THE AENEID

BY TORSTEN SCHWANKE

TROY

About the time of King David,

King Priam was King of Troy.
In the vastness of Asia
Ilion lay great with gates,
And the river Skamandros flowed before Ida,
There in the pastoral world lived Prince Paris.
And Juno and Minerva spotless
Appeared before the prince beside Charis.
And Venus wore the Stella Maris in her red hair.

The goddesses only desired to know,

Who in man's mind was the fairest.
The apple of his praise would not be missed
By Lady Juno, not free from vanity,
She stepped forth in her golden shoes
And showed the splendour of her fair majesty
And was surrounded by a peacock's cry,
The pride's sign and symbol of power,
And her golden crown above her veil laughs.

Prince Paris, son of King Priam,

Give me the prize of the apple now,
Then I'll make you a great ruler
And give thee princely power,
I'll make thee a princely shape,
I'll make you a ruler of Asia
From the banks of the Indus to the forest of Ida,
As far as the lands of Jove's lightning have seen,
For behold, the majesty of my beauty is no illusion.

Then Minerva stepped forward in a warrior's helmet,

With which she rose from her father's brow,
She gazed cunningly like a young rogue
And yet how wrathfully her eyes fly,
Her brow clouded, her thin mouth silent,
They saw her clasp her shield with her hands
And she lift the aegis to conquer,
And clashing noisily her weapons of war,
All which the Most High hath wrought for her.

Prince Paris, son of King Priam,

Give me the prize of the apple, that I may know,
Your mind is brave, proud, lofty, great,
Thy nobleness stand firm as Ida's mountains,
Then I'll give thee in every work of arms
And give thee victory in every battle with men
And give thee skill in war and strength of man
And wisdom to the just war,
For I am the fairest of them all, flying through the skies.

Then Venus stepped forward with a soft smile,

The winds blew in the curls of her hair,
Before the bewitchment the prince was a fool;
So it was with me once, so it is with all,
The singers all, and the women they please;
Then with her slender hand she fiddled
On the magic belt, and let the belt fall,
And dropped the silken robe,
And Venus stood naked before Paris in the land.

Then Paris handed her the apple,

O goddess, before the apples of thy breasts
Is this apple wizened! I am
Inflamed and fly to the realm of pleasure
And kneel before thee on the beach of Cyprus' shore:
I praise thee, sea-star Urania!
I feel as if I never knew of beauty
Until now, until I saw the beautiful beauty,
So white and manifest, so warm and naked and near!

Then the goddess lifted up her garments again,

Then said to the prince thus Urania,
Because you have praised the beauty of my limbs,
I give thee the fairest that Hellas hath seen,
I give thee Sparta's mistress Helen,
That thou mayest play with her breasts‘ doves
And be bound in her long hair, yes,
Receive her as a boon for thy faith,
Therefore I permit thee to steal Helen!

And angry Juno rushed away in the veil,

Minerva followed her with her shield,
And Venus, built like a lyre,
Left the prince, smiling sweet and mild,
The archetypal idea of every fair image.
And he set out on his sea voyage
And sailed through the Mediterranean, the desolate,
There was revealed to him Sparta's mistress,
Who, after all, was mated to her husband.

But Paris, at the goddess' bidding, stole away

The fair Helen of Sparta,
Because he thought he was in the right by Venus,
He acted outspokenly and wantonly
As an adulterer lasciviously-songfully,
And brought her to high Ilion,
And honeyed her navel
And hotly wooed her in Pergamum
And lay with her at midnight as Venus' son.

But Menelaus, Helen's confidant,

Together he summoned a fleet of Greeks,
A wrathful, a sprightly graying,
To avenge this scorn of this mockery.
Achilles stepped forth from a sea-cave,
To avenge the dishonour done to Greece,
Achilles, like the wrath of a god,
Ready with his weapon to speak death
And break Troy's ancient walls in the dust.

Fair Venus went about in the ether,

She thought little of the grey husband,
Did not keep the statutes of the fathers,
She desired only to be married to a god,
But not to the artisan with the shadow
On his chin and cheeks, whiskers grey.
She wanted to blossom on the flower mats,
As a flower drink a god's dew.
Devotion and receiving is the woman's way.

Vulcanus forged with his hammer

The art of the gods, richly ornamented.
But he always sat lonely in the chamber
And knew no embers but furnace embers.
All his blood was devoted to ashes,
His life was spent in creating and forging,
But not so much for his wife and her brood,
He wanted to create only in peace
And let nothing of Venus' quick tongue offer.

