Book 3

3. Warlike Mars, lay aside your shield and spear a while, be present, and free your shining locks from the helmet. Perhaps you yourself may ask what a poet has to do with Mars: from you the month I sing takes its name. You see yourself that fierce wars are waged by Minerva's hands: is she, for that, the less free for the liberal arts? By Pallas's example take a time for laying aside the spear: you will find something also to do unarmed. Then too you were unarmed, when the Roman priestess took you, that you might give great seed to this city. Silvia the Vestal (for why should I not begin from there?) was seeking water in the morning to wash the sacred things; she had come to the bank that slopes by a gentle path: the earthen urn is set down from the top of her head. Weary, she sat upon the ground and took the winds with open breast, and set her ruffled hair in order. While she sits, the shady willows and the singing birds brought on sleep, and the soft murmur of the water. Sweet rest stole stealthily over her conquered eyes, and her hand, grown languid, falls from her chin. Mars sees her, and seeing desires, and possesses her he desired, and hid his stealth by his divine power. Sleep departs; she lies, heavy: for now within her womb was the founder of the city of Rome. Languid she rises, nor knows why she rises languid, and, leaning on a tree, utters such words: 'May it be useful and of good omen, I pray, what in a dream's image we have seen — or was it clearer than a dream? I was at the Ilian fires, when, slipped from my hair, the woollen fillet fell before the sacred hearths. Then two palm-trees, wondrous to see, rose up together: of these the one was the taller, and with heavy branches had covered the whole world and had touched the topmost stars with its foliage. Behold, my uncle plies his sword against them: I am terrified at the warning, and my heart throbs with fear. A woodpecker, the bird of Mars, fights for the twin trunks and a she-wolf: by these both palms were kept safe.' She had spoken, and lifted the full urn with no firm strength; she had filled it while she told her dream. Meanwhile, as Remus grew, as Quirinus grew, her belly was swollen with the heavenly burden. With two signs now left for the bright god before the year should run out its finished course, Silvia becomes a mother. The images of Vesta are said to have put their virgin hands before their eyes; the goddess's altar surely trembled as her handmaid gave birth, and the frightened flame sank down into its own ashes. When Amulius learned this, that scorner of right (for he held in victory the wealth seized from his brother), he bids the twins be drowned in the river; the wave shrinks from the crime; the boys are left upon the dry ground. Who does not know the infants grew on the milk of a wild beast, and that a woodpecker often brought food to the exposed ones? Nor would I pass you in silence, Larentia, nurse of so great a race, nor your humble service, poor Faustulus. Your honour shall come, when I tell of the Larentalia: December, welcome to the spirits, holds that feast. The offspring of Mars had grown to thrice six years, and a new beard was now beneath their golden hair; to all the farmers and the masters of the herds the brothers, sons of Ilia, gave justice when it was sought. Often they come home, glad with the blood of robbers, and drive back the rustled oxen into their own fields. When they heard their birth, the revealing of their father lifts their spirits, and they are ashamed to bear a name in a few huts. Amulius falls, pierced by Romulus's sword, and the kingdom is restored to the aged grandsire. Walls are founded, which, however small they were, it was yet not well for Remus to have leaped across. Now what had lately been woods and the haunts of cattle was a city, when the father of the eternal city said: 'Arbiter of arms, from whose blood I am believed to be born (and, that I may be believed, I shall give many pledges), from you we name the beginning of the Roman year: the first month shall be from my father's name.' The word is ratified, and he names the month from his father's name. This piety, they say, was pleasing to the god. And yet before all others the men of old worshipped Mars: this the warlike crowd had given to its own pursuits. The sons of Cecrops worship Pallas, Minoan Crete Diana, the land of Hypsipyle worships Vulcan, Sparta worships Juno, and Mycenae of Pelops's line, the Maenalian country the pine-crowned head of Faunus; Mars was to be revered by Latium, because he presides over arms: arms gave to a fierce nation both substance and glory. And if perhaps you have leisure, look into foreign calendars: in these too there will be a month with the name of Mars. It was the third with the Albans, the fifth with the Faliscans, the sixth among your people, Hernican land. Between the Aricians and the Alban dates it stands, and the high walls built by Telegonus's hand. The Laurentines have it fifth, fierce Aequiculus tenth, the people of Cures hold it first of three; and with you, Pelignian soldier, and your Sabine forefathers it agrees: to each of these nations the god is fourth. That Romulus might surpass all these at least in order, gave the first place in time to the author of his blood. Nor did the ancients have as many Kalends as now: their year was shorter by two months. Greece had not yet handed her conquered arts to her conquerors, a race eloquent but ill-suited to war; he who fought well had known the Roman art: he who could throw javelins was the eloquent one. Who then had marked the Hyades or the Atlantean Pleiades, or that there were twin poles beneath the sky? That there are two Bears, of which Cynosura is steered by the Sidonians, while the Greek keel marks Helice? That the signs which the brother surveys in a long year, through these the sister's horses go in a single month? The stars ran free and unobserved through the year; yet it was agreed that there were gods. They did not hold the signs gliding in the sky, but their own, which it was a great crime to lose. They had standards of hay, indeed; but there was reverence for the hay, as much as you see your eagles have now. A long pole carried the bundles hung upon it, from which the common soldier (manipularis) has his name. So minds untaught and as yet without reason spent their lustres in less than ten months. It was a year when the moon had taken back her tenth orb: this number was then in great honour; whether because so many are the fingers by which we are wont to count, or because in the twice fifth month a woman gives birth, or because by counting upward the increase comes as far as ten, and from there a beginning is taken for new spans. From there Romulus divided the fathers, a hundred at a time, into bands of ten, and established the spearmen, ten companies; and as many in the front rank, as many in the rear the rear-rank held, and the same number who served on the lawful horse. Nay more, he gave as many divisions to the Titienses, and to those they call the Ramnes, and to the Luceres. So he kept the accustomed numbers in the year. For this span the mourning wife laments her husband. And that you may not doubt that the Kalends of March were first, to these tokens you may turn your mind: the laurel which has stood through the whole year for the flamens is taken down, and the new leaves are in honour; then the king's door grows green with the planted tree of Phoebus: the same is done before your doors, ancient senate-house. That Vesta too may shine, veiled in fresh leaf, the white laurel yields from the Ilian hearths; add that a new fire is said to be made in the secret shrine, and the renewed flame takes on strength. Nor is it a small proof to me that the years went from here before, because Anna Perenna began to be worshipped in this month. Hence too the ancient honours are recorded, gently won, up to the time of your war, treacherous Carthaginian. In short, the fifth from this was Quintilis, and from there begins whoever has a name from a number. Pompilius, brought to Rome from the olive-bearing fields, first perceived that two months were lacking, whether taught this by the Samian, who thinks that we can be born again, or at his own Egeria's prompting. But yet the seasons were still going astray, until this too was among Caesar's many cares. That god, the author of so great a line, did not think these things beneath his offices, and wished to know in advance the heaven promised to him, nor as a god to enter unknown homes a stranger. He is said to have set in order, the records being worked out, the delays of the sun by which it returns to its own signs. He joined to the three hundred sixty days five more, and a fifth part of a full day. This is the measure of the year: to the lustrum should be added one day, which is made up of the parts.

