The poems and translations of Sir Edward Sherburne (1616-1702) excluding Seneca and Manilius Introduced and Annotated by F. J. Van Beeck |
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The Beginning of Virgils Third Booke |
 | The poems and translations of Sir Edward Sherburne (1616-1702) |  |
The Beginning of Virgils Third Booke
Heaven having pleas'd to exterminate in fine
The Asian Realms, and Priams Guiltlesse Line,
Proud Ilium fall'n, Troy fumeing on the Ground,
Exile and Lands Deserted We propound
By Auspice of the Gods to seeke; provide
At old Antandros, under Phrygian Ide
A Fleet and Men to raise; uncertaine yet
Where Fates would steere our Course, where fix our Seat.
The Asian Realms, and Priams Guiltlesse Line,
Proud Ilium fall'n, Troy fumeing on the Ground,
Exile and Lands Deserted We propound
By Auspice of the Gods to seeke; provide
At old Antandros, under Phrygian Ide
A Fleet and Men to raise; uncertaine yet
Where Fates would steere our Course, where fix our Seat.
Summer was hardly yet begun, when straite
Father Anchises bid's Hoyse Sails to Fate.
Then native Shoars (Launching into the Flood)
With Tears I leave, and Feilds where once Troy stood,
Bourn with my Son, and my Associate Traine,
Small, and Great Gods, an Exile through the Main.
Father Anchises bid's Hoyse Sails to Fate.
Then native Shoars (Launching into the Flood)
With Tears I leave, and Feilds where once Troy stood,
Bourn with my Son, and my Associate Traine,
Small, and Great Gods, an Exile through the Main.
A Martial Land (stout Thracians till the Feilds)
To Fierce Lycurgus regal Honours yeilds,
A Hospitable Soyle, & People kind
To Troy While Fortune [fairly] was inclind.
Hither by Fates Malignity I'm driven,
Upon whose crooked shore (as Place was given)
A Town I soon erect, fence with a Line
And give it Name, Æneadæ, from Mine.
Rites to my Dionæan Dame, and Powres
Auspicious to such New Designs as Ours
I pay; and to the Gods Almighty King
On shore a white Bull slay for offering.
By chance Hard by a Tomb there was wch round
Speare-fourging Corneils, and sad Myrtles crownd.
This I approach; and with their Greens whilst I
(Some pull'd) my Altar seek to beautify,
A horrid and scarce able to be told,
A monstrous Miracle, I there behold.
For from the first Sprigg which from thence I tore
Issu'd forthwith black Dropps of bloody Gore.
And stain the Earth: a chilling horrour Shakes
My Limbs, and my cold Blood all frozen makes.
Againe I strive to pull a tender Sprout,
And seek to find the hidden Causes out.
Black Blood strait from this other Branch distilld.
Much mov'd thereat the Nymphs then of the Feild
I venerate; and Mars who Getic Lands
And warlike Thracian Colonies commands
To make the Vision prosperous, Omen vaine.
A Third Time after with more Strength, I straine
(My Knees clapt gainst the Ground) up by the Roote
To pull another verdant Spearlike Shoot.
When from the Tomb (speak shall I or desist?)
A voice I heare, with Sighs & Groans amidst,
Æneas why strivst Thou a Wretch to rend
In Peeces thus: my buried Corps befriend.
Forbeare thy Pious Hands to vilify
By such a Deed; to Thee no Stranger I.
Troy bore Me: nor from those Sprouts flowd the Gore.
Ah fly these cruel Lands: this faithlesse shore,
For I am Polydore: who here ly slaine.
Coverd with Darts, to Trees grown up againe.
With Terrors stupified thus strange & new
My Haire on End stood, my Tongue speechles grew.
To Fierce Lycurgus regal Honours yeilds,
A Hospitable Soyle, & People kind
To Troy While Fortune [fairly] was inclind.
Hither by Fates Malignity I'm driven,
Upon whose crooked shore (as Place was given)
A Town I soon erect, fence with a Line
And give it Name, Æneadæ, from Mine.