But she, hot with burning desire,

Desired only a true man,
Who could not resist her ardour of love,
He should fall for her, should then
Devote to her all that he can and does,
All his heroism, all his strength.
It was all the same to her whether he pondered in the nights,
Only that he should lie down with her in the nights
And go out early in the morning to the work of arms.

Mars was the right man, the god of wars,

Who mightily controlled the battles,
The lord of defeats and victories,
The muscular god with armour plumes,
To whom all nations made bloody sacrifices,
He flexed his manly muscles,
So that Venus was consumed with hot languor
And glowed hotly in feelings of spring,
He should drill his spear into her disc.
He lay with her - we'll keep quiet about the way,
For who would see Venus at the act of love?...
Cupid lasciviously smiled and softly,
The founder of adulterous marriages,
The father of procreation and the lord of labour,
The eye of God when a couple mates,
God Eros - who can resist him?
The goddess, though shadowed by adultery,
Yet lay so merry, after great lust weary.

But Vulcanus heard of the sin

And went to make a fine golden net,
That he might bind the goddess and the sinner.
Out of revengeful desires his fire cracked
Like red dragons on Etna below,
Then he called all the celestials together
To laugh at the dull adulterers!
The gods swam blissfully in laughter
And Venus was ashamed of the too hot flames.

Then Venus looked at the battlefield

And looked at Priam and his sons
And Paris looked at the high mildness
And to her own son the fair one looked,
Looked to Aeneas that she might crown him
With her grace that she gave to Anchises.
Then Venus turned with a moan of pleasure
To Vulcanus, that he might consider the man,
Aeneas a shield from his heaven lower.

But she saw Vulcanus wavering in his heart,

So she went to beguile her husband,
He shall shudder with love at her grace,
Before her gaze swear her everlasting love,
Before her fount roar like a roebuck,
So she caught him with blinding white arm,
To tease him with caresses,
To ingratiate herself with the loveliest charm:
I am the flame of love! does not your heart grow warm?

He felt the fire flash through him,

Desire burned in his veins,
As Venus gazed with enchantment,
Her blue eyes filled with tears,
He couldn't help longing for her love,
The longing shook all his limbs,
Before her breasts he was heard to moan,
The full breasts, not laced with the bodice,
Then, overcome, he sank down before the goddess!

The power of Venus was like a thunderstorm

With downpours, thunderstorms, lightnings.
And all was sweet to him that ever was bitter,
His blood he was ready to sweat out for her
Before those rays from the slits of her eyes
And melt in the flame of love,
To sit burnt in her lightning's flash,
There was seen this god of Etna's rock
Rolling before her in electric rapture!

She was aware of the power of her beauty

And set about pleading with the god,
Thou my delight, my lust, my love, my desire,
Not only slipped into my arms for nothing,
To rest in the midst of my breasts,
Thou shalt make a work for my darling.
Aeneas has walked in the field,
You make him invincible good weapons!
So she said, gathering her skirt with her hand.

Bound by endless desire

Her husband did everything to please her.
She no longer wanted to refuse him,
Then he fell into her lap.
The winds storm and the seas surge,
Clouds rain and rocks burst,
Doves coo, nightingales melt,
Snowflakes melt high on Olympus,
Then the fire was seen rolling in the Mediterranean.

Satisfied, Vulcanus soon set himself

To his work, the artful shield.
He made the Scamandros, Ida's forest,
The whole Asiatic plain,
The image of the star of Venus watches over it,
Which sent its rays upon the sea,
That surged wild on the rocks of Cyprus,
A ship sailed through the Mediterranean,
At its helm stood Aeneas, full of hope.

Vulcanus made beautiful bird-women,

Who, like Ulysses the sirens, lured
With birdsong and the beauty of their bodies
Aeneas, whose breaths are stilled.
Vulcanus made nymphs without socks,
Panisques, Fauns and the man Silen,
Dionysus lay weary in flower bells
And looked at the flower, the shoe of Venus.
He made also a likeness of Aeneas' genius.

He made Tyre, Sidon and Carthage

And made a beautiful woman,
The grace from the Orient, Imago
Dei, the soul beautiful in the beautiful body.
Vulcanus made this a pastime
And yet sibylline was this image.
Calliope, in this poem write me,
As Dido prophesies Vulcanus' shield,
The virgin queen so fair and mild of grace!

Then Vulcanus' shield showed Sardinia

And showed also death's dark gate.
Italy in beautifully curved lines
From the shield of the volcano emerged.
O Muse, write with the scribe's ear
And sing to your muses' kisses
The praises of Italy in genial choirs
And praise in ecstatic effusions
Rome! which the holy poets must love.

