his vessel without. As soon as the

Laestrygonians found the ships completely in their power they

attacked them, having huge stones which broke and overturned

them, and with their spears dispatched the seamen as they

struggled in the water. All the vessels with their crews were

destroyed, except Ulysses' own ship which had remained outside,

and finding no safety but in flight, he exhorted his men to ply

their oars vigorously, and they escaped.

With grief for their slain companions mixed with joy at their own

escape, they pursued their way till they arrived at the Aeaean

isle, where dwelt Circe, the daughter of the sun. Landing here

Ulysses climbed a hill, and gazing round saw no signs of

habitation except in one spot at the centre of the island, where

he perceived a palace embowered with trees. He sent forward one-

half of his crew, under the command of Eurylochus, to see what

prospect of hospitality they might find. As they approached the

palace, they found themselves surrounded by lions, tigers and

wolves, not fierce, but tamed by Circe's art, for she was a

powerful magician. All these animals had once been men, but had

been changed by Circe's enchantments into the forms of beasts.

The sounds of soft music were heard from within, and a sweet

female voice singing. Eurylochus called aloud and the goddess

came forth and invited them in. They all gladly entered except

Eurylochus, who suspected danger. The goddess conducted her

guests to a seat, and had them served with wine and other

delicacies. When they had feasted heartily, she touched them one

by one with her wand, and they became immediately changed into

SWINE, in "head, body, voice and bristles," yet with their

intellects as before. She shut them in her sties, and supplied

them with acorns and such other things as swine love.

Eurylochus hurried back to the ship and told the tale. Ulysses

thereupon determined to go himself, and try if by any means he

might deliver his companions. As he strode onward alone, he met

a youth who addressed him familiarly, appearing to be acquainted

with his adventures. He announced himself as Mercury, and

informed Ulysses of the arts of Circe, and of the danger of

approaching her. As Ulysses was not to be dissuaded from his

attempts, Mercury provided him with a sprig of the plant Moly, of

wonderful power to resist sorceries, and instructed him how to

act. Ulysses proceeded, and reaching the palace was courteously

received by Circe, who entertained him as she had done his

companions, and after he had eaten and drank, touched him with

her wand, saying, "Hence seek the sty and wallow with thy

friends." But he, instead of obeying, drew his sword and rushed

upon her with fury in his countenance. She fell on her knees

and begged for mercy. He dictated a solemn oath that she would

release his companions and practise no further against him or

them; and she repeated it, at the same time promising to dismiss

them all in safety after hospitably entertaining them. She was

as good as her word. The men were restored to their shapes, the

rest of the crew summoned from the shore, and the whole

magnificently entertained day after day, till Ulysses seemed to

have forgotten his native land, and to have reconciled himself to

an inglorious life of ease and pleasure.

At length his companions recalled him to nobler sentiments, and

he received their admonition gratefully. Circe aided their

departure, and instructed them how to pas safely by the coast of

the Sirens. The Sirens were Sea-nymphs who had the power of

charming by their song all who had heard them, so that the

unhappy mariners were irresistibly impelled to cast themselves

into the sea to their destruction. Circe directed Ulysses to

fill the ears of his seamen with wax, so that they should not

hear the strain; and to cause himself to be bound to the mast,

and his people to be strictly enjoined, whatever he might say or

do, by no means to release him till they should have passed the

Sirens' island. Ulysses obeyed these directions. He filled the

ears of his people with wax, and suffered them to bind him with

cords firmly to the mast. As they approached the Sirens' island,

the sea was calm, and over the waters came the notes of music so

ravishing and attractive, that Ulysses struggled to get loose,

and by cries and signs to his people, begged to be released; but

they, obedient to his previous orders, sprang forward and bound

him still faster. They held on their course, and the music grew

fainter till it ceased to be heard, when with joy Ulysses gave

his companions the signal to unseal their ears, and they relieved

him from his bonds.

The imagination of a modern poet, Keats, has discovered for us

the thoughts that passed through the brains of the victims of

Circe, after their transformation. In his Endymion he represents

one of them, a monarch in the guise of an elephant, addressing

the sorceress in human language thus:

"I sue not for my happy crown again;

I sue not for my phalanx on the plain;

I sue not for my lone, my widowed wife;

I sue not for my ruddy drops of life,

My children fair, my lovely girls and boys;

I will forget them; I will pass these joys,

Ask nought so heavenward; so too too high;

Only I pray, as fairest boon, to die;

To be delivered from this cumbrous flesh,

From this gross, detestable, filthy mesh,

And merely given to the cold, bleak air.

Have mercy, goddess! Circe, feel my prayer!"

SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS

Ulysses had been warned by Circe of the two monsters Scylla and

Charybdis. We have already met with Scylla in the story of

Glaucus, and remember that she was once a beautiful maiden and

was changed into a snaky monster by Circe. She dwelt in a cave

high up on the cliff, from whence she was accustomed to thrust

forth her long necks for she had six heads, and in each of her

mouths to seize one of the crew of every vessel passing within

reach. The other terror, Charybdis, was a gulf, nearly on a

level with the water. Thrice each day the water rushed into a

frightful chasm, and thrice was disgorged. Any vessel coming

near the whirlpool when the tide was rushing in must inevitably

by ingulfed; not Neptune himself could save it.

On approaching the haunt of the dread monsters, Ulysses kept

strict watch to discover them. The roar of the waters as

Charybdis ingulfed them, gave warning at a distance, but Scylla

could nowhere be discerned. While Ulysses and his men watched

with anxious eyes the dreadful whirlpool, they were not equally

on their guard from the attack of Scylla, and the monster darting

forth her snaky heads, caught six of his men, and bore them away

shrieking to her den. It was the saddest sight Ulysses had yet

seen; to behold his friends thus sacrificed and hear their cries,

unable to afford them any assistance.

Circe had warned him of another danger. After passing Scylla and

Charybdis, the next land he would make was Trinakria, an island

whereon were pastured the cattle of Hyperion, the Sun, tended by

his daughters Lampetia and Phaethusa. These flocks must not be

violated, whatever the wants of the voyagers might be. If this

injunction were transgressed, destruction was sure to fall on the

offenders.

Ulysses would willingly have passed the island of the Sun without

stopping, but his companions so urgently pleaded for the rest and

refreshment that would be derived from anchoring and passing the

night on shore, that Ulysses yielded. He bound them, however,

with an oath that they would not touch one of the animals of the

sacred flocks and herds, but content themselves with what

provision they yet had left of the supply which Circe had put on

board. So long as this supply lasted the people kept their oath,

but contrary winds detained them at the island for a month, and

after consuming all their stock of provisions, they were forced

to rely upon the birds and fishes they could catch. Famine

pressed them, and at length one day, in the absence of Ulysses,

they slew some of the cattle, vainly attempting to make amends

for the deed by offering from them a portion to the offended

powers. Ulysses, on his return to the shore, was horror-struck

at perceiving what they had done, and the more so on account of

the portentous signs which followed. The skins crept on the

ground, and the joints of meat lowed on the spits while roasting.

The wind becoming fair they sailed from the island. They had not

gone far when the weather changed, and a storm of thunder and

lightning ensued. A stroke of lightning shattered their mast,

which in its fall killed the pilot. At last the vessel itself

came to pieces. The keel and mast floating side by side, Ulysses

formed of them a raft, to which he clung, and, the wind changing,

the waves bore him to Calypso's island. All the rest of the crew

perished.

The following allusion to the stories we have just been relating

is from Milton's Comus, line 252:

"I have often heard

My mother Circe and the Sirens three,

Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,

Culling their potent herbs and baneful drugs,

Who as they sung would take the prisoned soul

And lap it in Elysium. Scylla wept,

And chid her barking waves into attention.

And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause."

Scylla and Charybdis have become proverbial, to denote opposite

dangers which beset one's course.

CALYPSO

Calypso was a sea-nymph. One of that numerous class of female

divinities of lower rank than the gods, yet sharing many of their

attributes. Calypso received Ulysses hospitably, entertained him

magnificently, became enamored of him, and wished to retain him

forever, conferring on him immortality. But he persisted in his

resolution to return to his country and his wife and son.

Calypso at last received a command from Jove to dismiss him.