'If it is allowed to hear the hidden warnings of the gods from poets, as fame surely thinks is allowed, since you are fit, Gradivus, for manly offices, tell me why the matrons keep your festival.' So I. So Mavors, his helmet laid aside, said to me, yet in his right hand was a throwing-spear: 'Now for the first time I, a god useful in arms, am summoned to the pursuits of peace and bring my steps into a new camp, nor do I regret the venture; I am glad to linger in this field too, lest Minerva think that she alone has this power. Learn, laborious poet of the Latin days, what you seek, and mark my words in a mindful heart. Rome was small, if you wish to recall her first beginnings, yet in that small place was hope of this present greatness. The walls already stood, too narrow for the peoples to come, but then thought too ample for their own throng. If you ask what the palace of my son was, look at his house of reed and straw. On straw he took the gifts of peaceful sleep, and yet from that couch he came to the stars. And now the Roman had a name greater than his place, yet he had neither wife nor any father-in-law. The wealthy neighbours scorned poor sons-in-law, and I was ill believed to be the author of his blood. It harmed him to have dwelt in stables and pastured sheep and to hold a few acres of untilled soil. Birds and beasts each mate with their own kind, and the snake too has some mate from which to breed; the right of marriage is given to the farthest nations: but no woman was there who would wed a Roman. I grieved, and gave you, Romulus, your father's spirit: "Lay aside prayers," I said; "what you seek arms will give." He prepares a feast for Consus. Consus will tell you the rest done on that day, when you sing his rites. Cures swelled with anger, and those whom the same grief touched: then for the first time a father-in-law brought arms against his kin. And now the ravished women had almost the name of mothers too, and the kindred wars had been drawn out by long delay: the wives gather in the temple named of Juno, among whom my daughter-in-law dared to speak thus: "O ravished alike (since we hold this in common), we can no longer be slow in our piety. The battle-lines stand; but choose for which side the gods are to be asked: on this side a husband, on that a father holds arms. The question is, whether you would rather be made widows or orphans: I will give you counsel, brave and pious." She had given counsel: they obey and loose their hair and clothe their sad bodies in funeral garb. Now the lines had stood, ready for the sword and for death, now the trumpet was about to give the signal for battle: when the ravished women come between fathers and husbands, and hold in their bosoms their children, dear pledges. When with streaming hair they reached the middle of the field, they fell down on bended knee to the earth, and, as though they understood, the grandchildren with coaxing cries stretched their little arms to their grandfathers: who could, cried 'grandfather' to the one then first seen, and who scarcely could, was forced to be able. The weapons and the spirits fall from the men, and the swords laid aside the fathers-in-law give and take the hands of their sons-in-law, and hold their praised daughters, and on his shield the grandfather carries his grandchild: this was the sweeter use of the shield. Hence the matrons of Oebalia hold it no slight task to keep the first day, my Kalends, either because, daring to engage with drawn swords, they had ended the wars of Mars with their tears; or because Ilia was happily made a mother by me, the matrons duly keep my rites and my day. What of this, that winter, veiled in frost, then at last yields, and the snows, fallen, perish in the warming sun; the leaves, shorn by the cold, return to the trees, and the moist bud swells on the tender shoot, and the fertile grass, which long lay hidden, now finds hidden ways by which it may rise into the air? Now the field is fruitful, now is the hour for breeding the flock, now the bird on the branch makes its roof and home: rightly do the Latin mothers keep the fruitful season, in whose childbearing is their warfare and their vows. Add that, where the Roman king kept his watch, on the hill that now has the name Esquiline, there by the Latin wives temples to Juno were on this day, if I remember, dedicated to the public. Why do I delay and burden your breast with various reasons? What you seek, behold, stands plain before your eyes. As mother I love the wives: the throng of mothers thronged about me: this so pious cause especially befits me.' Bring flowers to the goddess: this goddess delights in flowering herbs: with the tender flower bind your head; say: 'You, Lucina, gave us the light'; say: 'You are present at the vow of the woman in travail.' Yet if any is with child, let her pray with loosened hair, that the goddess may softly loose her labour.

