Poetry Reading, Fall 1998
The Aeneid by Vergil, II. 268-297
| Tempus erat, quo prima quies mortalibus aegris incipit et dono divum gratissima serpit. In somnis, ecce, ante oculos maestissimus Hector visus adesse mihi largosque effundere fletus, raptatus bigis, ut quondam, aterque cruento pulvere perque pedes traiectus lora tumentis. Ei mihi, qualis erat! Quantum mutatus ab illo Hectore, qui redit exuvias indutus Achilli vel Danaum Phrygios iaculatus puppibus ignis! Squalentem barbam et concretos sanguine crinis volneraque illa gerens, quae circum plurima muros accepit patrios. Ultro flens ipse videbar compellare virum et maestas expromere voces: 'O lux Dardaniae, spes o fidissima Teucrum, quae tantae tenuere morae? Quibus Hector ab oris exspectate venis? Ut te post multa tuorum funera, post varios hominumque urbisque labores defessi aspicimus! Quae causa indigna serenos foedavit voltus? Aut cur haec volnera cerno?' Ille nihil, nec me quaerentem vana moratur, sed graviter gemitus imo de pectore ducens, 'Heu! Fuge, nate dea, teque his,' ait, 'eripe flammis. Hostis habet muros; ruit alto a culmine Troia. Sat patriae Priamoque datum: si Pergama dextra defendi possent, etiam hac defensa fuissent. Sacra suosque tibi commendat Troia Penates: hos cape fatorum comites, his moenia quaere, magna pererrato statues quae denique ponto.' Sic ait, et manibus vittas Vestamque potentem aeternumque adytis effert penetralibus ignem. |
That time of night it was when the first sleep, Gift of the gods, begins for ill mankind, Arriving gradually, delicious rest. In sleep, in dream, Hector appeared to me. Gaunt with sorrow, streaming tears, all torn-- As by the violent car on his death day-- And black with bloody dust, His puffed-out feet cut by the rawhide thongs. Ah god, the look of him! How changed From that proud Hector who returned to Troy Wearing Achilles' armor, or that one Who pitched the torches on Danaan ships; His beard all filth, his hair matted with blood, Showing the wounds, the many wounds, received Outside his father's city walls. I seemed Myself to weep and call upon the man. In grieving Speech, brought from the depth of me: 'Light of Dardania, best hope of Troy, What kept you from us for so long, and where? From what far place, O Hector, have you come, Long, long awaited? After so many deaths Of friends and brothers, after a world of pain For all our folk and all our town, at last, Boneweary, we behold you! What has happened To ravage your serene face? Why these wounds?' He wasted no reply on my poor questions But heaved a great sigh from his chest and said: 'Ai! Give up and go, child of the goddess, Save yourself, out of these flames. The enemy Holds the city walls, and from her height Troy falls in ruin. Fatherland and Priam Have their due; if by one hand our towers Could be defended, by this hand, my own, They would have been. Her holy things, her gods Of hearth and household Troy commends to you. Accept them as companions of your days; Go find for them the great walls that one day You'll dedicate, when you have roamed the sea.' As he said this, he brought out from the sanctuary Chaplets and Vesta, Lady of the Hearth With her eternal fire. |
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