Mercury brought the message to her, and found her in her grotto,

which is thus described by Homer:

"A garden vine, luxuriant on all sides,

Mantled the spacious cavern, cluster-hung

Profuse; four fountains of serenest lymph,

Their sinuous course pursuing side by side,

Strayed all around, and every where appeared

Meadows of softest verdure purpled o'er

With violets; it was a scene to fill

A god from heaven with wonder and delight."

Calypso with much reluctance proceeded to obey the commands of

Jupiter. She supplied Ulysses with the means of constructing a

raft, provisioned it well for him, and gave him a favoring gale.

He sped on his course prosperously for many days, till at length,

when in sight of land, a storm arose that broke his mast, and

threatened to rend the raft asunder. In this crisis he was seen

by a compassionate sea-nymph, who in the form of a cormorant

alighted on the raft, and presented him a girdle, directing him

to bind it beneath his breast, and if he should be compelled to

trust himself to the waves, it would buoy him up and enable him

by swimming to reach the land.

Fenelon, in his romance of Telemachus, has given us the

adventures of the son of Ulysses in search of his father. Among

other places at which he arrived, following on his father's

footsteps, was Calypso's isle, and, as in the former case, the

goddess tried every art to keep him with her, and offered to

share her immortality with him. But Minerva, who, in the shape

of Mentor, accompanied him and governed all his movements, made

him repel her allurements, and when no other means of escape

could be found, the two friends leaped from a cliff into the sea,

and swam to a vessel which lay becalmed off shore. Byron alludes

to this leap of Telemachus and Mentor in the following stanza:

"But not in silence pass Calypso's isles,

The sister tenants of the middle deep;

There for the weary still a haven smiles,

Though the fair goddess long has ceased to weep,

And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep

For him who dared prefer a mortal bride.

Here too his boy essayed the dreadful leap,

Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide;

While thus of both bereft the nymph-queen doubly sighed."

Chapter XXIII

The Odyssey (continued)

THE PHAEACIANS. FATE OF THE SUITORS

Ulysses clung to the raft while any of its timbers kept together,

and when it no longer yielded him support, binding the girdle

around him, he swam. Minerva smoothed the billows before him and

sent him a wind that rolled the waves towards the shore. The

surf beat high on the rocks and seemed to forbid approach; but at

length finding calm water at the mouth of a gentle stream, he

landed, spent with toil, breathless and speechless and almost

dead. After some time reviving, he kissed the soil, rejoicing,

yet at a loss what course to take. At a short distance he

perceived a wood, to which he turned his steps. There finding a

covert sheltered by intermingling branches alike from the sun and

the rain, he collected a pile of leaves and formed a bed, on

which he stretched himself, and heaping the leaves over him, fell

asleep.

The land where he was thrown was Scheria, the country of the

Phaecians. These people dwelt originally near the Cyclopes; but

being oppressed by that savage race, they migrated to the isle of

Scheria, under the conduct of Nausithous their king. They were,

the poet tells us, a people akin to the gods, who appeared

manifestly and feasted among them when they offered sacrifices,

and did not conceal themselves from solitary wayfarers when they

met them. They had abundance of wealth and lived in the

enjoyment of it undisturbed by the alarms of war, for as they

dwelt remote from gain-seeking man, no enemy ever approached

their shores, and they did not even require to make use of bows

and quivers. Their chief employment was navigation. Their

ships, which went with the velocity of birds, were endued with

intelligence; they knew every port and needed no pilot.

Alcinous, the son of Nausithous, was now their king, a wise and

just sovereign, beloved by his people.

Now it happened that the very night on which Ulysses was cast

ashore on the Phaeacian island, and while he lay sleeping on his

bed of leaves, Nausicaa, the daughter of the king, had a dream

sent by Minerva, reminding her that her wedding-day was not far

distant, and that it would be but a prudent preparation for that

event to have a general washing of the clothes of the family.

This was no slight affair, for the fountains were at some

distance and the garments must be carried thither. On awaking,

the princess hastened to her parents to tell them what was on her

mind; not alluding to her wedding-day, but finding other reasons

equally good. Her father readily assented and ordered the grooms

to furnish forth a wagon for the purpose. The clothes were put

therein, and the queen mother placed in the wagon, likewise an

abundant supply of food and wine. The princess took her seat and

plied the lash, her attendant virgins following her on foot.

Arrived at the river side they turned out the mules to graze, and

unloading the carriage, bore the garments down to the water, and

working with cheerfulness and alacrity soon dispatched their

labor. Then having spread the garments on the shore to dry, and

having themselves bathed, they sat down to enjoy their meal;

after which they rose and amused themselves with a game of ball,

the princess singing to them while they played. But when they

had refolded the apparel and were about to resume their way to

the town, Minerva caused the ball thrown by the princess to fall

into the water, whereat they all screamed, and Ulysses awaked at

the sound.

Now we must picture to ourselves Ulysses, a shipwrecked mariner,

but just escaped from the waves, and utterly destitute of

clothing, awaking and discovering that only a few bushes were

interposed between him and a group of young maidens, whom, by

their deportment and attire, he discovered to be not mere peasant

girls, but of a higher class. Sadly needing help, how could he

yet venture, naked as he was, to discover himself and make his

wants known? It certainly was a case worthy of the interposition

of his patron goddess Minerva, who never failed him at a crisis.

Breaking off a leafy branch from a tree, he held it before him

and stepped out from the thicket. The virgins, at sight of him,

fled in all directions, Nausicaa alone excepted, for Minerva

aided and endowed her with courage and discernment. Ulysses,

standing respectfully aloof, told his sad case, and besought the

fair object (whether queen or goddess he professed he knew not)

for food and clothing. The princess replied courteously,

promising present relief and her father's hospitality when he

should become acquainted with the facts. She called back her

scattered maidens, chiding their alarm, and reminding them that

the Phaeacians had no enemies to fear. This man, she told them,

was an unhappy wanderer, whom it was a duty to cherish, for the

poor and stranger are from Jove. She bade them bring food and

clothing, for some of her brothers' garments were among the

contents of the wagon. When this was done, and Ulysses, retiring

to a sheltered place, had washed his body free from the sea-foam,

clothed and refreshed himself with food, Pallas dilated his form

and diffused grace over his ample chest and manly brows.

The princess, seeing him, was filled with admiration, and

scrupled not to say to her damsels that she wished the gods would

send her such a husband. To Ulysses she recommended that he

should repair to the city, following herself and train so far as

the way lay through the fields; but when they should approach the

city she desired that he would no longer be seen in her company,

for she feared the remarks which rude and vulgar people might

make on seeing her return accompanied by such a gallant stranger;

to avoid which she directed him to stop at a grove adjoining the

city, in which were a farm and garden belonging to the king.

After allowing time for the princess and her companions to reach

the city, he was then to pursue his way thither, and would be

easily guided by any he might meet to the royal abode.

Ulysses obeyed the directions, and in due time proceeded to the

city, on approaching which he met a young woman bearing a pitcher

forth for water. It was Minerva, who had assumed that form.

Ulysses accosted her, and desired to be directed to the palace of

Alcinous the king. The maiden replied respectfully, offering to

be his guide; for the palace, she informed him, stood near her

father's dwelling. Under the guidance of the goddess, and by her

power enveloped in a cloud which shielded him from observation,

Ulysses passed among the busy crowd, and with wonder observed

their harbor, their ships, their forum (the resort of heroes),

and their battlements, till they came to the palace, where the

goddess, having first given him some information of the country,

king, and people he was about to meet, left him. Ulysses, before

entering the courtyard of the palace, stood and surveyed the

scene. Its splendor astonished him. Brazen walls stretched from

the entrance to the interior house, of which the doors were gold,

the door-posts silver, the lintels silver ornamented with gold.

On either side were figures of mastiffs wrought in gold and

silver, standing in rows as if to guard the approach. Along the

walls were seats spread through all their length with mantles of

finest texture, the work of Phaeacian maidens. On these seats

the princes sat and feasted, while golden statues of graceful

youths held in their hands lighted torches, which shed radiance

over the scene. Full fifty female menials served in household

offices, some employed to grind the corn, others to wind off the

purple wool or ply the loom. For the Phaeacian women as far

exceeded all other women in household arts as the mariners of

that country did the rest of mankind in the management of ships.