Who will tell me now why the Salii bear the heavenly arms of Mars and sing of Mamurius? Instruct me, nymph who serve the grove and pool of Diana; nymph, wife of Numa, come to recount your deeds. In the Arician valley, girt by a shady wood, is a lake, sacred by ancient observance. Here Hippolytus lies hidden, torn apart by his horses' reins, whence no horses are admitted to that grove. Threads hang down, veiling the long hedges, and many a tablet is set up to the deserving goddess. Often a woman whose prayer is granted, her brow wreathed with garlands, carries lighted torches from the city. There the strong of hand and swift of foot hold the kingship, and each afterward perishes by his own example. A stony stream flows down with uncertain murmur: often, but in scanty draughts, I have drunk from it. Egeria it is who supplies the waters, a goddess dear to the Camenae; she was the wife and the counsel of Numa. At first it pleased to soften the Quirites, too prone to war, by law and by the fear of the gods; hence laws were given, lest the stronger should have power over all, and rites handed down began to be kept in purity. Wildness is put off, and right is more powerful than arms, and it is shameful to have joined hands in strife with a fellow citizen; and a man, just now fierce, is changed at the sight of an altar and gives wine and salted meal to the warm hearths. Behold, the father of the gods scatters ruddy flames through the clouds and dries the air with the poured-out waters; never at other times did the hurled fires fall more thickly: the king is afraid, and terror holds the breasts of the crowd. To him the goddess said: 'Be not too greatly terrified! The thunderbolt can be expiated,' she said, 'and the anger of fierce Jove is bent; but Picus and Faunus will be able to teach the rite of expiating, both divinities of the Roman soil. Yet they will not teach it without force: do you put bonds on them when caught.' And so she told by what art they could be caught. There was a grove below the Aventine, dark with the shade of ilex, on seeing which you could say 'a divinity is within.' In the midst was grass, and from a rock covered with green moss flowed a perennial vein of water: from it Faunus and Picus almost alone used to drink. King Numa came hither and slays a sheep to the spring, and sets out full cups of fragrant wine, and with his own men hides himself, buried in a cave. The woodland powers come to their accustomed springs and relieve their dry breasts with much wine. Rest follows the wine; Numa comes forth from the chill cave and puts close bonds on their slumbering hands. When sleep withdrew, they try by struggling to break the bonds: the more strongly they struggle, the more it holds them. Then Numa: 'Gods of the groves, pardon my deeds, if you know that crime is absent from my nature; and show by what means the thunderbolt can be expiated.' So Numa; so, shaking his horns, Faunus said: 'You seek great things, nor such as it is right for you to learn by our warning: our divinities have their limits. We are rustic gods and such as rule over the high mountains: over his own weapons Jove has the choice. Him you will not be able by yourself to draw down from heaven, but you will be able, perhaps, by using our aid.' Faunus had said this; Picus's opinion is the same: 'Yet take the bonds from us,' Picus says; 'Jupiter will come hither, drawn down by powerful art. The cloudy Styx shall be my witness of the promise.' Released from the snares, what they do, what songs they say, and by what art they drew Jove from his heavenly seat, it is not lawful for man to know: what is granted to us shall be sung, and what may be said by a pious poet's mouth. They draw you down from heaven, Jupiter, whence even now lesser men honour you and call you Elicius. It is agreed that the tops of the Aventine wood trembled, and the earth sank, pressed by the weight of Jove. The king's heart throbs, and from his whole body the blood flees, and his bristling hair stood stiff. When his spirit returned, 'Give sure expiations,' he said, 'of the thunderbolt, king and father of the gods on high, if with pure hands I have touched your offerings, and if a pious tongue asks this also that is sought.' He nodded assent to the prayer, but hid the truth in remote riddling, and terrified the man with doubtful speech. 'Cut off a head,' he said; to whom the king: 'We will obey,' he said; 'an onion, dug from my gardens, must be cut.' He added, 'Of a man's': 'You shall take,' said the other, 'the hairs.' He demands a life; to him Numa: 'Of a fish.' He laughed and said: 'See that you settle my weapons with these, O man not to be driven from converse with the gods. But to you, when tomorrow's Cynthian has brought forth his whole orb, I will give sure pledges of empire.' He spoke, and with a mighty thunder was borne above the moved heaven, and left Numa worshipping. He returns glad and tells the Quirites what was done: belief comes to his words slow and difficult. 'But surely we shall be believed,' he says, 'if the outcome follows my words: come, hear, whoever is present, tomorrow's signs. When the Cynthian has brought forth to the lands his whole orb, Jupiter will give sure pledges of empire.' They depart in doubt, and the promises seem slow, and belief hangs on the coming day. The earth was soft, dewed with frost in the morning: before his king's threshold the people are present, and he comes forth and sat in their midst on a throne of maple-wood. Countless men stand around and keep silence. Phoebus had risen only just at the topmost edge: their anxious minds quake with hope and fear, and he stood and, his head veiled with a snow-white robe, lifted those hands now well known to the gods, and thus he said: 'The time of the promised gift is at hand; make good, Jupiter, the faith pledged by your words.' While he speaks, the sun had now wholly moved its orb, and a heavy crash came from the heavenly axis. Thrice the god thundered without a cloud, three thunderbolts he hurled. Believe me as I speak: wondrous things, but done, I tell. From the mid-region the sky began to gape; the throng with their leader lowered their eyes. Behold, a shield, gently turned by a light breeze, fell down; a shout went up from the people to the stars. The man lifts the gift from the ground, a heifer first slain, one that had given her neck to no yoke to be pressed, and calls it 'ancile,' because it was cut away on every side, and, search with your eyes, every angle is gone. Then, mindful that the fate of empire stood in it, he forms a plan of much cunning. He bids many be made, engraved in a like shape, that error might go before the eyes of the plotter. Mamurius (whether more exact in character or in the smith's art, it is hard for any to say) finished the work. To him Numa, generous, said: 'Ask the rewards of your deed; if my faith is known, you will ask nothing in vain.' He had already given the Salii names called from their leaping, and the arms, and the words to be sung to certain measures. Then thus Mamurius: 'Let glory be given me for wages, and let my name sound at the end of the song.' Hence the priests pay the rewards promised for the ancient work, and call out 'Mamurius.' If any girl would marry, however much you both will hasten, put it off; a small delay has great advantages. Arms stir up battles, battle is unfitting for the married; when they are stored away, the omen will be more apt. On these days too the holy wife of the mitred flamen of Jove must keep her hair uncombed.

