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Chapter 1: Arms and the man I sing, who, forced by fate and haughty Juno's unrelenting hate, expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore. Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore, and in the doubtful war, before he won the Latian realm and built the destined town; his banished gods restored to rites divine, and settled sure succession in his line, from whence the race of Alban fathers come, and the long glories of majestic Rome. O Muse! The causes and the crimes relate; what goddess was provoked, and whence her hate; for what offense the Queen of Heaven began to persecute so brave, so just a man; involved his anxious life in endless cares, exposed to wants, and hurried into wars! Can heavenly minds such high resentment show, or exercise their spite in human woe?

Chapter 2: All were attentive to the godlike man, who, from his lofty couch, began: "Great queen, what you command me to relate renews the sad remembrance of our fate: An empire from its old foundations rent, and every woe the Trojans underwent; a peopled city made a desert place; all that I saw, and part of which I was: Not even the hardest of our foes could hear, nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear. And now the latter watch of wasting night, and setting stars, to kindly rest invite; but, since you take such interest in our woe, and Troy's disastrous end desire to know, I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell what in our last and fatal night befell. By destiny compelled, and in despair, the Greeks grew weary of the tedious war, and by Minerva's aid a fabric reared, which like a steed of monstrous height appeared: the sides were planked with pine; they feigned it made for their return, and this the vow they paid. Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side selected numbers of their soldiers hide: with inward arms the dire machine they load, and iron bowels stuff the dark abode. In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle renowned for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay, where ships exposed to wind and weather lay. There was their fleet concealed. We thought, for Greece their sails were hoisted, and our fears release. The Trojans, cooped within their walls so long, unbar their gates, and issue in a throng, like swarming bees, and with delight survey the camp deserted, where the Grecians lay: the quarters of the several chiefs they showed; here Phoenix, here Achilles, made abode; here joined the battles; there the navy rode. Part on the pile their wondering eyes employ: the pile by Pallas raised to ruin Troy.