Without the court a spacious garden lay, in which grew many a

lofty tree, pomegranate, pear, apple, fig, and olive. Neither

winter's cold nor summer's drought arrested their growth, but

they flourished in constant succession, some budding while others

were maturing. The vineyard was equally prolific. In one

quarter you might see the vines, some in blossom, some loaded

with ripe grapes, and in another observe the vintagers treading

the wine-press. On the garden's borders flowers of every hue

bloomed all the year round, arranged with neatest art. In the

midst two fountains poured forth their waters, one flowing by

artificial channels over all the garden, the other conducted

through the courtyard of the palace, whence every citizen might

draw his supplies.

Ulysses stood gazing in admiration, unobserved himself, for the

cloud which Minerva spread around him still shielded him. At

length, having sufficiently observed the scene, he advanced with

rapid step into the hall where the chiefs and senators were

assembled, pouring libation to Mercury, whose worship followed

the evening meal. Just then Minerva dissolved the cloud and

disclosed him to the assembled chiefs. Advancing toward the

queen, he knelt at her feet and implored her favor and assistance

to enable him to return to his native country. Then withdrawing,

he seated himself in the manner of suppliants, at the hearth-

side.

For a time none spoke. At last an aged statesman, addressing the

king, said, "It is not fit that a stranger who asks our

hospitality should be kept waiting in suppliant guise, none

welcoming him. Let him therefore be led to a seat among us and

supplied with food and wine." At these words the king rising

gave his hand to Ulysses and led him to a seat, displacing thence

his own son to make room for the stranger. Food and wine were

set before him and he ate and refreshed himself.

The king then dismissed his guests, notifying them that the next

day he would call them to council to consider what had best be

done for the stranger.

When the guests had departed and Ulysses was left alone with the

king and queen, the queen asked him who he was and whence he

came, and (recognizing the clothes which he wore as those which

her maidens and herself had made) from whom he received his

garments. He told them of his residence in Calypso's isle and

his departure thence; of the wreck of his raft, his escape by

swimming, and of the relief afforded by the princess. The

parents heard approvingly, and the king promised to furnish him a

ship in which he might return to his own land.

The next day the assembled chiefs confirmed the promise of the

king. A bark was prepared and a crew of stout rowers selected,

and all betook themselves to the palace, where a bounteous repast

was provided. After the feast the king proposed that the young

men should show their guest their proficiency in manly sports,

and all went forth to the arena for games of running, wrestling,

and other exercises. After all had done their best, Ulysses

being challenged to show what he could do, at first declined, but

being taunted by one of the youths, seized a quoit of weight far

heavier than any the Phaeacians had thrown, and sent it farther

than the utmost throw of theirs. All were astonished, and viewed

their guest with greatly increased respect.

After the games they returned to the hall, and the herald led in

Demodocus, the blind bard,

"Dear to the Muse,

Who yet appointed him both good and ill,

Took from him sight, but gave him strains divine."

He took for his theme the wooden horse, by means of which the

Greeks found entrance into Troy. Apollo inspired him, and he

sang so feelingly of the terrors and the exploits of that

eventful time that all were delighted, but Ulysses was moved to

tears. Observing which, Alcinous, when the song was done,

demanded of him why at the mention of troy his sorrows awaked.

Had he lost there a father or brother, or any dear friend?

Ulysses in reply announced himself by his true name, and at their

request, recounted the adventures which had befallen him since

his departure from Troy. This narrative raised the sympathy and

admiration of the Phaeacians for their guest to the highest

pitch. The king proposed that each chief should present him with

a gift, himself setting the example. They obeyed, and vied with

one another in loading the illustrious stranger with costly

gifts.

The next day Ulysses set sail in the Phaeacian vessel, and in a

short time arrived safe at Ithaca, his own island. When the

vessel touched the strand he was asleep. The mariners, without

waking him, carried him on shore, and landed with him the chest

containing his presents, and then sailed away.

But Neptune was displeased at the conduct of the Phaeacians in

thus rescuing Ulysses from his hands. In revenge, on the return

of the vessel to port, he transformed it into a rock, right

opposite the mouth of the harbor.

Homer's description of the ships of the Phaeacians has been

thought to look like an anticipation of the wonders of modern

steam navigation. Alcinous says to Ulysses,

"Say from what city, from what regions tossed,

And what inhabitants those regions boast?

So shalt thou quickly reach the realm assigned,

In wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind;

No helm secures their course, no pilot guides;

Like man intelligent they plough the tides,

Conscious of every coast and every bay

That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray."

Odyssey, Book VIII

Lord Carlisle, in his Diary in the Turkish and Greek Waters, thus

speaks of Corfu, which he considers to be the ancient Phaeacian

island:

"The sites explain the Odyssey. The temple of the sea-god could

not have been more fitly placed, upon a grassy platform of the

most elastic turf, on the brow of a crag commanding harbor, and

channel, and ocean. Just at the entrance of the inner harbor

there is a picturesque rock with a small convent perched atop it,

which by one legend is the transformed pinnace of Ulysses.

"Almost the only river in the island is just at the proper

distance from the probable site of the city and palace of the

king, to justify the princess Nausicaa having had resort to her

chariot and to luncheon when she went with the maidens of the

court to wash their garments."

FATE OF THE SUITORS

It was now twenty years that Ulysses had been away from Ithaca,

and when he awoke he did not recognize his native land. But

Minerva, appearing to him in the form of a young shepherd,

informed him where he was, and told him the state of things at

his palace. More than a hundred nobles of Ithaca and of the

neighboring islands had been for years suing for the hand of

Penelope, his wife, imagining him dead, and lording it over his

palace and people, as if they were owners of both. That he might

be able to take vengeance upon them, it was important that he

should not be recognized. Minerva accordingly metamorphosed him

into an unsightly beggar, and as such he was kindly received by

Eumaeus, the swine-herd, a faithful servant of his house.

Telemachus, his son, was absent in quest of his father. He had

gone to the courts of the other kings, who had returned from the

Trojan expedition. While on the search, he received counsel from

Minerva to return home. Arriving at Ithaca, he sought Eumaeus to

learn something of the state of affairs at the palace before

presenting himself among the suitors. Finding a stranger with

Eumaeus, he treated him courteously, though in the garb of a

beggar, and promised him assistance. Eumaeus was sent to the

palace to inform Penelope privately of her son's arrival, for

caution was necessary with regard to the suitors, who, as

Telemachus had learned, were plotting to intercept and kill him.

When Eumaeus was gone, Minerva presented herself to Ulysses, and

directed him to make himself known to his son. At the same time

she touched him, removed at once from him the appearance of age

and penury, and gave him the aspect of vigorous manhood that

belonged to him. Telemachus viewed him with astonishment, and at

first thought he must be more than mortal. But Ulysses announced

himself as his father, and accounted for the change of appearance

by explaining that it was Minerva's doing.

"Then threw Telemachus

His arms around his father's neck and wept,

Desire intense of lamentation seized

On both; soft murmurs uttering, each indulged

His grief."

The father and son took counsel together how they should get the

better of the suitors and punish them for their outrages. It was

arranged that Telemachus should proceed to the palace and mingle

with the suitors as formerly; that Ulysses should go also, as a

beggar, a character which in the rude old times had different

privileges from those we concede to it now. As traveller and

story-teller, the beggar was admitted in the halls of chieftains,

and often treated like a guest; though sometimes, also, no doubt,

with contumely. Ulysses charged his son not to betray, by any

display of unusual interest in him, that he knew him to be other

than he seemed, and even if he saw him insulted, or beaten, not

to interpose otherwise than he might do for any stranger.

At the palace they found the usual scene of feasting and riot

going on. The suitors pretended to receive Telemachus with joy

at his return, though secretly mortified at the failure of their

plots to take his life. The old beggar was permitted to enter,

and provided with a portion from the table. A touching incident

occurred as Ulysses entered the court-yard of the palace. An old

dog lay in the yard almost dead with age, and seeing a stranger

enter, raised his head, with ears erect. It was Argus, Ulysses'

own dog, that he had in other days often led to the chase.