When the third night of the month has stirred its fires, one of the twin Fishes will be hidden. For there are two: this one is nearest the south winds, that one the north; each holds its name from the wind.

When the wife of Tithonus with saffron cheeks begins to drop dew and brings on the season of the fifth light, whether it is the Bear-keeper, or that lazy Bootes, he will be plunged and flee your sight. But the Vintager will not flee: whence this star too draws its cause, it is a short delay to teach. Ampelos, the unshorn, son of a satyr and a nymph, Bacchus is said to have loved on the Ismarian ridges: he gave him a vine hanging from the foliage of an elm, which now has its name from the boy's name; while reckless he plucks the bright grapes on the branch, he fell: the lost one Liber bore to the stars.

When the sixth Phoebus climbs steep Olympus from the ocean and cleaves the air with his winged horses, whoever you are that worship the inner shrine of chaste Vesta, rejoice, and set incense on the Ilian hearths. To Caesar's numberless titles (which would he rather earn?) the pontifical honour was added. The divine powers of eternal Caesar preside over the eternal fires: you see the pledges of empire joined. Gods of ancient Troy, most worthy spoil for him who bore you, by whom weighty Aeneas was kept safe from the foe, a priest sprung from Aeneas touches kindred divinities: guard, Vesta, your kinsman's head! You fires whom that holy hand cherishes, you live well: live unextinguished, both flame and leader, I pray.