Vulcanus formed the emperor's image,

Blessed by the fair star of the seas,
Who there triumphed in Actium's field,
Who broke the rebel's spear,
The wooer of the Egyptian hetaera,
The serpent that knew a thousand men.
There sank with force and weight of fate
The whore's rule from the Orient,
And a virgin ruled in the Occident.

And so the walls of Troy came tumbling down,

The Greeks triumph over the Asiatics,
The castle of the paramour under showers of flame
Burning and the forests and the seeds
And the allies, the sacrilegious states,
And Greece and its freedom triumph.
In dust sank splendour and potentates,
The images of the gods lie in ruins,
The women cradle dead sons in their arms.

But Asia will live, Asia

Will preserve its sacred culture
And under the blessing of Urania
Save itself from the burning dangers
And as sheltered under Venus' hair
The nurse and the father and the son
Save themselves from the fire. There were
Urania and Cupid on the throne
Gods of protection, mocking the retaliatory procession.

Then the son carried the father on his back

From Troy's walls, from hell's circle,
Guided by the goddess' gentle gaze
He passed through all the fires hot with flame,
Extinguishing the fire with the sweat of blood,
For his father's salvation he suffered flames,
But hotter his heart glows white with love,
Love's white glow swam through him,
So son and father came together to the sea.

Burnt, scorched, sooty on their garments,

So they stood trembling by the Mediterranean
With a little brotherhood of sorrow
And thanked God! Who was their saviour, who?
The Most High sent his army of genii,
To save Anchises and the pious son.
The pious son piously thanked very much
The Most High in the heavenly places,
To lie down in the power of his glory.

The evening star shone beautifully,

Aeneas thought of his guide,
Who smiled so sweetly on him from afar,
And prayed, O high queen,
Queen of love and heaven's sovereign,
I consecrate my poverty and need to thee,
My highest treasure art thou, but I am
A poor nothing, I am more dead than dead,
Urania, lead me to the new dawn!

I will go on pilgrimage through the floods of the sea

And follow the star of the sea forever.
My heart glows with your pure ardours,
Fertile mistress, from the core of my soul,
From the core of my soul a kingdom blossoms,
I will place under your rule.
A new Asia I will found in the distance,
I will found you on the seventh hill.
At your bosom I am as still as an infant.

And in the silence he heard a whispering

And heard a voice's soft sound.
Before him the waves of the Mediterranean ripple
In the soft darkness of silence,
Then the goddess said, My beloved son,
I'll guide your ship on my mercy's stream,
To teach thee in the red poppies
Of dreams, lo, I lead thee to Rome,
There build thou a cathedral for Stella Maris!

DIDO

Aeneas went to Delos' sanctuary,

To question the bright son of the Most High.
A girl brought a pink flower
To Aeneas with mournful lament,
With hope, too, that tomorrow would come.
Aeneas offered this flower
To the sun of justice. There lay
Other offerings too, rich and scarce.
The eye of the sun looked down from heaven.

Aeneas now entered the temple,

In the holy of holies the priestess
Seated on a three-chair, with God alone,
She gave herself to God's revelation,
Who spoke with voice not to her mind,
But while in her heart with prayers
Honouring the Son of the Most High,
God's words sound in the depths of her heart
As sweetly as the winds whispered in May.

Then she closed her eyelids in rapture

And did not see the marble statue
And yet the beautiful marble-like limbs
And like the sun light a face
And saw in her inner vision
The sun's rays, a golden stream,
And a white hand of pure light,
And a cloud fragrant as aroma
And God's fingers pointing to distant Rome.

I am, said the god, the bright sun

Of wisdom, beauty and justice,
To the pilgrim I will be life, hope and delight
On his pilgrimage and be his companion.
The pilgrim consecrates himself to the Great Mother,
But where is she? He shall seek the Mother
Whom his people's fathers before time
Worshipped in the silent grove of the beeches
With incense and prayers and sultana cakes.

Leave the old mother Asia,

Then you will find Asia, the mother!
Trust in Queen Urania,
Who is sweet as the bees around the lime trees,
But you must not bind yourself to Venus either,
For I will lead thee to the Magna Mater,
But the Magna Mater blots out no sins,
Therefore I'll lead thee to the tragic theatre
And to the word of the Virgin: I am yours!

But do not be mistaken, for it is not in Crete,

For not in Crete do wait the Parcenes and Urania
Nor in Sicily's green garden
Nor in the land of Cleopatra
And in the arm of the new Helen.
You only sail on my stream of grace!
The Mother waits in Italy,
Her heart you adore in white Rome,
Who binds with the girdle of all the atoms!