Chapter 3: "When Heaven had overturned the Trojan state and Priam's throne, by too severe a fate; when ruined Troy became the Grecians' prey, and Ilium's lofty towers in ashes lay; warned by celestial omens, we retreat, to seek in foreign lands a happier seat. Near old Antandros, at Ida's foot, we cut the timber of the sacred groves and build our fleet; uncertain yet to find what place the gods for our repose assigned. Friends daily flock; and scarcely had the spring clothed the ground, when old Anchises summoned all to sea: the crew my father and the Fates obey. 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 joined. 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, named from me, the city call. To Dionaean Venus vows are paid, and all the powers 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 pulled 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 distilled upon the ground. Mute and amazed, my hair with terror stood; fear shrunk my sinews, and congealed my blood. Manned once again, another plant I try: that other gushed with the same sanguine dye. Then, fearing guilt for some offense unknown, with prayers 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. Cleared, as I thought, and fully fixed 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, renewed my fright, and then these dreadful words ensued: 'Why dost thou thus my buried body rend? O spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend! Spare to pollute thy pious hands with blood: the tears distil not from the wounded wood; but every drop this living tree contains is kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins. O fly from this inhospitable shore, warned by my fate; for I am Polydore! Here loads of lances, in my blood imbrued, again shoot upward, by my blood renewed.' My faltering tongue and shivering limbs declare my horror, and in bristles rose my hair. When Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent, old Priam, fearful of the war's event, this hapless Polydore to Thracia sent: loaded with gold, he sent his darling, far from noise and tumults, and destructive war, committed to the faithless tyrant's care; who, when he saw the power of Troy decline, forsook the weaker, with the strong to join; broke every bond of nature and of truth, and murdered, for his wealth, the royal youth. O sacred hunger of pernicious gold! What bands of faith can impious lucre hold? Now, when my soul had shaken off her fears, I call my father and the Trojan peers; relate the prodigies of Heaven, require what he commands, and their advice desire. All vote to leave that execrable shore, polluted with the blood of Polydore; but, ere we sail, his funeral rites prepare, then, to his ghost, a tomb and altars rear. In mournful pomp the matrons walk the round, with baleful cypress and blue fillets crowned, with eyes dejected, and with hair unbound. Then bowls of tepid milk and blood we pour, and thrice invoke the soul of Polydore. Now, when the raging storms no longer reign, but southern gales invite us to the main, we launch our vessels, with a prosperous wind, and leave the cities and the shores behind. An island in the Aegean main appears; Neptune and watery Doris claim it theirs. It floated once, till Phoebus fixed the sides to rooted earth, and now it braves the tides. Here, borne by friendly winds, we come ashore, with needful ease our weary limbs restore, and the Sun's temple and his town adore. Anius, the priest and king, with laurel crowned, his hoary locks with purple fillets bound, who saw my sire the Delian shore ascend, came forth with eager haste to meet his friend; invites him to his palace; and, in sign of ancient love, their plighted hands they join. Then to the temple of the god I went, and thus, before the shrine, my vows present: 'Give, O Thymbraeus, give a resting place to the sad relics of the Trojan race; a seat secure, a region of their own, a lasting empire, and a happier town. Where shall we fix? where shall our labors end? Whom shall we follow , and what fate attend? Let not my prayers a doubtful answer find; but in clear auguries unveil thy mind.' Scarce had I said: he shook the holy ground, the laurels, and the lofty hills around; and from the tripod rushed a bellowing sound. Prostrate we fell; confessed the present god, who gave this answer from his dark abode: 'Undaunted youths, go, seek that mother earth from which your ancestors derive their birth. The soil that sent you forth, her ancient race in her old bosom shall again embrace. Through the wide world the Aenean house shall reign, and children's children shall the crown sustain.' Thus Phoebus did our future fates disclose: a mighty tumult, mixed with joy, arose. All are concerned to know what place the god assigned, and where determined our abode. My father, long revolving in his mind the race and lineage of the Trojan kind, thus answered their demands: 'Ye princes, hear your pleasing fortune, and dispel your fear. The fruitful isle of Crete, well known to fame, sacred of old to Jove's imperial name, in the mid-ocean lies, with large command, and on its plains a hundred cities stand. Another Ida rises there, and we from thence derive our Trojan ancestry. From thence, as 'tis divulged by certain fame, to the Rhoetean shores old Teucrus came; there fixed, and there the seat of empire chose, ere Ilium and the Trojan towers arose. In humble vales they built their soft abodes, till Cybele, the mother of the gods, with tinkling cymbals charmed the Idaean woods. She secret rites and ceremonies taught, and to the yoke the savage lions brought. Let us the land which Heaven appoints, explore; appease the winds, and seek the Gnossian shore. If Jove assists the passage of our fleet, the third propitious dawn discovers Crete.' Thus having said, the sacrifices, laid on smoking altars, to the gods he paid: a bull, to Neptune an oblation due, another bull to bright Apollo slew; a milk-white ewe, the western winds to please, and one coal-black, to calm the stormy seas. Ere this, a flying rumor had been spread that fierce Idomeneus from Crete was fled, expelled and exiled; that the coast was free from foreign or domestic enemy. We leave the Delian ports, and put to sea; by Naxos, famed for vintage, make our way; then green Donysa pass; and sail in sight of Paros' isle, with marble quarries white. We pass the scattered isles of Cyclades, that, scarce distinguished, seem to stud the seas. The shouts of sailors double near the shores; they stretch their canvas, and they ply their oars. 'All hands aloft! for Crete! for Crete!' they cry, and swiftly through the foamy billows fly. Full on the promised land at length we bore, with joy descending on the Cretan shore. With eager haste, a rising town I frame, which from the Trojan Pergamus I name: the name itself was grateful; I exhort to found their houses, and erect a fort. Our ships are hauled upon the yellow strand; the youth begin to till the labored land; and I myself new marriages promote, give laws, and dwellings I divide by lot; when rising vapors choke the wholesome air, and blasts of noisome winds corrupt the year; the trees devouring caterpillars burn; parched was the grass, and blighted was the corn: nor 'scape the beasts; for Sirius, from on high, with pestilential heat infects the sky: my men—some fall, the rest in fevers fry. Again my father bids me seek the shore of sacred Delos, and the god implore, to learn what end of woes we might expect, and to what clime our weary course direct.