There is one note for Mars on the Nones, because on that day they think temples were consecrated before the two groves of Vediovis. When Romulus surrounded the grove with a high rock, 'Whoever you are,' he said, 'flee here, you will be safe.' O from how slender a beginning did the Roman grow! How free from envy that ancient throng was! Yet, lest the newness of the name baffle you in your ignorance, learn who that god is, and why he is so called. He is Jupiter the youth: look at his youthful face; look then at his hand, it holds no thunderbolts. Thunderbolts were taken up by Jove after the Giants dared to assail the sky; in the first time he was unarmed. With new fires Ossa, and Pelion higher than Ossa, blazed, and Olympus fixed on the solid ground. A she-goat too stands by: the Cretan nymphs are said to have pastured her; she gave milk to the infant Jove. Now I am called to the name: the country folk call spelt that has grown ill, undersized, 'vegrandia,' and small, poor things 'vesca.' If this is the force of the word, why may I not suppose the shrine of Vediovis to be the shrine of no great Jove? And now, when the stars dapple the dark-blue sky, look up: you will see the neck of the Gorgon's horse. He is believed to have leaped forth, when the neck of pregnant Medusa was cut, his mane spattered with blood. As he glided above the clouds and beneath the stars, the sky was his earth, a wing his foot, and now he had taken the new bit in his indignant mouth, when his light hoof dug up the Aonian waters. Now he enjoys the heaven which before he sought on wings, and gleams bright with fifteen stars.

At once you will see, when night comes, the Cnossian Crown: by Theseus's crime she was made a goddess. Now she had happily exchanged her forsworn husband for Bacchus, she who had given the thread to be gathered by the thankless man; glad in her wedded lot, 'Why did I weep, a country girl?' she said; 'his faithlessness was useful to me.' Meanwhile Liber had conquered the smooth-haired Indians and returns rich from the eastern world; among the captive girls of surpassing beauty the king's daughter was too pleasing to Bacchus. His loving wife wept, and pacing the curving shore uttered such words with disordered hair: 'Lo, again, you waves, hear like complaints! Lo, again, sand, receive my tears! I said, I remember, "Forsworn and faithless Theseus!" he went off; the same charges Bacchus has. Now too I will cry, "Let no woman trust a man!" my case is repeated, only the name changed. O would that my fate had gone the way it first had begun, and that at this present time I were no more! Why, Liber, did you save me, doomed to die on the deserted sands? I could have ended my grief once for all. Bacchus, light, and lighter than the leaves that wreathe your temples, Bacchus known to my tears, have you dared, a rival brought before our eyes, to disturb a bed so well composed? Alas, where is the troth you pledged? Where the oaths you used to swear? Wretched me, how often shall I speak these words? You blamed Theseus and yourself called him deceiver: by your own judgement you sin the more basely. Let no one know this, and let me burn with silent griefs, lest I be thought to have deserved to be so often deceived! Above all I would have it hidden from Theseus, lest he rejoice that you are a partner in his fault. As I suppose, a fair rival is set before me, the dark one: may that complexion befall my enemies! Yet what does this matter? She is dearer to you for the very fault. What do you do? She defiles your embrace. Bacchus, keep faith, and prefer no woman before the love of a wife; I have grown used always to love one man. A handsome bull's horns captivated my mother, yours captivated me: mine they praise, hers was a shameful love. Let it not harm me that I love; for it did not harm you, Bacchus, that you confessed your own flames to me. Nor is it strange that you set us on fire: born in fire, they say, and snatched by a father's hand from fire. I am she to whom you used to promise heaven. Ah me, what gifts I bear in place of heaven!' She had spoken: Liber had long been hearing the words of her lament, as he chanced to follow at her back. He seizes her with an embrace and dries her tears with kisses, and 'Together,' he said, 'let us seek the heights of heaven! You, joined to me in marriage, shall take a name joined to mine, for to you, transformed, the name of Libera shall belong; and I will make that there be with you memorials of your crown, which Vulcan gave to Venus, and she to you.' He does as he said, and changes the nine gems into fires: now that golden crown gleams with nine stars.

When he who carries the bright day on his swift axle has lifted six orbs and sunk as many, you will watch another Equirria on the grassy Field, which Tiber presses on the flank with its curving waters. Yet if perhaps it is held by the wave cast out, the dusty Caelian will receive the horses.