Thus spoke the god through his priestess,

Aeneas' soul trembled with excitement:
I set out on the sea voyage, I am
A ship in fatalistic motion,
Law of fate, chance's refutation,
I will sail in spite of the gods' wrath,
For a deity cherishes me in the heed
Of the charis of God! Hope is my saviour
And carries me to the goal through all storm and weather.

Anchises, father, come with us on the ship,

We'll carry tomorrow's land to the west.
And bird-women also lurk on the reef,
The bread in our hands will be stained,
Our wits will go mad with the wrath of the gods,
We believe in blessings beyond measure,
In adversity we remain in grace,
The charisma of God shines on our paths,
Till piglets lay their teats on a wild sow.

It is the wild beast from the dark forest,

No other embodies motherhood
In such an energetic and powerful form,
It is the mother of all heroic power,
Of sacred and high passion.
The mother enters the battle with strength
And will free us from the custody of the enemy,
With mighty stamping will she reign
Protecting the piglets in the midst of the dust.

And this motherly warrior

Becomes for us the epitome of fertility.
As her children we give ourselves
To the tenderness of the mother's teat.
Well then, my soul is ready!
The piglets that clung to her teats,
Are men from the future, from time,
As we rush to the sacrificial meal of the table,
As we in hot hunger devour the table too!

Aeneas' ship arrived in Epirus,

Where the waves shudder on the sea's edge,
There ruled the king Helenus,
He was still seen mourning for old Troy,
But he rebuilt the walls of Epirus
As the walls of Troy, the image
Of Troy, built by stonecutters,
Troy stood in the Epirusian clime
And yet was not so proud and strong and great!

O son of Priam, O Helenus,

You cannot build Ilion on a small scale,
The capital of all Asiatics
Must have a new face to behold
Like Jove's castle at dawn
In Olympos' pure summit snow.
Yes, God descends, that is my trust,
The god-built marble city's idea!
In the vision I already see the foundation of Rome!

Aeneas and Anchises and the host

Went on through the Mediterranean tide.
The star of the sea was above them,
Around which the stars were circling cheerfully,
It shone white as snow and red as embers
And sent down its bright ray,
To guide the way through the waters' fury,
The way through the flood mountain and the ebb valley.
They had fresh water and meat for supper.

In the morning Aurore walked in the Orient

With golden sandals up the hill,
Praying the morning's beautiful Hour,
Such as no poet could ever invent.
Aurora then walked in the East
And from her cornucopia, from her womb
The diamond dew on woman and man,
And down let the mild immaculate one
On the shore of Tunisia lilies white and red.

Then Aeneas landed on the beach

And bowed down with his face
And lay with his forehead in the white sand
In a cloud all of golden light,
Speaking from the depths of his heart,
O womb of the dawn, horn of plenty, source,
O queen of heaven, thy hair is all about
Transfiguring my soul in the sun,
Then I foresee thy coming, O giver of delight!

Then Aeneas saw a woman approaching,

In the goatherd's simple robe of cloth
She walked through the young morning's sky-blue,
The paths led her before Aeneas,
And, as if to entertain the man,
She held the pitcher of water, some bread.
She led him to a shrub of myrtle,
To thirst and hunger's craving
She gave a smile from her lips rose-red.
Aeneas saw the oval face,
The skin beautifully tanned by the sun,
On her cheek brown a beauty mark,
The eyes gleamed as if dewy with lust,
Her dark eyes looked seductive
Through long lashes brownish and curved.
To whom this woman would be given as bride,
Fate would be gracious to him,
He would have entered the blissful realm!

Aeneas felt a deep secret lust,

Love called the dead from their graves!
His gaze slid secretly to her breast,
How he would like to lift the cloak,
He saw the belt around her hips.
And her slender feet brown ankle.
Around this woman was a beguiling perfume,
All was rose, nowhere thorn or nettle.
Then she sat down on a stone armchair.

She spoke, In the Phoenician region

Dido of Tyre lived, fair and young,
Her brown locks were long and wild,
And long were the brown eyelashes too.
Sychaeus was her husband, with sanctification
Of the priest a consecrated union they lived,
In happiness and loving enthusiasm.
But sore at heart from jealousy
Was Dido's brother, a jackal, a desert dog.

He overthrew Sychaeus from the royal throne

And cut down Tyre's royal tree.
Fallen is Tyre's majesty already,
The purple sank into the grey foam of the sea,
The ships barely held in the water,
As wild waters roll upon the planks,
Then Dido dreamed a visionary dream,
That her brother resented her life,
But Africa awaits her crown of gold.

