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
Away they go to an ancient wood, the wild beast’s tall
covert—down go the pitch-trees; the holm-oak rings with
the axe’s blows, and so do the ashen beams; the wedge
cleaves through the fissile[212] oak; they roll down from the
heights huge mountain ashes. There is Æneas, in this, 30
as in other labours, the first to cheer on his comrades, and
wielding a weapon like theirs; and thus he ponders in the
sad silence of his own breast, looking at the immeasurable
wood, and thus gives utterance to his prayer: “Oh that
at this moment that golden branch on the tree would reveal 35
itself to our sight in all this depth of forest! for I see that
in all things the prophetess has told us of you, Misenus,
alas! too truly!” Scarce had he spoken, when, as by
chance, a pair of doves come flying along the sky, under the
hero’s very eyes, and settle on the turf at his feet. At once
the mighty chief recognizes his mother’s birds, and gladly
breathes a second prayer: “Oh guide us on our way, wherever
it be, and as ye fly direct our steps into the grove 5
where the precious branch casts its shade on the rich
ground! Thou too forsake not our perplexity, O goddess
mother!” Thus much he said, and checked his advancing
foot, watching to see what prognostics they bring, whither
they aim their onward course. They, as they graze, go 10
ever forward on the wing, as far as the eyes of the travellers
can keep them in view. Then when they come to Avernus’
noisome jaws, swiftly they soar aloft, and gliding through
the clear sky, settle twain on the same tree, their chosen
seat, whence there flashed through the branches the contrasted 15
gleam of gold. Even as in the woods, in the cold of
midwinter, the mistletoe is wont to put forth new leaves, a
vegetable growth, but of no parent tree, and with its
yellow produce to surround the tapering boles, so looked
the leafy gold among the holm-oak’s dark shade—so in the 20
light breeze tinkled the foil. Æneas snatches it at once,
plucks it off with eagerness overpowering its delay, and
carries it to the home of the prophetic Sibyl.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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