"Soon he perceived

Long-lost Ulysses nigh, down fell his ears

Clapped close, and with his tail glad signs he gave

Of gratulation, impotent to rise,

And to approach his master as of old.

Ulysses, noting him, wiped off a tear

Unmarked.

. . . Then his destiny released

Old Argus, soon as he had lived to see

Ulysses in the twentieth year restored."

As Ulysses sat eating his portion in the hall, the suitors soon

began to exhibit their insolence to him. When he mildly

remonstrated, one of them raised a stool and with it gave him a

blow. Telemachus had hard work to restrain his indignation at

seeing his father so treated in his own hall, but remembering his

father's injunctions, said no more than what became him as master

of the house and protector of his guests.

Penelope had protracted her decision in favor of any one of her

suitors so long, that there seemed to be no further pretence for

delay. The continued absence of her husband seemed to prove that

his return was no longer to be expected. Meanwhile her son had

grown up, and was able to manage his own affairs. She therefore

consented to submit the question of her choice to a trial of

skill among the suitors. The test selected was shooting with the

bow. Twelve rings were arranged in a line, and he whose arrow

was sent through the whole twelve, was to have the queen for his

prize. A bow that one of his brother heroes had given to Ulysses

in former times, was brought from the armory, and with its quiver

full of arrows was laid in the hall. Telemachus had taken care

that all other weapons should be removed, under pretence that in

the heat of competition, there was danger, in some rash moment,

of putting them to an improper use.

All things being prepared for the trial, the first thing to be

done was to bend the bow in order to attach the string.

Telemachus endeavored to do it, but found all his efforts

fruitless; and modestly confessing that he had attempted a task

beyond his strength, he yielded the bow to another. HE tried it

with no better success, and, amidst the laughter and jeers of his

companions, gave it up. Another tried it and another; they

rubbed the bow with tallow, but all to no purpose; it would not

bend. Then spoke Ulysses, humbly suggesting that he should be

permitted to try; for, said he, "beggar as I am, I was once a

soldier, and there is still some strength in these old limbs of

mine." The suitors hooted with derision, and commanded to turn

him out of the hall for his insolence. But Telemachus spoke up

for him, and merely to gratify the old man, bade him try.

Ulysses took the bow, and handled it with the hand of a master.

With ease he adjusted the cord to its notch, then fitting an

arrow to the bow he drew the string and sped the arrow unerring

through the rings.

Without allowing them time to express their astonishment, he

said, "Now for another mark!" and aimed direct at the most

insolent one of the suitors. The arrow pierced through his throat

and he fell dead. Telemachus, Eumaeus, and another faithful

follower, well armed, now sprang to the side of Ulysses. The

suitors, in amazement, looked round for arms but found none,

neither was there any way of escape, for Eumaeus had secured the

door. Ulysses left them not long in uncertainty; he announced

himself as the long-lost chief, whose house they had invaded,

whose substance they had squandered, whose wife and son they had

persecuted for ten long years; and told them he meant to have

ample vengeance. All the suitors were slain, except Phemius the

bard and Medon the herald, and Ulysses was left master of his own

palace and possessor of his kingdom and his wife.

Among Schiller's works is the following epigram on Ulysses:

"To gain his home all oceans he explored;

Here Scylla frowned, and there Charybdis roared;

Horror on sea, and horror on the land,

In hell's dark boat he sought the spectre land,

Till borne a slumberer to his native spot,

He woke, and sorrowing, knew his country not."

Sir Edward Bulwer"s translation

Tennyson's poem of Ulysses represents the old hero, after his

dangers past and nothing left but to stay at home and be happy,

growing tired of inaction and resolving to set forth again in

quest of new adventures.

"Come my friends,

'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles whom we knew,

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

Chapter XXIV

Adventures of AEneas The Harpies Dido Palinurus

We have followed one of the Grecian heroes, Ulysses, in his

wanderings, on his return home from Troy, and now we propose to

share the fortunes of the remnant of the conquered people, under

their chief AEneas, in their search for a new home, after the

ruin of their native city. On that fatal night when the wooden

horse disgorged its contents of armed men, and the capture and

conflagration of the city were the result, Aeneas made his escape

from the scene of destruction with his father, and his wife, and

young son. The father, Anchises, was woo old to walk with the

speed required, and AEneas took him upon his shoulders. Thus

burdened, leading his son and followed by his wife, he made the

best of his way out of the burning city; but in the confusion,

his wife was swept away and lost.

On arriving at the place of rendezvous, numerous fugitives, of

both sexes, were found, who put themselves under the guidance of

Aeneas. Some months were spent in preparation and at length they

embarked. They first landed on the neighboring shores of Thrace,

and were preparing to build a city, but AEneas was deterred by a

prodigy. Preparing to offer sacrifice, he tore some twigs from

one of the bushes. To his dismay the wounded part dropped blood.

When he repeated the act, a voice from the ground cried out to

him, "Spare me, AEneas; I am your kinsman, Polydore, here

murdered with many arrows, from which a bush has grown, nourished

with my blood." These words recalled to the recollection of

AEneas that Polydore was a young prince of Troy, whom his father

had sent with ample treasures to the neighboring land of Thrace,

to be there brought up, at a distance from the horrors of war.

The king to whom he was sent had murdered him, and seized his

treasures. AEneas and his companions hastened away, considering

the land to be accursed by the stain of such a crime.

They next landed on the island of Delos, which was once a

floating island, till Jupiter fastened it by adamantine chains to

the bottom of the sea. Apollo and Diana were born there, and the

island was sacred to Apollo. Here AEneas consulted the oracle of

Apollo, and received an answer, as ambiguous as usual "Seek

your ancient mother; there the race of AEneas shall dwell, and

reduce all other nations to their sway." The Trojans heard with

joy, and immediately began to ask one another, "Where is the spot

intended by the oracle?" Anchises remembered that there was a

tradition that their forefathers came from Crete, and thither

they resolved to steer. They arrived at Crete, and began to

build their city, but sickness broke out among them, and the

fields that they had planted failed to yield a crop. In this

gloomy aspect of affairs, AEneas was warned in a dream to leave

the country, and seek a western land, called Hesperia, whence

Dardanus, the true founder of the Trojan race, had originally

migrated. To Hesperia, now called Italy, therefore, they

directed their future course, and not till after many adventures

and the lapse of time sufficient to carry a modern navigator

several times round the world, did they arrive there.

Their first landing was at the island of the Harpies:

"----The daughters of the earth and sea,

The dreadful snatchers, who like women were

Down to the breast, with scanty coarse black hair

About their heads, and dim eyes ringed with red,

And bestial mouths set round with lips of lead,

But from their gnarled necks there began to spring

Half hair, half feathers, and a sweeping wing

Grew out instead of arm on either side,

And thick plumes underneath the breast did hide

The place where joined the fearful natures twain.

Gray-feathered were they else, with many a stain

Of blood thereon, and on birds' claws they went.

Morris: Life and Death of Jason

The Harpies had been sent by the gods to torment a certain

Phineus, whom Jupiter had deprived of his sight in punishment of

his cruelty; and whenever a meal was placed before him, the

Harpies darted down from the air and carried it off. They were

driven away from Phineus by the heroes of the Argonautic

expedition, and took refuge in the island where AEneas now found

them.

When they entered the port the Trojans saw herds of cattle

roaming over the plain. They slew as many as they wished, and

prepared for a feast. But no sooner had they seated themselves

at the table, than a horrible clamor was heard in the air, and a

flock of odious Harpies came rushing down upon them, seizing in

their talons the meat from the dishes, and flying away with it.

AEneas and his companions drew their swords and dealt vigorous

blows among the monsters, but to no purpose, for they were so

nimble it was almost impossible to hit them, and their feathers

were like armor impenetrable to steel. One of them, perched on a

neighboring cliff, screamed out, "Is it thus, Trojans, you treat

us innocent birds, first slaughter our cattle, and then make war

on ourselves?" She then predicted dire sufferings to them in

their future course, and having vented her wrath flew away. The

Trojans made haste to leave the country, and next found

themselves coasting along the shore of Epirus. Here they landed,

and to their astonishment learned that certain Trojan exiles, who

had been carried there as prisoners, had become rulers of the

country. Andromache, the widow of Hector, became the wife of one

of the victorious Grecian chiefs, to whom she bore a son. Her

husband dying, she was left regent of the country, as guardian of

her son, and had married a fellow-captive, Helenus, of the royal

race of Troy. Helenus and Andromache treated the exiles with the

utmost hospitality, and dismissed them loaded with gifts.