O Prince of Tyre, sovereignty full of pride,

Like morning stars thy imperial vassals,
Thou royal cedar in the wood,
Thou didst speak wisdom in the high halls,
I have seen the prince in the garden of Eden,
But woe to thee, how thou art gone down!
And fallen into the black realm of the dead!
Ruby and gold's splendour will not help thee,
The fire burns thee, the serpents bite thee!

But Dido and the loyal people fled

From Tyre, fled from the threatening tyrant,
They fled from the evil threat of murder,
They let themselves be banished by the tyrant,
The queen and her loyal men,
For somewhere a kingdom awaits them!
So the queen sailed from there
And gave herself up to the hard times
And yet hoped for the blissful garden!

But how the sea burned with rage

And hurled the ship in wild waves,
The tide of the sea rose to the heavens
And plunged into the abyssal hells,
Then howled the demon companions,
But genii rejoiced on the foam's crown,
The wild seals of the sea lord barked,
But help sends the maiden from the throne
Of the moon, her faithful servant's reward.

The servant of the Queen of Heaven

Was thus saved from the maw of the abyss,
The maiden led her friend
To Africa, which lies in the sea,
To Tunisia, to be exact. And where better,
O Aeneas, could you have landed,
Than in the fair Dido's kingdom? There bets
Cupid with Venus: soon Dido will burn,
She has only to know the Trojan Aeneas!

Then Venus rose again into the sky.

But Aeneas and all the men
Entered the Tunisian bustle curious,
To the marketplace in front of the ramparts,
Where little children played with the ball,
Where beggars sat, women held fruit,
As priests came out of the temple hall
And still felt the blessing of their deity,
Before whom the wisest played like pure children.

They entered through the gates in the hall

And went to the princely palaces,
In the middle of it all stood the Hall of Kings,
Adorned with colourful banners as at feasts,
All was ready to receive guests,
The officers stood there with swords,
The servants stood in embroidered waistcoats,
There came Aeneas with the emissaries
From Asia, who found Africa hospitable.

Then they stepped forward to the royal throne,

Aeneas came forward to the throne alone.
The queen's robe was red as poppies,
A Moor fanned her with refreshment,
Ornamental birds twittered sweetly in chorus.
Aeneas waited with holy patience,
Till Dido spoke words to his ear,
Here impatience would be like guilt,
Then Dido nodded her head full of grace.

You are welcome here in Africa,

Carthage, Sheba, Cush and Ofir are
All rejoicing that Aeneas is here today,
We will renew this feast yearly.
You need not be afraid of me, the queen,
For I myself am like the gazelle,
But gazelles are the prey of the lions.
Around Dido shone the brightness of the evening
And baptised every spot with the blood of the sun.

And as she sat in the blue twilight, Dido,

There came in the romance's blue hour
From the golden star of Venus Cupid,
Invisible to all men round,
And inflicted on Dido the most grievous wound
That ever a woman's heart had to bear.
And sighs fled from her red mouth,
The mild minstrel, the weary and faint,
Was but a shadow of sighs in the blue dusk.

But mindful of her royal honours

She was completely concealed from her beloved,
In her heart she shut up her desire
And only sighed out of sheer dissatisfaction
And had to resign herself to a heavy fate,
That she knew her love unrequited.
So cruel Cupid's sharp arrows fly
And work unwillingness next to sweet desire,
Indifference and deep love in the breast.

But fire cannot be hidden in the pocket of a coat,

Nor burning love in the eye.
The queen of Carthage turned to ashes
And turned back to flame.
Fate bent her neck hard.
Aeneas, my life, my delight,
Aeneas, you my breath, you my happiness!
To thee my eyes' fountain of tears gushes,
All my night hopes only for thee, O God's sun!

To thee I consecrate my kingdom and my empire,

To thee I consecrate my soul and my blood!
I have no more soul, for at once,
As soon as I saw thee, it melted into embers,
My soul melted into tears,
But your soul, Lord, is now mine!
Thus speaks to thee a woman in love's rage,
She is nothing more, is nothing but wholly thine,
That thy majesty may unite with her nothingness!

All fair one! see me in humility devoted

To thee, my Lord, the supreme divinity's image,
Real sign thou of God's life,
Look upon me with grace and mercy,
Be my people's dove, our shield,
Be thou anointed with the myrrh of Africa
And reign in the African clime!
But Aeneas only listened with half a thought
(Thought whether cows were calving in Troy).

Then the messenger came to him from Jove's castle

With wings on sandals and a staff
And invisible to the people. His eye blazed
And softly the genius spoke, I have
The call of God to thee: To the praise of God
Thou shalt not seek the woman that is near,
Thou shalt seek her that is afar. Over the grave,
The fisherman's grave I saw the mistress smile,
To her go thou straight to Italy!

