Book 4
unto that prince of Troy who tarries now
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in Tyrian Carthage, heedless utterly
of empire Heaven-bestowed. On winged winds
hasten with my decrees. Not such the man
his beauteous mother promised; not for this
twice did she shield him from the Greeks in arms:
but that he might rule Italy, a land
pregnant with thrones and echoing with war;
that he of Teucer's seed a race should sire,
and bring beneath its law the whole wide world.
If such a glory and event supreme
enkindle not his bosom; if such task
to his own honor speak not; can the sire
begrudge Ascanius the heritage
of the proud name of Rome? What plans he now?
What mad hope bids him linger in the lap
of enemies, considering no more
the land Lavinian and Ausonia's sons.
Let him to sea! Be this our final word:
this message let our herald faithful bear.”
He spoke. The god a prompt obedience gave
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to his great sire's command. He fastened first
those sandals of bright gold, which carry him
aloft o'er land or sea, with airy wings
that race the fleeting wind; then lifted he
his wand, wherewith he summons from the grave
pale-featured ghosts, or, if he will, consigns
to doleful Tartarus; or by its power
gives slumber or dispels; or quite unseals
the eyelids of the dead: on this relying,
he routs the winds or cleaves th' obscurity
of stormful clouds. Soon from his flight he spied
the summit and the sides precipitous
of stubborn Atlas, whose star-pointing peak
props heaven; of Atlas, whose pine-wreathed brow
is girdled evermore with misty gloom
and lashed of wind and rain; a cloak of snow
melts on his shoulder; from his aged chin
drop rivers, and ensheathed in stiffening ice
glitters his great grim beard. Here first was stayed
