Bkiii:Iii Stand Firm

The passion of the public, demanding what is wrong, never shakes the man of just and firm intention, from his settled purpose, nor the tyrant’s threatening face, nor the winds the stormy masters of the troubled Adriatic, nor Jupiter’s mighty hand with its lightning: if the heavens fractured in their fall, still their ruin would strike him, unafraid. By these means Pollux, and wandering Hercules, in their effort, reached the fiery citadels, where Augustus shall recline one day, drinking nectar to stain his rosy lips. Bacchus, for such virtues your tigers drew you, pulling at the yoke holding their untamed necks: for these virtues, Romulus, escaped with horses that were Mars’, from Acheron, while Juno, in the council of the gods, spoke welcome words: ‘Ilium, Ilium is in the dust, through both Paris’s fatal, sinful judgement, and that foreign woman: Ilium was mine, and virgin Minerva’s, and its citizens, and its treacherous king, from the time when Laomedon robbed the gods, withholding the payment agreed. The infamous guest no longer shines for his Spartan adulteress, nor does Priam’s house, betrayed, hold back the fierce Achaeans, with Hector’s help: now the ten-year battle, which our quarrels long extended, is ended. From this moment on I’ll abandon my fierce anger, and I’ll restore my hated grandson, he who was born of a priestess of Troy, to Mars: I’ll allow him to enter the regions of light, and to drink sweet nectar, and to be enrolled, and take his place, here, among the quiet ranks of the gods. Let the exiles rule happily in any place they choose, so long as there’s a width of sea, roaring, between Ilium and Rome, so long as the cattle trample over the tombs of Paris and of Priam, and wild beasts hide their offspring there with impunity: and let their Capitol stand gleaming, let warlike Rome make laws for conquered Medes. Let her extend her dreaded name to farthest shores, there where the straits separate Africa and Europe, there where the swollen Nile irrigates the lands beside the river, firm in ignoring gold still undiscovered, that’s better where it is while earth conceals it, than mining it for our human use, with hands that grasp everything that’s sacred. Whatever marks the boundaries of the world, let Rome’s might reach it, eager to see regions where solar fires perform their revels, or places where the mists and rain pour down. But I prophesy such fate for her warlike citizens, with this proviso: that they show no excess of piety, or faith in their powers, wishing to rebuild Troy’s ancestral roofs. Troy’s fortunes would revive with evil omens, and they’d repeat their sad disaster, while I, who am Jove’s wife and sister, would lead the victorious armies. If her bronze walls were to rise again three times with Apollo’s help, three times they’d be destroyed, shattered by my Argives, and, three times, the captive wife would mourn sons and husband.’ What are you saying, Muse? This theme doesn’t suit the happy lyre. Stop wilfully repeating divine conversations, and weakening great matters with these trivial metres.