Aeneas with the crew stepped to the ship

And sailed away with full sails.
And Dido, the epitome of beauty,
Desired the port of the kingdom of the dead,
The Elysian's haven
And for the Acherusian waters.
Then she said a last word, parting,
When through the vein the sharp knife cut
And Hades, the man-eater, was already approaching her.

No blessing rests on thee from my mouth!

I shall see you and yours triumphant,
You and yours, in Europe's round
Triumph and victory omnipresent there
And Africa close to starvation!
But on white elephants will come
The ruler from black Africa!
How proudly your high Alps stood,
Rome will be crushed by barbarians of all lands!

HADES

Aeneas came to the promised land,

But the father and Aeneas' nurse
Different on the long journey. On the beach
Aeneas now stoked the sacrificial flame
And took the flesh from a sacrificial flame
And sacrificed to atone for the dead.
Then he leaned against the cypress trunk
And looked over the wavy dunes
To the dark sea, which resembled the stage of tragedy.

Ye dark gods below, ye light gods above,

O send on my way the guide!
I will praise, praise with way and change,
Fate's eternity, with heart and mind
I surrender to the power of the Most High!
But now, good God, I know no further,
As if in a labyrinth I am,
Life seems hard to me and death seems cheerful.
Send a genius down the ladder of heaven!

And must I, to find the good way,

Even through the dark night and torment of hell,
Am I ready, may I but join
To the sea-star above my fate's wave!
O virgin, queen and goddess! Bright,
The realm of the dead becomes bright in your shimmer!
I am a poor foolish fellow
With a deep night in my heart's room,
Send thy messenger! I am yours forever!

And the Sibyl with wrinkled face

Changed came in her old age.
Aeneas, become shadow, become nothing,
Then the soul's butterfly will unfold.
The path to dark death is a cold and hard one,
And hard path, but hot be thou in heart!
Prophets play their psalteries below,
Virgins walk by consecrated candles.
There is the writing of fate written in the ores.

But death says to all the doorknockers,

Who look forward to Lethe's green waters,
They must make atonement, they must make sacrifice,
Purified, they must consecrate themselves to God.
Then they need not fear Hades,
When they are anointed with the oil of myrrh,
Then old Hades will renew them
And give them new birth in the cave of death
And release them: colourful butterfly of soul!

So let us consecrate the white turtledove

To the high Jove and the sprout!
Trinitarian is Fate, as I believe,
Which I have tasted of Wisdom's sweet milk,
That flowed from her mother's breasts.
And if you dare, drink the blood of the lamb,
That flowed in a stream from the side of the lamb,
For therein dwelleth the bounty of God.
But now down, Aeneas, have good courage!

And open stood the gate of Tartarus,

A chasm and a maw and a gorge,
In which flowed the waters of oblivion,
The fountain of nothingness from the mouth of death.
We who live on the face of the earth,
We live melancholy or cheerful,
We must at the appointed hour
Down the tunnel of great darkness,
As shadows of souls into mystery and wonder.

We fear as we fear a dog,

As if the sharp dog had three mouths.
We see snakes on the bottom of the abyss,
We dream nightmares on the bed of death,
As if a demon were binding us by chains,
As if worm and rat would devour us.
The pious pray a requiem,
Then felt the oil of grace the soul's shadow,
Who had a longing for eternal life.

On the sad and dark lake of Acheron

The weeping willow bows its head in melancholy,
Like lava flows the Phlegeton,
The Lethe divides at the watershed
And shimmers beautifully like transparent silk
And there gives oblivion, only oblivion,
But also oblivion of all suffering.
But the pious celebrate masses for the dead,
They eat the bread of life for the departed.

Who will we see there again?

The blind seers will meet us,
Tiresias will meet us,
He will bless us with a prophecy.
Even if it rains down pitch and fire,
The blind seer will look to the light,
There he will those who have succumbed to death
Trust in the living Almighty:
O receive also Orpheus with his woman of women!

There we shall also meet the sufferer,

Who has passed through the desolate sea,
He will bless us with a special blessing,
The blessing of patience in dangers.
We shall also see with the most charming demeanour
Penelope, the epitome of fidelity,
That all who have been faithful in life,
That each may rejoice in her glory.
Here Circe does not turn her men into swine.

But above all Menelaus

And Helen, the beautiful Helen,
Will have escaped war and chaos.
O fair one, in the likeness of Urania,
Most lovely that Greece ever saw,
Idea of beauty, Hellas' sanctuary,
If thou art alive there, then am I there.
In humility your possession and property:
You make Elysium an Elysium!