On the Ides is the merry festival of Anna Perenna, not far from your banks, you stranger Tiber. The common folk come, and scattered here and there over the green grass they drink, and each reclines with his own partner. Some endure beneath the open sky, a few set up tents, some have made a leafy hut of branches, some, where they have set up reeds for stiff columns, have laid their stretched-out togas above. Yet they grow warm with sun and wine, and pray for as many years as the cups they take, and drink to the number. There you will find one who drinks down Nestor's years, one who by her cups has been made a Sibyl. There too they sing whatever they learned in the theatres, and fling their ready hands to their own words, and lead rough dances, the mixing-bowl set down, and the dressed-up girl dances with her hair flung loose. When they come home they stagger and are a spectacle for the crowd, and the throng they meet calls them fortunate. Lately a procession met me (it seemed worth telling): a tipsy old woman dragged a tipsy old man. Yet who this goddess is, since rumour goes astray, no tale shall be hidden by my purpose. The pitiable Dido had burned with the fire of Aeneas, had burned on the pyre built up for her own death; and her ashes were gathered, and on the tomb's marble was this brief song, which she herself, dying, left: 'Aeneas furnished both the cause of death and the sword. Dido herself fell, using her own hand.' At once the Numidians invade the kingdom without a defender, and the Moor Iarbas takes possession of the captured palace, and, mindful that he was scorned, 'Behold,' he said, 'in Elissa's chamber, I, whom she so often repulsed, hold sway.' The Tyrians scatter, as wandering error drives each, as once the bees, their king lost, stray in doubt. The third threshing-floor had received the grain to be laid bare, and into the hollow vats the third new wine had gone: Anna is driven from her home and weeping leaves the walls of her sister: first she gives the due rites to her sister. The soft ashes drink unguents mixed with tears, and receive the locks offered from her head; and 'thrice farewell!' she said, and thrice pressed the ashes brought to her lips, and to her the sister seemed to be present. Having got a ship and companions for her flight, she glides on an even keel, looking back at the walls, her sister's sweet work. Fertile Melite, the island neighbour to barren Cosyra, which the wave of the Libyan strait beats, she seeks, trusting in the old friendship of its king: King Battus, rich in wealth, was a host there. When he had learned the misfortunes of each sister, 'This land,' he said, 'however small, is yours.' And he would have kept the gift of hospitality to the last, but he feared the great power of Pygmalion. Twice the sun had counted over his signs; a third year was passing, and a new land must be sought for exile. Her brother comes and seeks her with war. The king, hating arms, 'We are unwarlike,' he said, 'do you flee unharmed!' At his bidding she flees, and commits her ship to wind and waves: her brother was harsher than any sea. There is, near the fishy streams of stony Crathis, a little field: the dwelling folk call it Camere. Thither was her course, nor was it farther off from there than a sling can cast nine times. The sails fall at first and waver from the uncertain breeze. 'Cleave the waters,' the sailor said, 'with the oar!' And while they prepare to take in the canvas with twisted line, the curved stern is struck by the swift south wind, and into the open sea, the master struggling in vain, it is borne, and the land seen flees from their eyes. The waves leap up, and from the lowest depth the sea is churned, and the hull swallows the white waters. Skill is conquered by the wind, nor does the steersman now use the reins; he too asks for help by vows. The Phoenician exile is tossed through the swollen waves and covers her wet eyes with the robe held before them: then for the first time Dido was called happy by her sister, and any woman who has pressed some ground with her body. The ship is driven by a mighty blast upon the Laurentine shore, and, all being put off, swallowed up it perishes. Now dutiful Aeneas had been enriched with the kingdom and the daughter of Latinus, and had mingled the two peoples. Accompanied only by Achates, on the dowry-shore, while with bare foot he takes a lonely path, he sees Anna wandering, nor can he bring himself to believe it is she: why should she come into the Latin fields? While Aeneas thinks thus to himself, 'It is Anna!' cries Achates: at the name she lifted up her face. Alas! should she flee? what should she do? what gaping of the earth should she seek? Before her eyes was her wretched sister's fate. The hero, son of Cytherea, perceived and addresses the trembling woman (yet he was moved at the reminder of you, Elissa): 'Anna, by this land I swear, which once you used to hear was given me by a more prosperous fate, and by the gods, my companions, lately settled in this seat, that they often chid me for my delays, yet I did not fear for her death; that dread was absent. Ah me! she was braver than I could believe. Do not recall it: I saw wounds unworthy of that body, when I dared to enter the Tartarean homes. But you, whether reason has driven you to our shores or a god, enjoy the comforts of my kingdom. Many things, mindful, we owe to you, nothing not to Elissa: you shall be welcome for your own name, welcome for your sister's.' To him so speaking (for no other hope remained) she gave belief, and told her wanderings. And when she entered the house, clad in Tyrian array, Aeneas begins (the rest of the throng is silent): 'I have a pious cause why I give her to you, Lavinia my wife: a castaway, I lived on her wealth. She was born in Tyre, possessed a kingdom on the Libyan shore; I pray you love her as a dear sister.' Lavinia promises all, but the false wound she presses in her silent mind and, fuming, conceals it; and when she sees many gifts borne openly before her eyes, she thinks many are sent in secret too; she has not decided what to do; with fury she hates, and prepares a plot, and longs to die avenged. It was night: before the bed her sister seemed to stand, Dido, bloodstained, with squalid hair, and 'Flee, do not doubt, flee the mournful house!' to say; at the word a breeze pushed the creaking doors. She leaps up and swift through the low window over the fields she throws herself: fear itself had made her bold. And where dread carries her, veiled in her ungirt tunic, she runs, as a doe terrified at the sound of wolves. Horned Numicius is believed to have carried her off in his swollen waves and hidden her in his pools. Meanwhile the Sidonian woman is sought with great clamour through the fields: the signs and marks of feet appear: they had come to the banks: there were footprints on the banks. The knowing river held its silent waters. She herself seemed to speak: 'I am the nymph of the calm Numicius: hidden in a perennial stream, I am called Anna Perenna.' At once they feast, glad, in the fields where they had strayed, and celebrate themselves and the day with abundant wine. Some hold that she is the Moon, because she fills the year with months; some think she is Themis, some the Inachian heifer. You will find those who call you a nymph, daughter of Atlas, and say you, Anna, gave the first food to Jove. This tale too, which I shall tell, has come to our ears, nor does it depart from the trust of truth. The old commons, not yet safe even then under tribunes, had fled and were on the crest of the Sacred Mount; already too the food they had brought with them had failed, and the bread fit for human use. There was a certain Anna, born at suburban Bovillae, poor, but an old woman of much diligence. She, her grey hair bound in a light cap, kept shaping rustic cakes with trembling hand, and so among the people, while they smoked, in the morning was wont to share them out: this supply was welcome to the people. When peace was made at home, they set up a statue of Perenna, because she had brought help to them in their need. Now it remains for me to tell why the girls sing obscene songs; for they gather and sing certain abuse. She had lately been made a goddess: Gradivus came to Anna and, drawing her aside, makes such words: 'In my month you are worshipped, I have joined my season to yours: on your service hangs a great hope of mine. I, the arm-bearer, smitten with love of arm-bearing Minerva, burn, and this wound I nurse a long time. Bring it about that we, gods alike in pursuits, be joined in one: these parts befit you, a kindly old woman.' He had spoken; she mocks the god with an empty promise and draws on his foolish hope with doubtful delay. Often, as he pressed, 'I have done your bidding,' she said, 'she is won over, she scarcely gave her hands to my prayers.' The lover believes and prepares a chamber; thither Anna is led, veiling her face like a new bride. About to take kisses, Mars suddenly sees Anna: now shame, now anger steals upon the deluded god. The new goddess laughs at the lover of dear Minerva, nor was any matter more pleasing to Venus than this. Hence the old jests and obscene words are sung, and it pleases that she tricked the great god.

