The Æneid of Virgil translated into English proseVirgil
General
The Æneid of Virgil translated into English prose
Virgil
Aeneas (Legendary character); Epic poetry, Latin -- Translations into English; Legends -- Rome
Soon as the ships gained the mid-ocean, and no land met 10
the view any more—waters everywhere and everywhere
skies—a dark rain-cloud arose and stood over the hero’s
head, charged with night and winter tempest, and darkness
ruffled the billow’s crest. Palinurus himself, the pilot,
was heard from the lofty stern:—“Ah! why has such an 15
army of storms encompassed the heaven? What hast
thou for us now, old Father Neptune?” No sooner said
than he bids them gather up the tackle and ply the lusty
oar, and shifts the sheet to the wind, and speaks thus:—“Noble
Æneas, though Jove himself were to pledge me 20
his faith, I could not hope to reach Italy with a sky like
this. The winds shift and storm crosswise, ever rising
from the blackening West, and the mist is being massed
into clouds. We cannot make head against them, or
struggle as we should. Well, since Fortune exerts her 25
tyranny, let us follow, and turn our faces as she pulls the
rein. I take it, too, we are not far from the friendly
brother-coast of your Eryx, and the havens of Sicania,
if my memory serves me as I retrace the stars I watched
long ago.” To him good Æneas:—“I have seen myself 30
this long time that such is the winds’ will, and all your
counter-efforts vain. Turn sail and ship. Could any
land indeed be welcomer, any that I would sooner choose
to harbour my weary ships, than the land which keeps for
me above ground the Darden Acestes, and laps in its breast 5
the bones of my sire Anchises?” This said, they make
for the haven; favouring zephyrs swell their sail, the fleet
rides swiftly over the flood, and at last they touch with
joy the strand they know so well.
From a hill’s tall top Acestes had marked with wonder 10
afar off the new arrival, and the friendly vessels; up he
runs, all in the savage trim of hunting-spear and Libyan
bearskin—Acestes, son of a Trojan mother by the river
Crimisus. The ancestral blood quickens in his veins as
he gives them joy of their safe arrival, welcomes them 15
with the plenty of rustic royalty, and soothes their weariness
with every kind appliance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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