Thus the Sibyl led through the night

Of the deep realm of the dead Aeneas.
There they saw a soul that laughs,
Bliss in the departed mind,
To die was a delicious gain.
On earth he was not beautiful, but ugly,
But now very glorious to behold
Immortality of the soul, no longer hideous
In the flesh (nor was Aspasia any longer indisposed).

And this was the Athenian Socrates,

Who raised his voice now, a dead speaker:
Now I sing like a swan in happiness, while
The dark death once came to me as a breaker
And yet did not break my faith, the revelers
At the banquet heard from me: Diotima
Gave me the cup of love and of death,
With her Wisdom I was intimate,
Now I see Urania of Paphos-Ktima.

I told the comrades when I parted,

They should not weep for my sake
In their hearts, and the swan's song
I sang to them of immortality
And died alone and in serenity
And now in Hades' antechamber I wait in silence
For that messenger from eternity,
Who will appear to deliver me:
For X.P. will arise in April!

I see the Emperor of all Romans

Making peace in the ecumene,
See him as captain of the entrepreneurs
Who, with all Rome's might, circumnavigated
Cleopatra, the moon cow on the drifts
Of Egypt on the yellow father Nile.
But I also know the writings of the ancient people,
Of high Wisdom and of her play,
Which is the beginning of life and the goal of life.
And you, Sibyl, old and grey,
You will come to Caesar one day
And tell him visions, high woman,
Which thou hast seen in fervent prayer.
For thou shalt see in the celestial cities
Of gold and lapis lazuli and jade
A little child, the highest of the prophets,
And a woman like an ark of gold,
Thou shalt announce the Mother and the Son of Grace.

And when Augustus, Lord of the Ecumene,

Shall hear this, he shall number the nations,
That he may consecrate the whole empire's wide scene
To the child, the king of all souls.
The carpenter and virgin must not be absent,
The virgin must give birth in the cave.
Magicians will go on pilgrimage with oils
And incense and gold to the little God,
Who is sad when he knows he will be mocked.

So in the time of Tiberius

The procurator Pontius Pilate
The man whom a friend's kiss betrayed
Deliver him to the evil power in the state,
Whether that man did nothing of evil,
Since that man's soul was full of purity.
But they want to crucify him. But just now,
As they resolve on the vilest wickedness,
A wife dreams dreams of seer-like subtlety.

Pontius Pilate's wife

Will stand on the Acherusian shore
And in a dream she will make a deep vision:
In my right hand a white jade
I appear to her, no harm will come to her,
I tell her the man is blameless,
Is rather God's revealed grace,
Is God's love, God's favour and God's grace.
And if he must suffer, he must suffer with patience.

The procurator's wife will awake

And will be frightened for her husband.
She sees him standing in the power of dragons
And decree crucifixion, and then
Washing his hands with the water that runs
And mingle with the blood of the righteous.
How many are under the spell of the evil one!
But for this the Supreme Good appeared,
To redeem us by the fervour of his love!

The apple of God's eye is the people of the Jews,

The flock that the Shepherd came to feed.
But terrible are the rods of the Most High
And scourges of his fury, not sweet and silken,
For his elect must suffer
For election by the great Rage.
And Rome's soldiers stride heavily through Sion
And Titus leaves behind only heaps of ruins,
But the chosen people will suffer even worse!

Ah woe, woe, I must foresee a terrible thing!

No longer captive on the waves of the Euphrates
God's people, but now through the Teutons
Judah suffers millions of hells!
For Satan's servant with devilish fellows
Will build a kingdom of horror!
But I see angels flocking together
And Israel returns home, and I can see
The Prince of Peace build his kingdom of peace.

There I see the pontiff of Rome

Going on pilgrimage to the city of Jerusalem
And drinking water from the river Jordan
And praying in the stable of Bethlehem.
Where God made the first man of clay,
There I see him giving the spirit of joy:
Be peace, peace, peace! pleasant
God alone is the peace at all ends!
But now my gaze will turn to Europe.

Europe was a virgin from

Of the Orient. She went to Tyre's beach
And thought of the old father's house
And played with the shells in the sand,
The beach in the bay was white as snow.
She was so beautiful in her delicate adornment
And long and slender the lightly tanned hand.
What mythographers say, I tell you:
The god appeared to the girl as a white bull.

On his back she swam through the floods

And landed in the harbour of Crete,
Called Phoenix, like the one that rose from the embers
And from the ashes rise. Arrived
The old shepherds with their sheep,
Each shepherd for the virgin burns
And no one wants to sleep alone any more.
The Greek and Roman continent
Now calls itself Europe after the beautiful virgin.