From hence AEneas coasted along the shore of Sicily, and passed

the country of Cyclopes. Here they were hailed from the shore by

a miserable object, whom by his garments, tattered as they were,

they perceived to be a Greek. He told them he was one of

Ulysses' companions, left behind by that chief in his hurried

departure. He related the story of Ulysses' adventure with

Polyphemus, and besought them to take him off with them, as he

had no means of sustaining his existence where he was, but wild

berries and roots, and lived in constant fear of the Cyclopes.

While he spoke Polyphemus made his appearance; a terrible

monster, shapeless, vast, whose only eye had been put out. He

walked with cautious steps, feeling his way with a staff, down to

the sea-side, to wash his eye-socket in the waves. When he

reached the water, he waded out towards them, and his immense

height enabled him to advance far into the sea, so that the

Trojans, in terror, took to their oars to get out of his way.

Hearing the oars, Polyphemus shouted after them, so that the

shores resounded, and at the noise the other Cyclopes came forth

from their caves and woods, and lined the shore, like a row of

lofty pine trees. The Trojans plied their oars, and soon left

them out of sight.

AEneas had been cautioned by Helenus to avoid the strait guarded

by the monsters Scylla and Charybdis. There Ulysses, the reader

will remember, had lost six of his men, seized by Scylla, while

the navigators were wholly intent upon avoiding Charybdis.

AEneas, following the advice of Helenus, shunned the dangerous

pass and coasted along the island of Sicily.

Juno, seeing the Trojans speeding their way prosperously towards

their destined shore, felt her old grudge against them revive,

for she could not forget the slight that Paris had put upon her,

in awarding the prize of beauty to another. In heavenly minds

can such resentments dwell! Accordingly she hastened to AEolus,

the ruler of the winds, the same who supplied Ulysses with

favoring gales, giving him the contrary ones tied up in a bag.

AEolus obeyed the goddess and sent forth his sons, Boreas, Typhon

and the other winds, to toss the ocean. A terrible storm ensued,

and the Trojan ships were driven out of their course towards the

coast of Africa. They were in imminent danger of being wrecked,

and were separated, so that AEneas thought that all were lost

except his own.

At this crisis, Neptune, hearing the storm raging, and knowing

that he had given no orders for one, raised his head above the

waves, and saw the fleet of AEneas driving before the gale.

Knowing the hostility of Juno, he was at no loss to account for

it, but his anger was not the less at this interference in his

province. He called the winds, and dismissed them with a severe

reprimand. He then soothed the waves, and brushed away the

clouds from before the face of the sun. Some of the ships which

had got on the rocks he pried off with his own trident, while

Triton and a sea-nymph, putting their shoulders under others, set

them afloat again. The Trojans, when the sea became calm, sought

the nearest shore, which was the coast of Carthage, where AEneas

was so happy as to find that one by one the ships all arrived

safe, though badly shaken.

Waller, in his Panegyric to the Lord Protector (Cromwell),

alludes to this stilling of the storm by Neptune:

"Above the waves, as Neptune showed his face,

To chide the winds and save the Trojan race,

So has your Highness, raised above the rest,

Storms of ambition tossing us repressed.."

DIDO

Carthage, where the exiles had now arrived, was a spot on the

coast of Africa opposite Sicily, where at that time a Tyrian

colony under Dido their queen, were laying the foundations of a

state destined in later ages to be the rival of Rome itself.

Dido was the daughter of Belus, king of Tyre, and sister of

Pygmalion who succeeded his father on the throne. Her husband

was Sichaeus, a man of immense wealth, but Pygmalion, who coveted

his treasures, caused him to be put to death. Dido, with a

numerous body of followers, both men and women, succeeded in

effecting their escape from Tyre in several vessels, carrying

with them the treasures of Sichaeus. On arriving at the spot

which they selected as the seat of their future home, they asked

of the natives only so much land as they could enclose with a

bull's hide. When this was readily granted, she caused the hide

to be cut into strips, and with them enclosed a spot on which she

built a citadel, and called it Byrsa (a hide). Around this fort

the city of Carthage rose, and soon became a powerful and

flourishing place.

Such was the state of affairs when AEneas with his Trojans

arrived there. Dido received the illustrious exiles with

friendliness and hospitality. "Not unacquainted with distress,"

she said, "I have learned to succor the unfortunate." The

queen's hospitality displayed itself in festivities at which

games of strength and skill were exhibited. The strangers

contended for the palm with her own subjects on equal terms, the

queen declaring that whether the victor were "Trojan or Tyrian

should make no difference to her." At the feast which followed

the games, AEneas gave at her request a recital of the closing

events of the Trojan history and his own adventures after the

fall of the city. Dido was charmed with his discourse and filled

with admiration of his exploits. She conceived an ardent passion

for him, and he for his part seemed well content to accept the

fortunate chance which appeared to offer him at once a happy

termination of his wanderings, a home, a kingdom, and a bride.

Months rolled away in the enjoyment of pleasant intercourse, and

it seemed as if Italy and the empire destined to be founded on

its shores were alike forgotten. Seeing which, Jupiter

dispatched Mercury with a message to AEneas recalling him to a

sense of his high destiny, and commanding him to resume his

voyage.

AEneas, under this divine command, parted from Dido, though she

tried every allurement and persuasion to detain him. The blow to

her affection and her pride was too much for her to endure, and

when she found that he was gone, she mounted a funeral-pile which

she had caused to be prepared, and, having stabbed herself, was

consumed with the pile. The flames rising over the city were

seen by the departing Trojans, and, though the cause was unknown,

gave to AEneas some intimation of the fatal event.

We find in "Elegant Extracts" the following epigram:

From the Latin

"Unhappy, Dido, was thy fate

In first and second married state!

One husband caused thy flight by dying,

Thy death the other caused by flying."

Dr. Johnson was once challenged to make an epigram on the

syllables di,do,dum. He immediately replied in these lines:

"When Dido found Aeneas would not come,

She wept in silence, and was Dido dumb.

PALINURUS

After touching at the island of Sicily, where Acestes, a prince

of Trojan lineage, bore sway, who gave them a hospitable

reception, the Trojans re-embarked, and held on their course for

Italy. Venus now interceded with Neptune to allow her son at

last to attain the wished-for goal, and find an end of his perils

on the deep. Neptune consented, stipulating only for one life as

a ransom for the rest. The victim was Palinurus, the pilot. As

he sat watching the stars, with his hand on the helm, Somnus,

sent by Neptune, approached in the guise of Phorbas and said,

"Palinurus, the breeze is fair, the water smooth, and the ship

sails steadily on her course. Lie down a while and take needful

rest. I will stand at the helm in your place." Palinurus

replied, "Tell me not of smooth seas or favoring winds, me who

have seen so much of their treachery. Shall I trust AEneas to

the chances of the weather and winds?" And he continued to grasp

the helm and to keep his eyes fixed on the stars. But Somnus

waved over him a branch moistened with Lethaean dew, and his eyes

closed in spite of all his efforts. Then Somnus pushed him

overboard and he fell; but keeping his hold upon the helm it came

away with him. Neptune was mindful of his promise, and kept the

ship on her track without helm or pilot, till Aeneas discovered

his loss, and, sorrowing deeply for his faithful steersman, took

charge of the ship himself.

There is a beautiful allusion to the story of Palinurus in

Scott's Marmion, Introduction to Canto I., where the poet,

speaking of the recent death of William Pitt, says:

"Oh, think how, to his latest day,

When death just hovering claimed his prey,

With Palinure's unaltered mood,

Firm at his dangerous post he stood;

Each call for needful rest repelled,

With dying hand the rudder held,

Till in his fall, with fateful sway,

The steerage of the realm gave way."