I was about to pass over the swords driven into the prince, when Vesta spoke thus from her chaste hearths: 'Do not hesitate to remember: he was my priest; sacrilegious hands sought me with their weapons. I myself snatched away the man and left a bare likeness: what fell by the sword was Caesar's shade.' He, indeed, set in heaven, saw Jove's halls and holds a temple dedicated in the great forum. But all who dared the crime, against the forbidding power of the gods, and had polluted the pontifical head, lie in deserved death; be witnesses, Philippi, and you whose scattered bones whiten the ground. This was the work, this the piety, these the first beginnings of Caesar: to avenge his father by lawful arms.

When the next dawn has refreshed the tender grasses, the Scorpion will be visible from his foremost part.

The third light after the Ides is most thronged for Bacchus: Bacchus, favour your poet, while I sing your festival. Nor will I tell of Semele, to whom, unless Jupiter had brought his thunderbolts with him, you would have been a small, defenceless thing; nor how, that you might be born a boy at the ripe time, your mother's task was completed in your father's body. It would be long to tell of the Sithonian and Scythian triumphs, and the nations you tamed, incense-bearing Indian. You too shall be told of, the ill prey of the Theban mother, and you, Lycurgus, driven by furies upon your own knee. Behold, I would gladly tell of the sudden fishes and the Tyrrhenian monsters, but it is not the task of this song; the task of this song is to set forth the reasons why a worthless old woman calls the people to her cakes. Before your birth the altars were without honour, Liber, and grass was found on the chilly hearths. You are said, when the Ganges and all the East were subdued, to have set apart the first-fruits for great Jove. You first gave cinnamon and captive frankincense and the roasted entrails of a vanquished ox. From the founder's name the libations take their name, and the cakes (liba), because a part of them is given to the holy hearths. Cakes are made for the god, because he likewise delights in sweet juices, and they say honey was discovered by Bacchus. He was going, attended by satyrs, from sandy Hebrus (my tale has no ungracious jests), and now he had come to Rhodope and flowery Pangaeus: the bronze-clashing hands of his companions clanged. Behold, new winged creatures gather, driven by the ringing, and the bees follow the sounds that the bronze makes. Liber collects the wanderers and shuts them in a hollow tree and has the reward of the honey he found. When the satyrs and the smooth old man had tasted the savour, they sought the yellow combs through all the grove. The old man hears the hum of a swarm in a hollow elm, sees the wax, and feigns not to. And as he sat idly on the back of the swaybacked ass, he brings it up to the elm and its hollow bark, he himself took his stand, leaning on a branching stake, and greedily seeks the honey stored in the trunk. Thousands of hornets gather and on his bare crown fix their stings and mark his snub face. He falls headlong and is struck by the ass's heel, and calls his own and asks for help. The satyrs run together and laugh at the swollen face of their father: he limps with his struck knee. The god himself laughs and shows him to smear on mud; he obeys the advice and smears his face with clay. The father enjoys the honey, and rightly, poured on the warm cake, we give white honey to the discoverer. Why a woman presses it is no hidden reason: he stirs the female bands with his thyrsus. Why an old woman does this, you ask? That age is more given to wine and loves the gifts of the laden vine. Why is she wreathed with ivy? The ivy is most dear to Bacchus: why this too is so, there is no delay in telling. They say the Nysaean nymphs, when the stepmother sought the boy, set this foliage before his cradle. It remains for me to find why the free toga is given to boys on your Morning-star, bright Bacchus: whether because you yourself seem ever a boy and a youth, and your age is midway between the two; or because you are a father, and fathers commend their pledges, their sons, to your care and to your divine power; or because you are Liber, and so the free (libera) garment too is taken through you, and the path of a freer life; or because, when the ancients tilled their fields more zealously, and the senator did work on his father's land, and the consul took the rods from the curved plough, and it was no reproach to have hard hands, the country people came to the games in the city (but the honour was given to the gods, not to amusements: the discoverer of the grape held his games on his own day, which now he holds with the torch-bearing goddess): so, that a throng might attend to celebrate the recruit, the day seemed not unfitting for giving the toga? Turn hither, father, your gentle head and your appeased horns, and give favouring sails to my talent.