Chapter 4: But anxious cares already seized the queen: She fed within her veins a flame unseen; The hero's valor, acts, and birth inspire Her soul with love, and fan the secret fire. His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart, Improve the passion, and increase the smart. Now, when the purple morn had chased away The dewy shadows, and restored the day, Her sister first with early care she sought, And thus in mournful accents eased her thought: "My dearest Anna, what new dreams affright My laboring soul! What visions of the night Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast With strange ideas of our Trojan guest! His worth, his actions, and majestic air, A man descended from the gods declare. Fear ever argues a degenerate kind; His birth is well asserted by his mind. Then, what he suffered, when by Fate betrayed! What brave attempts for falling Troy he made! Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke, That, were I not resolved against the yoke Of hapless marriage, never to be cursed With second love, so fatal was my first, To this one error I might yield again; For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain, This only man is able to subvert The fixed foundations of my stubborn heart. And, to confess my frailty, to my shame, Somewhat I find within, if not the same, Too like the sparkles of my former flame. But first let yawning earth a passage rend, And let me through the dark abyss descend; First let avenging Jove, with flames from high, Drive down this body to the nether sky, Condemned with ghosts in endless night to lie, Before I break the plighted faith I gave! No! He who had my vows shall ever have; For, whom I loved on earth, I worship in the grave." She said: the tears ran gushing from her eyes, And stopped her speech. Her sister thus replies: "O dearer than the vital air I breathe, Will you to grief your blooming years bequeath, Condemned to waste in woes your lonely life, Without the joys of mother or of wife? Think you these tears, this pompous train of woe, Are known or valued by the ghosts below?

Chapter 5: Meantime the Trojan cuts his watery way, fixed on his voyage through the curling sea; then, casting back his eyes, sees on the Punic shore the mounting blaze. His presaging mind divined Dido’s fate from the fire; he knew the stormy souls of womankind and their eager passions. Dire auguries from hence the Trojans draw until neither fires nor shining shores are seen. Now seas and skies their prospect only bound; an empty space above, a floating field around. Soon the heavens with shadows were o'erspread; a swelling cloud hung hovering over their head: Livid it looked, threatening a storm. Then night and horror deformed ocean’s face. The pilot, Palinurus, cried aloud: "What gusts of weather from that gathering cloud my thoughts presage! Ere the tempest roars, stand to your tackle, mates, and stretch your oars; contract your sails, and luff to wind." The frightened crew performed the task assigned. Then to his fearless chief: "Not Heaven, though Jove himself should promise Italy, can stem this raging sea. Mark how the shifting winds arise, and what collected night involves the skies! Nor can our shaken vessels live at sea, much less against the tempest force their way. Fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey. Not far from hence, if I observed aright the southing of the stars, Sicilia lies, whose hospitable shores in safety we may reach with struggling oars." Aeneas then replied: "Too sure I find we strive in vain against the seas and wind: shift your sails; what place can please me more than the Sicilian shore, where Anchises' bones lie, and a prince of Trojan lineage reigns?" The course resolved, they scud before the western wind and make the port assigned.