The ships at last reached the shores of Italy, and joyfully did

the adventurers leap to land. While his people were employed in

making their encampment AEneas sought the abode of the Sibyl. It

was a cave connected with a temple and grove, sacred to Apollo

and Diana. While Aeneas contemplated the scene, the Sibyl

accosted him. She seemed to know his errand, and under the

influence of the deity of the place burst forth in a prophetic

strain, giving dark intimations of labors and perils through

which he was destined to make his way to final success. She

closed with the encouraging words which have become proverbial:

"Yield not to disasters, but press onward the more bravely."

AEneas replied that he had prepared himself for whatever might

await him. He had but one request to make. Having been directed

in a dream to seek the abode of the dead in order to confer with

his father Anchises to receive from him a revelation of his

future fortunes and those of his race, he asked her assistance to

enable him to accomplish the task. The Sibyl replied, "The

descent to Avernus is easy; the gate of Pluto stands open night

and day; but to retrace one's steps and return to the upper air,

that is the toil, that the difficulty. She instructed him to

seek in the forest a tree on which grew a golden branch. This

branch was to be plucked off, to be borne as a gift to

Proserpine, and if fate was propitious, it would yield to the

hand and quit its parent trunk, but otherwise no force could rend

it away. If torn away, another would succeed.

AEneas followed the directions of the Sibyl. His mother Venus

sent two of her doves to fly before him and show him the way, and

by their assistance he found the tree, plucked the branch, and

hastened back with it to the Sibyl.

Chapter XXV

The Infernal Regions The Sibyl

At the commencement of our series we have given the pagan account

of the creation of the world, so as we approach its conclusion,

we present a view of the regions of the dead, depicted by one of

their most enlightened poets, who drew his doctrines from their

most esteemed philosophers. The region where Virgil places the

entrance into this abode, is perhaps the most strikingly adapted

to excite ideas of the terrific and preternatural of any on the

face of the earth. It is the volcanic region near Vesuvius,

where the whole country is cleft with chasms from which

sulphurous flames arise, while the ground is shaken with pent-up

vapors, and mysterious sounds issue from the bowels of the earth.

The lake Avernus is supposed to fill the crater of an extinct

volcano. It is circular, half a mile wide, and very deep,

surrounded by high banks, which in Virgil's time were covered

with a gloomy forest. Mephitic vapors rise from its waters, so

that no life is found on its banks, and no birds fly over it.

Here, according to the poet, was the cave which afforded access

to the infernal regions, and here AEneas offered sacrifices to

the infernal deities, Proserpine, Hecate, and the Furies. Then a

roaring was heard in the earth, the woods on the hill-tops were

shaken, and the howling of dogs announced the approach of the

deities. "Now," said the Sibyl, "summon up your courage, for you

will need it." She descended into the cave, and AEneas followed.

Before the threshold of Hades they passed through a group of

beings who are Griefs and avenging Cares, pale Diseases and

melancholy Age, Fear and Hunger that tempt to crime, Toil,

Poverty, and Death, forms horrible to view. The Furies spread

their couches there, and Discord, whose hair was of vipers tied

up with a bloody fillet. Here also were the monsters, Briareus

with his hundred arms, Hydras hissing, and Chimaeras breathing

fire. AEneas shuddered at the sight, drew his sword and would

have struck, had not the Sibyl restrained him. They then came to

the black river Cocytus, where they found the ferryman, Charon,

old and squalid, but strong and vigorous, who was receiving

passengers of all kinds into his boat, high-souled heroes, boys

and unmarried girls as numerous as the leaves that fall at

autumn, or the flocks that fly southward at the approach of

winter. They stood pressing for a passage, and longing to touch

the opposite shore. But the stern ferryman took in only such as

he chose, driving the rest back. AEneas, wondering at the sight,

asked the Sibyl, "Why this discrimination?: She answered, "Those

who are taken on board the bark are the souls of those who have

received due burial rites; the host of others who have remained

unburied, are not permitted to pass the flood, but wander a

hundred years, and flit to and fro about the shore, till at last

they are taken over." AEneas grieved at recollecting some of his

own companions who had perished in the storm. At that moment he

beheld Palinurus, his pilot, who fell overboard and was drowned.

He addressed him and asked him the cause of his misfortune.

Palinurus replied that the rudder was carried away, and he,

clinging to it, was swept away with it. He besought Aeneas most

urgently to extend to him his hand and take him in company to the

opposite shore. But the Sibyl rebuked him for the wish thus to

transgress the laws of Pluto, but consoled him by informing him

that the people of the shore where his body had been wafted by

the waves, should be stirred up by the prodigies to give it the

burial, and that the promontory should bear the name of Cape

Palinurus, which it does to this day. Leaving Palinurus consoled

by these words, they approached the boat. Charon, fixing his

eyes sternly upon the advancing warrior, demanded by what right

he, living and armed, approached the shore. To which the Sibyl

replied that they would commit no violence, that AEneas's only

object was to see his father, and finally exhibited the golden

branch, at sight of which Charon's wrath relaxed, and he made

haste to turn his back to the shore, and receive them on board.

The boat, adapted only to the light freight of bodiless spirits,

groaned under the weight of the hero. They were soon conveyed to

the opposite shore. There they were encountered by the three-

headed dog Cerberus, with his necks bristling with snakes. He

barked with all his three throats till the Sibyl threw him a

medicated cake, which he eagerly devoured, and then stretched

himself out in his den and fell asleep. AEneas and the Sibyl

sprang to land. The first sound that struck their ears was the

wailing of young children, who had died on the threshold of life,

and near to these were they who had perished under false charges.

Minos presides over them as judge, and examines the deeds of

each. The next class was of those who had died by their own

hand, hating life and seeking refuge in death. Oh, how willingly

would they now endure poverty, labor, and any other infliction,

if they might but return to life! Next were situated the regions

of sadness, divided off into retired paths, leading through

groves of myrtle. Here roamed those who had fallen victims to

unrequited love, not freed from pain even by death itself. Among

these, AEneas thought he descried the form of Dido, with a wound

still recent. In the dim light he was for a moment uncertain,

but approaching perceived it was indeed herself. Tears fell from

his eyes, and he addressed her in the accents of love. "Unhappy

Dido! Was then the rumor true that you had perished? And was I,

alas! the cause! I call the gods to witness that my departure

from you was reluctant, and in obedience to the commands of Jove;

nor could I believe that my absence would have cost you so dear.

Stop, I beseech you, and refuse me not a last farewell." She

stood for a moment with averted countenance, and eyes fixed on

the ground, and then silently passed on, as insensible to his

pleadings as a rock. AEneas followed for some distance; then,

with a heavy heart, rejoined his companion and resumed his route.

They next entered the fields where roam the heroes who have

fallen in battle. Here they saw many shades of Grecian and

Trojan warriors. The Trojans thronged around him, and could not

be satisfied with the sight. They asked the cause of his coming,

and plied him with innumerable questions. But the Greeks, at the

sight of his armor glittering through the murky atmosphere,

recognized the hero, and filled with terror turned their backs

and fled, as they used to flee on the plains of Troy.

AEneas would have lingered long with his Trojan friends but the

Sibyl hurried him away. They next came to a place where the road

divided, the one leading to Elysium, the other to the regions of

the condemned. AEneas beheld on one side the walls of a mighty

city, around which Phlegethon rolled its fiery waters. Before

him was the gate of adamant that neither gods nor men can break

through. An iron tower stood by the gate, on which Tisiphone,

the avenging Fury, kept guard. From the city were heard groans,

and the sound of the scourge, the creaking of iron, and the

clanking of chains. AEneas, horror-struck, inquired of his guide

what crimes were those whose punishments produced the sounds he

hear? The Sibyl answered, "Here is the judgment-hall of

Rhadamanthus, who brings to light crimes done in life, which the

perpetrator vainly thought impenetrably hid. Tisiphone applies

her whip of scorpions, and delivers the offender over to her

sister Furies. At this moment with horrid clang the brazen gates

unfolded, and AEneas saw within, a Hydra with fifty heads,

guarding the entrance. The Sibyl told him that the Gulf of

Tartarus descended deep, so that its recesses were as far beneath

their feet as heaven was high above their heads. In the bottom

of this pit, the Titan race, who warred against the gods, lie

prostrate; Salmoneus, also, who presumed to vie with Jupiter, and

built a bridge of brass over which he drove his chariot that the

sound might resemble thunder, launching flaming brands at his

people in imitation of lightning, till Jupiter struck him with a

real thunderbolt, and taught him the difference between mortal

weapons and divine. Here, also, is Tityus, the giant, whose form

is so immense that as he lies, he stretches over nine acres,

while a vulture preys upon his liver, which as fast as it is

devoured grows again, so that his punishment will have no end.