Rites to my Dionæan Dame, and Powres
Auspicious to such New Designs as Ours
I pay; and to the Gods Almighty King
118
By chance Hard by a Tomb there was wch round
Speare-fourging Corneils, and sad Myrtles crownd.
This I approach; and with their Greens whilst I
(Some pull'd) my Altar seek to beautify,
A horrid and scarce able to be told,
A monstrous Miracle, I there behold.
For from the first Sprigg which from thence I tore
Issu'd forthwith black Dropps of bloody Gore.
And stain the Earth: a chilling horrour Shakes
My Limbs, and my cold Blood all frozen makes.
Againe I strive to pull a tender Sprout,
And seek to find the hidden Causes out.
Black Blood strait from this other Branch distilld.
Much mov'd thereat the Nymphs then of the Feild
I venerate; and Mars who Getic Lands
And warlike Thracian Colonies commands
To make the Vision prosperous, Omen vaine.
A Third Time after with more Strength, I straine
(My Knees clapt gainst the Ground) up by the Roote
To pull another verdant Spearlike Shoot.
When from the Tomb (speak shall I or desist?)
A voice I heare, with Sighs & Groans amidst,
Æneas why strivst Thou a Wretch to rend
In Peeces thus: my buried Corps befriend.
Forbeare thy Pious Hands to vilify
By such a Deed; to Thee no Stranger I.
Troy bore Me: nor from those Sprouts flowd the Gore.
Ah fly these cruel Lands: this faithlesse shore,
For I am Polydore: who here ly slaine.
Coverd with Darts, to Trees grown up againe.
With Terrors stupified thus strange & new
My Haire on End stood, my Tongue speechles grew.
This Polydore unto the Thracian Court
With a vast Summe of Gold for his support,
By Stealth Unhappy Priam sent, to be
There bredd, when his Dardan Forces He
Saw weaken'd & the Seege close carried on.
The Thracian King who found Troys fortune gon
Following the Greeks and their prevailing Powre
Breaks off All Right, murders young Polydore;
And on the Wealth He brought by force lays hold.
What will not the Sacred hunger of Gold
Force Man to dare? rid of my Terrors, I
Convoke the Noblest of my Company
Chiefly my Father; unto whom I tell
What fatall Prodigies to me befell.
And their Opinions what to doe, demand.
All give their Votes to quitt th'accursed Land.
Fly the polluted Guest-Place, and away.
To Polydore then funeral Rites we pay.
And on his Tomb a Mass of Earth we lay.
Altars to his sad Manes we erect,
With sea-greene Wreaths, and Cypresse Boughs bedeckt
Whilst Ilian Dames with Haires all loose & torne
About Them (as their Country's Custome) mourne.
Bowls of New Milk with sparkling Wine a Flood
Then Powre We forth, and Streams of sacred Blood.
With a vast Summe of Gold for his support,
By Stealth Unhappy Priam sent, to be
There bredd, when his Dardan Forces He
Saw weaken'd & the Seege close carried on.
The Thracian King who found Troys fortune gon
Following the Greeks and their prevailing Powre
Breaks off All Right, murders young Polydore;
And on the Wealth He brought by force lays hold.
What will not the Sacred hunger of Gold
119
Convoke the Noblest of my Company
Chiefly my Father; unto whom I tell
What fatall Prodigies to me befell.
And their Opinions what to doe, demand.
All give their Votes to quitt th'accursed Land.
Fly the polluted Guest-Place, and away.
To Polydore then funeral Rites we pay.
And on his Tomb a Mass of Earth we lay.
Altars to his sad Manes we erect,
With sea-greene Wreaths, and Cypresse Boughs bedeckt
Whilst Ilian Dames with Haires all loose & torne
About Them (as their Country's Custome) mourne.
Bowls of New Milk with sparkling Wine a Flood
Then Powre We forth, and Streams of sacred Blood.
Lastly his Soul downe in his Graves darke Cell
We lay, and lowdly bid the last farewell.
We lay, and lowdly bid the last farewell.
| The poems and translations of Sir Edward Sherburne (1616-1702) | |