To the Argei it is gone (who they are, their own page shall tell) on this day, if I remember rightly, and the day before. The Kite-star slopes, declining, toward the Lycaonian Bear: this comes to be seen on that night. What gave the bird a place in heaven, if you wish to know: Saturn had been driven from his kingdom by Jove; in anger he stirs the strong Titans to arms, and tries the help that was due to him by the fates. There was a bull, born of mother Earth, a wondrous monster, which in its hinder part was a serpent: this, by warning of the three Fates, fierce Styx had shut up with a triple wall in the dark groves. There was an oracle that whoever should give the bull's entrails to be burned in the flames could conquer the eternal gods. Briareus slays it with an axe made of adamant, and was now, now about to give the entrails to the flames: Jupiter bids the birds snatch them; the kite brought them to him and came into the stars by his deserts.

One day is in the middle, and the rites of Minerva are held, which have their name from the five joined days. The first is free of blood, nor is it right to clash with steel: the cause is that Minerva was born on that day. The next and the three after are kept on the strewn sand: the warlike goddess delights in drawn swords. Now pray to Pallas, boys and tender girls: whoever has well appeased Pallas will be learned. Pallas appeased, let the girls learn to soften the wool and to unload the full distaffs. She also teaches to run the shuttle over the standing webs and packs the loose work close with the comb. Worship her, you who take stains from damaged garments, worship her, whoever prepares the bronze vats for fleeces; nor will anyone make the sandal-thongs well against Pallas's will, though he be more skilled than Tychius; and though, compared in his hands to ancient Epeus, he be the better, with Pallas angry he will remain helpless. You too who drive away diseases by Phoebus's art, bring a few gifts of your own to the goddess; nor do you, you teachers, a crew often defrauded of pay, scorn her; she draws new pupils on: you too who work the burin and burn the panel with colours, and you who make soft stones with skilled hand. A goddess of a thousand works is she: surely she is the goddess of song; if I deserve it, may she be a friend to my pursuits. Where the Caelian hill descends from its height to the level, here, where the road is not flat, but nearly flat, you may see the small shrine of Minerva Capta, which the goddess began to have on her birthday. The cause of the name is in doubt. We call clever genius 'capital': the goddess is full of genius. Or because she is said to have leaped forth without a mother from the crown of her father's head, with her shield? Or because she came to us captive (capta), the Faliscans subdued? This very thing an ancient inscription teaches. Or because she has a law which bids that thefts found in that place pay penalties with their heads (capitis)? From whatever reason you draw the name, Pallas, ever hold your aegis before our leaders.

The last of the five days warns to purify the tuneful trumpets and to sacrifice to the brave goddess. Now you may say, your face lifted toward the sun: 'Here yesterday he pressed the fleece of the Phrixean ewe.' By the crime of a wicked stepmother the seeds were roasted, and the corn, as it does, put forth no blades. One is sent to the tripods, to bring back a sure response, what aid the Delphic god might grant to the barren land. He too, corrupted like the seed, reports that the death of Helle and of young Phrixus is asked by the oracle; and when the citizens and the time and Ino compelled the unwilling king to suffer the unspeakable command, both the sister and Phrixus, their temples veiled with fillets, stand together before the altars and bewail their joined fates. Their mother, as she chanced to be hanging in the air, sees them and strikes her bare breast with stunned hand, and into the dragon-born city, with clouds attending, she leaps down and there snatches away her children; and that they may take flight, a ram, most gleaming with gold, is given: he bears the two over the long straits. The girl is said to have held the horn with weak left hand, when she gave her name to the water from herself. Almost at the same time her brother perished, while he would help her as she slipped, and stretches out his hands as far as he can, he wept that he had lost the partner of their twin peril, not knowing she was joined to the sea-blue god. The shores reached, the ram becomes a constellation, but his golden fleece came to the Colchian homes.

When the coming Dawn has sent before her three Morning-stars, you will keep the daylight hours equal to the nights.

Then four times when the shepherd has shut up his sated kids, four times when the grasses have whitened with fresh dew, Janus must be adored, and with him gentle Concord and Roman Safety and the altar of Peace. The Moon rules the months: the season of this month too the Moon ends, to be worshipped on the Aventine ridge.