AEneas saw groups seated at tables loaded with dainties, while

near by stood a Fury who snatched away the viands from their

lips, as fast as they prepared to taste them. Others beheld

suspended over their heads huge rocks, threatening to fall,

keeping them in a state of constant alarm. These were they who

had hated their brothers, or struck their parents, or defrauded

the friends who trusted them, or who having grown rich, kept

their money to themselves, and gave no share to others; the last

being the most numerous class. Here also were those who had

violated the marriage vow, or fought in a bad cause, or failed in

fidelity to their employers. Here was one who had sold his

country for gold, another who perverted the laws, making them say

one thing today and another tomorrow.

Ixion was there fastened to the circumference of a wheel

ceaselessly revolving; and Sisyphus, whose task was to roll a

huge stone up to a hill-top, but when the steep was well-nigh

gained, the rock, repulsed by some sudden force, rushed again

headlong down to the plain. Again he toiled at it, while the

sweat bathed all his weary limbs, but all to no effect. There

was Tantalus, who stood in a pool, his chin level with the water,

yet he was parched with thirst, and found nothing to assuage it;

for when he bowed his hoary head, eager to quaff, the water fled

away, leaving the ground at his feet all dry. Tall trees laden

with fruit stooped their heads to him, pears, pomegranates,

apples and luscious figs; but when with a sudden grasp he tried

to seize them, winds whirled them high above his reach.

The Sibyl now warned AEneas that it was time to turn from these

melancholy regions and seek the city of the blessed. They passed

through a middle tract of darkness, and came upon the Elysian

fields, the groves where the happy reside. They breathed a freer

air, and saw all objects clothed in a purple light. The region

has a sun and stars of its own. The inhabitants were enjoying

themselves in various ways, some in sports on the grassy turf, in

games of strength or skill, others dancing or singing. Orpheus

struck the chords of his lyre, and called forth ravishing sounds.

Here AEneas saw the founders of the Trojan state, high-souled

heroes who lived in happier times. He gazed with admiration on

the war-chariots and glittering arms now reposing in disuse.

Spears stood fixed in the ground, and the horses, unharnessed,

roamed over the plain. The same pride in splendid armor and

generous steeds which the old heroes felt in life, accompanied

them here. He saw another group feasting, and listening to the

strains of music. They were in a laurel grove, whence the great

river Po has its origin, and flows out among men. Here dwelt

those who fell by wounds received in their country's cause, holy

priests, also, and poets who have uttered thoughts worthy of

Apollo, and others who have contributed to cheer and adorn life

by their discoveries in the useful arts, and have made their

memory blessed by rendering service to mankind. They wore snow-

white fillets about their brows. The Sibyl addressed a group of

these, and inquired where Anchises was to be found. They were

directed where to seek him, and soon found him in a verdant

valley, where he was contemplating the ranks of his posterity,

their destinies and worthy deeds to be achieved in coming times.

When he recognized AEneas approaching, he stretched out both

hands to him, while tears flowed freely. "Have you come at

last," said he, "long expected and do I behold you after such

perils past? O my son, how have I trembled for you as I have

watched your career!" To which AEneas replied, O father! Your

image was always before me to guide and guard me. Then he

endeavored to enfold his father in his embrace, but his arms

enclosed only an unsubstantial image.

AEneas perceived before him a spacious valley, with trees gently

waving to the wind, a tranquil landscape, through which the river

Lethe flowed. Along the banks of the stream wandered a countless

multitude, numerous as insects in the summer air. AEneas, with

surprise, inquired who were these. Anchises answered, "They are

souls to which bodies are to be given in due time. Meanwhile

they dwell on Lethe's bank, and drink oblivion of their former

lives." "Oh, father!" said AEneas, "is it possible that any can

be so in love with life, as to wish to leave these tranquil seats

for the upper world?" Anchises replied by explaining the plan of

creation. The Creator, he told him, originally made the material

of which souls are composed, of the four elements, fire, air,

earth, and water, all which, when united, took the form of the

most excellent part, fire, and became FLAME. This material was

scattered like seed among the heavenly bodies, the sun, moon, and

stars. Of this seed the inferior gods created man and all other

animals, mingling it with various proportions of earth, by which

its purity was alloyed and reduced. Thus the more earth

predominates in the composition, the less pure is the individual;

and we see men and women with their full-grown bodies have not

the purity of childhood. So in proportion to the time which the

union of body and soul has lasted, is the impurity contracted by

the spiritual part. This impurity must be purged away after

death, which is done by ventilating the souls in the current of

winds, or merging them in water, or burning out their impurities

by fire. Some few, of whom Anchises intimates that he is one,

are admitted at once to Elysium, there to remain. But the rest,

after the impurities of earth are purged away, are sent back to

life endowed with new bodies, having had the remembrance of their

former lives effectually washed away by the waters of Lethe.

Some, however, there still are, so thoroughly corrupted, that

they are not fit to be entrusted with human bodies, and these are

made into brute animals, lions, tigers, cats, dogs, monkeys, etc.

This is what the ancients called Metempsychosis, or the

transmigration of souls; a doctrine which is still held by the

natives of India, who scruple to destroy the life, even of the

most insignificant animal, not knowing but it may be one of their

relations in an altered form.

Anchises, having explained so much, proceeded to point out to

AEneas individuals of his race, who were hereafter to be born,

and to relate to him the exploits they should perform in the

world. After this he reverted to the present, and told his son

of the events that remained to him to be accomplished before the

complete establishment of himself and his followers in Italy.

Wars were to be waged, battles fought, a bride to be won, and in

the result a Trojan state founded, from which should rise the

Roman power, to be in time the sovereign of the world.

AEneas and the Sybil then took leave of Anchises, and returned by

some short cut, which the poet does not explain, to the upper

world.

The Egyptian name of Hades was Amenti. In the Revision of the

Scriptures the Revising Commission has substituted the word Hades

where "hell" was used in the version of King James.

ELYSIUM

Virgil, we have seen, places his Elysium under the earth, and

assigns it for a residence to the spirits of the blessed. But in

Homer Elysium forms no part of the realms of the dead. He places

it on the west of the earth, near Ocean, and described it as a

happy land, where there is neither snow, nor cold, nor rain, and

always fanned by the delightful breezes of Zephyrus. Hither

favored heroes pass without dying, and live happy under the rule

of Rhadamanthus. The Elysium of Hesiod and Pindar is in the

Isles of the Blessed, or Fortunate Islands, in the Western Ocean.

From these sprang the legend of the happy island Atlantis. This

blissful region may have been wholly imaginary, but possibly may

have sprung from the reports of some storm-driven mariners who

had caught a glimpse of the coast of America.

James Russell Lowell, in one of his shorter poems, claims for the

present age some of the privileges of that happy realm.

Addressing the Past, he says,

"Whatever of true life there was in thee,

Leaps in our age's veins.

. . . . . .

"Here, 'mid the bleak waves of our strife and care,

Float the green 'Fortunate Isles,'

Where all thy hero-spirits dwell and share

Our martyrdoms and toils.

The present moves attended

With all of brave and excellent and fair

That made the old time splendid."

Milton alludes to the same fable in Paradise Lost, Book III.,

1.568.

"Like those Hesperian gardens famed of old,

Fortunate fields and groves and flowery vales,

Thrice happy isles."

And in Book II. he characterizes the rivers of Erebus according

to the meaning of their names in the Greek language:

"Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate,

Sad Acheron of sorrow black and deep;

Cocytus named of lamentation loud

Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon

Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.

Far off from these a slow and silent stream.

Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls

Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks

Forthwith his former state and being forgets,

Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain."

