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With sighs and tears I leave my native shore, And empty fields, where Ilium stood before. My sire, my son, our less and greater gods, All sail at once, and cleave the briny floods. "Against our coast appears a spacious land, Which once the fierce Lycurgus did command, (Thracia the name-the people bold in war; Vast are their fields, and tillage is their care,) A hospitable realm while Fate was kind, With Troy in friendship and religion join'd. I land; with luckless omens then adore Their gods, and draw a line along the shore; I lay the deep foundations of a wall, And Aenos, nam'd from me, the city call. To Dionaean Venus vows are paid, And all the pow'rs that rising labors aid; A bull on Jove's imperial altar laid. Not far, a rising hillock stood in view; Sharp myrtles on the sides, and cornels grew. There, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes, And shade our altar with their leafy greens, I pull'd a plant-with horror I relate A prodigy so strange and full of fate. The rooted fibers rose, and from the wound Black bloody drops distill'd upon the ground. Mute and amaz'd, my hair with terror stood; Fear shrunk my sinews, and congeal'd my blood. Mann'd once again, another plant I try: That other gush'd with the same sanguine dye. Then, fearing guilt for some offense unknown, With pray'rs and vows the Dryads I atone, With all the sisters of the woods, and most The God of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast, That they, or he, these omens would avert, Release our fears, and better signs impart. Clear'd, as I thought, and fully fix'd at length To learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength: I bent my knees against the ground; once more The violated myrtle ran with gore. Scarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb Of wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb, A groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew'd My fright, and then these dreadful words ensued: 'Why dost thou thus my buried body rend? |