Chapter 6: He said, and wept; then spread his sails before the winds and reached the Cumaean shore. They dropped anchor and moored their vessels. The crew joyfully greeted the Italian land, gathering sticks and kindling flames, while Aeneas ascended the sacred hill to seek the Sibyl. Deep in a cave, she made her abode, returning full of fate and of the god. They entered the temple roofed with gold, where Daedalus had built to honor Phoebus, and viewed the intricately embossed scenes of Androgeos' death and the Minotaur's labyrinth . The pious prince marveled until Achates and the Sibyl, Deiphobe, arrived. She urged haste: "Time suffers not; prepare the sacrifice." Seven bullocks and seven unspotted ewes were chosen for Phoebus and Diana. Aeneas, following the Sibyl into a cave with a hundred doors, asked for his destinies. As the god took control, the Sibyl's appearance changed, and she cried out in prophetic fury: "Wars, horrid wars, I see. Your troops shall reach the coast but face greater dangers on land. Fierce Juno's hate and a new Achilles await you." Aeneas prayed for guidance, promising temples and annual rites for the gods. The Sibyl, under the god's control, revealed that only by securing a golden bough from a sacred tree could Aeneas descend to the underworld. Aeneas, seeking the tree, followed two doves, symbols of his mother, Venus. They led him to the golden bough, which he plucked with ease, signifying divine favor. He returned, ready to undertake the perilous journey to the underworld.

Chapter 7: Here, dying, thou, O matron of immortal fame, left thy name; Cajeta still the place is called, the nurse of great Aeneas' infancy. Now, when the prince her funeral rites had paid, he sailed the Tyrrhene seas. From land a gentle breeze arose by night, serenely shone the stars, the moon bright, and the sea trembled with her silver light. Now near the shelves of Circe's shores they run, Circe, daughter of the Sun, a dangerous coast. The goddess wastes her days in joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays. She spends the night spinning or at the loom, and cedar brands supply her father's light. From hence were heard, rebelling to the main, lions' roars, boars' grunts, bears' groans, and herds of howling wolves. Darkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe's power, with words and wicked herbs, from humankind had altered, and in brutal shapes confined. Neptune, propitious, steered their course by night with rising gales that sped their happy flight. Supplied with these, they skim the sounding shore and hear the swelling surges vainly roar. Now, when the rosy morn began to rise and waved her saffron streamer through the skies, when Thetis blushed in purple not her own, a sudden silence sat upon the sea, and sweeping oars struggled. The Trojan, from the main, beheld a wood thick with shades and a brown horror stood. Betwixt the trees the Tiber took his course, rolling yellow billows to the sea. The captain commands; the joyful train glides through the gloomy shade, and leaves the main.

Chapter 8: Turnus assembled his powers and planted his standard on Laurentum's towers. The trumpet signaled the approaching war, rousing the youth to prepare and rush headlong into battle. Fierce Ufens, Messapus, and bold Mezentius led the crowd, blaspheming aloud. They foraged the fields and gathered forces. Venulus was sent to Diomede to seek aid against the common danger: Aeneas, with his banished gods and host, aspired to conquest and claimed a divine title. Diomede was to weigh the growing storm and potential consequences. Meanwhile, Aeneas, troubled by the tempest prepared by his foes, turned his anxious mind, exploring various counsels in vain. Weary nature lulled all to sleep, but the Trojan chief found solace on Tiber's banks. In his dream, the father of the Roman flood appeared, clad in an azure robe and wreath of reeds, and reassured Aeneas of his destined success. The vision promised peace, a sign of a sow with thirty white young, and instructed him to ally with Evander's Arcadian band. Aeneas woke, performed the morning rites, and set off, finding the prophesied sow. He sacrificed it to Juno, smoothing his passage on the Tiber. His ships sailed effortlessly, greeted by shouts and omens. They reached Evander’s humble kingdom, where the Trojans were welcomed. Aeneas sought Evander's alliance, recounting their shared lineage and common enemies. Evander, recalling his youthful admiration for Anchises, offered aid and hospitality, invoking their gods.