THE SIBYL

As AEneas and the Sibyl pursued their way back to earth, he said

to her, "Whether thou be a goddess or a mortal beloved by the

gods, by me thou shalt always be held in reverence. When I reach

the upper air, I will cause a temple to be built to thy honor,

and will myself bring offerings." "I am no goddess," said the

Sibyl; "I have no claim to sacrifice or offering. I am mortal;

yet if I could have accepted the love of Apollo, I might have

been immortal. He promised me the fulfilment of my wish, if I

would consent to be his. I took a handful of sand, and holding

it forth, said, 'Grant me to see as many birthdays as there are

sand-grains in my hand.' Unluckily I forgot to ask for enduring

youth. This also he would have granted, could I have accepted

his love, but offended at my refusal, he allowed me to grow old.

My youth and youthful strength fled long ago. I have lived seven

hundred years, and to equal the number of the sand-grains, I have

still to see three hundred springs and three hundred harvests.

My body shrinks up as years increase, and in time, I shall be

lost to sight, but my voice will remain, and future ages will

respect my sayings."

These concluding words of the Sibyl alluded to her prophetic

power. In her cave she was accustomed to inscribe on leaves

gathered from the trees the names and fates of individuals. The

leaves thus inscribed were arranged in order within the cave, and

might be consulted by her votaries. But if perchance at the

opening of the door the wind rushed in and dispersed the leaves,

the Sibyl gave no aid to restoring them again, and the oracle was

irreparably lost.

The following legend of the Sibyl is fixed at a later date. In

the reign of one of the Tarquins there appeared before the king a

woman who offered him nine books for sale. The king refused to

purchase them, whereupon the woman went away and burned three of

the books, and returning offered the remaining books for the same

price she had asked for the nine. The king again rejected them;

but when the woman, after burning three books more, returned and

asked for the three remaining the same price which she had before

asked for the nine, his curiosity was excited, and he purchased

the books. They were found to contain the destinies of the Roman

state. They were kept in the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus,

preserved in a stone chest, and allowed to be inspected only by

especial officers appointed for that duty, who on great occasions

consulted them and interpreted their oracles to the people.

There were various Sibyls; but the Cumaean Sibyl, of whom Ovid

and Virgil write, is the most celebrated of them. Ovid's story

of her life protracted to one thousand years may be intended to

represent the various Sibyls as being only reappearances of one

and the same individual.

It is now believed that some of the most distinguished Sibyls

took the inspiration of their oracles from the Jewish scripture.

Readers interested in this subject will consult, "Judaism," by

Prof. F. Huidekoper.

Young, in the Night Thoughts, alludes to the Sibyl. Speaking of

worldly Wisdom, he says:

"If future fate she plans 'tis all in leaves,

Like Sibyl, unsubstantial, fleeting bliss;

At the first blast it vanishes in air.

. . . . .

As worldly schemes resemble Sibyl's leaves,

The good man's days to Sibyl's books compare,

The price still rising as in number less."

Chapter XXVI

Camilla Evander Nisus and Euryalus Mezentius Turnus

AEneas, having parted from the Sibyl and rejoined his fleet,

coasted along the shores of Italy and cast anchor in the mouth of

the Tiber. The poet Virgil, having brought his hero to this

spot, the destined termination of his wanderings, invokes his

Muse to tell him the situation of things at that eventful moment.

Latinus, third in descent from Saturn, ruled the country. He was

now old and had no male descendant, but had one charming

daughter, Lavinia, who was sought in marriage by many neighboring

chiefs, one of whom, Turnus, king of the Rutulians, was favored

by the wishes of her parents. But Latinus had been warned in a

dream by his father Faunus, that the destined husband of Lavinia

should come from a foreign land. From that union should spring a

race destined to subdue the world.

Our readers will remember that in the conflict with the Harpies,

one of those half-human birds had threatened the Trojans with

dire sufferings. In particular she predicted that before their

wanderings ceased they should be pressed by hunger to devour

their tables. This portent now came true; for as they took their

scanty meal, seated on the grass, the men placed their hard

biscuit on their laps, and put thereon whatever their gleanings

in the woods supplied. Having dispatched the latter they

finished by eating the crusts. Seeing which, the boy Iulus said

playfully, "See, we are eating our tables." AEneas caught the

words and accepted the omen. "All hail, promised land!" he

exclaimed, "this is our home, this our country!" He then took

measures to find out who were the present inhabitants of the

land, and who their rulers. A hundred chosen men were sent to

the village of Latinus, bearing presents and a request for

friendship and alliance. They went and were favorably received.

Latinus immediately concluded that the Trojan hero was no other

than the promised son-in-law announced by the oracle. He

cheerfully granted his alliance and sent back the messengers

mounted on steeds from his stables, and loaded with gifts and

friendly messages.

Juno, seeing things go thus prosperously for the Trojans, felt

her old animosity revive, summoned the Fury Alecto from Erebus,

and sent her to stir up discord. The Fury first took possession

of the queen, Amata, and roused her to oppose in every way the

new alliance. Alecto then sped to the city of Turnus, and

assuming the form of an old priestess, informed him of the

arrival of the foreigners and of the attempts of their prince to

rob him of his bride. Next she turned her attention to the camp

of the Trojans. There she saw the boy Iulus and his companions

amusing themselves with hunting. She sharpened the scent of the

dogs, and led them to rouse up from the thicket a tame stag, the

favorite of Silvia, the daughter of Tyrrheus, the king's

herdsman. A javelin from the hand of Iulus wounded the animal,

and he had only strength left to run homewards, and died at his

mistress' feet. Her cries and tears roused her brothers and the

herdsmen, and they, seizing whatever weapons came to hand,

furiously assaulted the hunting party. These were protected by

their friends, and the herdsmen were finally driven back with the

loss of two of their number.

These things were enough to rouse the storm of war, and the

queen, Turnus, and the peasants, all urged the old king to drive

the strangers from the country. He resisted as long as he could,

but finding his opposition unavailing, finally gave way and

retreated to his retirement.

OPENING THE GATES OF JANUS

It was the custom of the country, when war was to be undertaken,

for the chief magistrate, clad in his robes of office, with

solemn pomp to open the gates of the temple of Janus, which were

kept shut as long as peace endured. His people now urged the old

king to perform that solemn office, but he refused to do so.

While they contested, Juno herself, descending from the skies,

smote the doors with irresistible force and burst them open.

Immediately the whole country was in a flame. The people rushed

from every side breathing nothing but war.

Turnus was recognized by all as leader; others joined as allies,

chief of whom was Mezentius, a brave and able soldier, but of

detestable cruelty. He had been the chief of one of the

neighboring cities, but his people drove him out. With him was

joined his son Lausus, a generous youth worthy of a better sire.

CAMILLA

Camilla, the favorite of Diana, a huntress and warrior, after the

fashion of the Amazons, came with her band of mounted followers,

including a select number of her own sex, and ranged herself on

the side of Turnus. This maiden had never accustomed her fingers

to the distaff or the loom, but had learned to endure the toils

of war, and in speed to outstrip the wind. It seemed as if she

might run over the standing corn without crushing it, or over the

surface of the water without dipping her feet. Camilla's history

had been singular from the beginning. Her father, Metabus,

driven from his city by civil discord, carried with him in his

flight his infant daughter. As he fled through the woods, his

enemies in hot pursuit, he reached the bank of the river

Amazenus, which, swelled by rains, seemed to debar a passage. He

paused for a moment, then decided what to do. He tied the infant

to his lance with wrappers of bark, and, poising the weapon in

his upraised hand, thus addressed Diana: "Goddess of the woods!

I consecrate this maid to you;" then hurled the weapon with its

burden to the opposite bank. The spear flew across the roaring

water. His pursuers were already upon him, but he plunged into

the river and swam across, and found the spear with the infant

safe on the other side. Thenceforth he lived among the

shepherds, and brought up his daughter in woodland arts. While a

child she was taught to use the bow and throw the javelin. With

her sling she could bring down the crane or the wild swan. Her

dress was a tiger's skin. Many mothers sought her for a

daughter-in-law, but she continued faithful to Diana, and

repelled the thought of marriage.

There is an allusion to Camilla in those well-known lines of

Pope, in which, illustrating the rule that "the sound should be

an echo to the sense," he says,

"When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,

The line too labors and the words move slow.

Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,

Flies o'er th'unbendng corn or skims along the main."

Essay on Criticism