Book 7
ethereal, their nostrils breathing fire:
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the famous kind which guileful Circe bred,
cheating her sire, and mixed the sun-god's team
with brood-mares earthly born. The sons of Troy,
such gifts and greetings from Latinus bearing,
rode back in pomp his words of peace to bring.
But lo! from Argos on her voyage of air
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rides the dread spouse of Jove. She, sky-enthroned
above the far Sicilian promontory,
pachynus, sees Dardania's rescued fleet,
and all Aeneas' joy. The prospect shows
houses a-building, lands of safe abode,
and the abandoned ships. With bitter grief
she stands at gaze: then with storm-shaken brows,
thus from her heart lets loose the wrathful word:
“O hated race! O Phrygian destinies —
to mine forevermore (unhappy me!)
a scandal and offense! Did no one die
on Troy's embattled plain? Could captured slaves
not be enslaved again? Was Ilium's flame
no warrior's funeral pyre? Did they walk safe
through serried swords and congregated fires?
At last, methought, my godhead might repose,
and my full-fed revenge in slumber lie.
But nay! Though flung forth from their native land,
I o'er the waves, with enmity unstayed,
dared give them chase, and on that exiled few
hurled the whole sea. I smote the sons of Troy
with ocean's power and heaven's. But what availed
Syrtes, or Scylla, or Charybdis' waves?
The Trojans are in Tiber; and abide
within their prayed-for land delectable,
safe from the seas and me! Mars once had power
the monstrous Lapithae to slay; and Jove
to Dian's honor and revenge gave o'er
the land of Calydon. What crime so foul
was wrought by Lapithae or Calydon?
But I, Jove's wife and Queen, who in my woes
have ventured each bold stroke my power could find,
and every shift essayed,—behold me now