Chapter 9: While these affairs in distant places passed, Juno sent Iris to find Turnus, who was in deep thought. She found him and said, "Aeneas has left the Trojan camp defenseless. Seize this opportunity and attack their lines." Inspired, Turnus rallied his forces. Messapus led the van, and Turnus towered above the rest. They advanced majestically, like a flowing river. The Trojans saw the dust cloud and prepared for battle. Caicus alerted his fellows, and they manned the walls. Aeneas had instructed them to stay within the lines and not engage in open battle. Turnus rode around the camp, looking for weaknesses. He found the Trojan fleet unguarded by the walls and began to set it on fire. The Trojans watched in horror, but the goddess Cybele turned the ships into nymphs, saving them from destruction. Turnus and his men were shocked, but he rallied them, saying that the Trojans were now trapped with no escape. The Trojan camp was thrown into chaos, and the young Euryalus and Nisus decided to take advantage of the sleeping Rutulians to find Aeneas and bring him back. They killed many sleeping enemies, but Euryalus's helmet gave away their position. Euryalus was captured, and Nisus, in a desperate attempt to save his friend, killed several Rutulians but ultimately fell with Euryalus. Turnus displayed their heads on spears, demoralizing the Trojans. Ascanius, filled with rage, killed Numanus, a boastful Rutulian, with an arrow. Apollo praised Ascanius but warned him to stay out of the fight. The Trojans fortified their defenses and prepared for the renewed attack.

Chapter 10: The gates of heaven open: Jove summons all the gods to council. Seated, he surveys the war and all the world. He begins: "Ye gods, why this change of mind? Why this protracted war when I pronounced peace? A lawful time of war will come when Carthage contends with Rome. Let now your dissension cease." Venus replies: "O power immense, see how the Rutulians dare in fields unpunished. Aeneas has left the camp defenseless. Shall Troy be forced and fired again? If fates averse, my progeny receive the Latian lands, bear the pains of violated law. If the gods promise Italy, who dares debate Jove's power?" Saturnia responds: "Must I own my secret smart? Did god or man advise your son to surprise the Latians? By fate, you boast he left his land for Italy! Did I persuade him to trust his second Troy to a beardless boy? You think it hard the Latians destroy your Trojans with swords and fire. Your son, you say, is absent; let him be. Why prepare these arms and provoke a war? Did I with fire deface the Trojan town?" Juno's murmur rises with applause. Jupiter replies, "Since the Trojans must not join the Latian line, the war be resigned to fate. Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me. The fates will find their way." The senate rises and waits on their sovereign. Intent upon their siege, the foes enclose the Trojan host. They wound, kill, watch at every gate. The Aeneans wish in vain for their chief. Thin on the towers they stand, a fainting crew. Among them stand bold brothers of Sarpedon's blood, with others resolute to die. They defend with firebrands, arrows, and stones. The beautiful boy, Venus's care, appears with his lovely face unarmed. Meantime, Aeneas seeks the Tyrrhene camp. He proposes terms, tells of proud Mezentius's vengeance , and Turnus's violent designs. Tarchon signs the treaty, and their forces set sail, trusting a foreign hand. Aeneas leads, pondering war's events and fate, with young Pallas at his side. Nereids, once his galleys, now nymphs, surround Aeneas's ship. Cymodoce speaks for all, warning him: "O goddess-born, awake! Pursue your course. Young Ascanius is distressed, and your foes are hard-pressed. Arm your soldiers and bear the fated sword and shield tomorrow." She pushes the ship forward, and Aeneas prays to the Great Mother of the deities. The camp sees the sign and prepares for battle. Turnus, seeing the renewed fight and the Trojan fleet, urges his friends: "Yours is the day. Take the time while they stagger. Fortune favors the bold." He prepares to prevent the landing, while Aeneas's troops come ashore. The battle begins with Aeneas prevailing. Theron, Gyas, and others fall. Aeneas leads, filled with fury, scattering deaths around. Ascanius and the Trojan train break from the camp. Meanwhile, Jove and his queen converse, watching the events unfold.

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