The same way, O my Aeneas, takes

The messenger and envoy who brings grace
From Judah to Europe. He swims
To the shore of Malta, without all harm,
He speaks in a Greek tirade
Of our marble we called gods,
But he speaks in Athens in the bath of the sun
Of the creator of all the world, the unknown,
And of the offspring, to all the world a messenger.

And he will come to Tres-Tabernae

By the boot below, through Italy striding,
Till I see him on the Appian Way,
Where Roman women walk sweet and silken,
And he will feed them as his lambs
And invite them all to the sacrificial table.
In the imperial garden he will suffer
And hear Nero's scornful hiss,
As will his brother, fisherman of all men-fish.

The fisherman had to climb into his grave

And continue to work as the shepherd of nations,
He passed his shepherd's crook
By which he graciously guided East and West Rome,
That many a shepherd the tiara adorned.
To the pontiff every virgin is a sister
And every man a brother. To him was due
That every pious man believe ever more firmly.
So also the spirit rested on Pontifex Silvester.

And then the new Helen went

To her darling in the Orient,
But this time there was no adultery,
Rightly is this woman called faithful,
For she burns in the highest love
For the bridegroom who gave himself to her.
She who knows the healing power of the cross,
She found life in the murdered man,
For on the mast of the nave vines grow.

The empress gave life to a son,

I'm talking about the Emperor Constantine.
He gave freedom to the pious
And therefore the Lord gave him victory
In the sign of Chi-Rho, which led him
And spread the rule in Rome.
In death he was baptised,
He passed away bathed in the stream of grace
And also anointed with charismatic aroma.

He bequeathed his kingdom to the Holy Father,

That all the world might be ordered to God.
In history's tragic theatre
Not even the prince is free from fate
And yet freedom, the spirit blows in May
And in the mercy seat instructs the shepherd,
Who hears the occident's loud cry,
Leads every soul to the valley of myrtle,
To the bridegroom and the beautiful highly ornamented.

And Constantine, who wrote the Confession,

Gave Greece and Rome to the Lord for his own.
A true son of the great emperor drove
Teutons who brood, ponder, keep silent,
The Britons, the Irish, the Frisians, in the round dance
Of God's people, whom the shepherd led,
Carolus Magnus, then, I will show,
Who had little respect for the Saxons,
But to whom the crown of the Franks was justly due.

Aeneas, new times I see coming,

I will praise the coming Saviour,
The time will come when the pious
In all the heathen world will be called Franks.
Now I part from thee with a faint
In love's praise of the Frankish matron,
Patroness of all Franks, of all wise men
Nurturing mother of true wisdom, on the throne
I see her smiling over me without a doubt.

To her I now commend myself and, yes,

I know you cannot know her today,
Then you shall the Morning-star and Urania
On thy far pilgrimage call her.
Alas, woe is me, I must burn in limbo,
I must sigh, I must weep, I must wait till the day,
When the great Judge comes to the threshing floors,
Then I hope, then my lament ends.
And Socrates rose in the deep sarcophagi.

Aeneas trembled in all his limbs,

Unnameable sensation full in his heart.
The Sibyl called him with joyful songs,
Made him glad with a wise jest,
They rose, they saw the starry candles,
They stepped into Italy's summer night.
And must you also suffer the pain of death,
The star of the sea watches over thy life,
The smiling lovers of heaven are laughing!

ROME

O Muse of Parnassus, look down graciously!

Thou wilt graciously bring thy gifts
And guide my pen, that I may songs
And epic poems sing,
Will my voice penetrate from the desert
Into the blinded and deaf world
And will anyone hear the sound of your wings
In a time consecrated to money,
In a time that holds nothing high and holy?

O Muse of Parnassus, your son of Muses

Received his talent from the god of poets,
The god of seers spoke from his throne
Through thy mouth that burns red with love,
On your mountain of muses in the Occident.
Here I live and here I was born,
Where no one knows holy prophets
And hardly anyone chooses true poets
And where poetry is lost to the demons!

O Muse of Parnassus, from thy mouth

The call went out to a weary one,
But thou gav'st him tidings of beauty,
All-beautiful, lighthouse by the sea in the south,
At least give the poet peace
And let me sing in my loneliness
In praise of God! And once I am gone,
Then may you on your beautiful wings
(By your kiss of the Muses!) take me to Elysium!

Apollo Musagetes! golden sun

Is thy face to me in transfiguration,
O send me delight from thy delight,
That drunk with thee may be my poem of praise!
Behold, I will praise, praise, and will not despair
In my poor lowliness despair.
O God of poets! Poetry is my duty,
I sing praise in love all my days,
In love rejoice and in love, ah, the lamentations!

Apollo Musagetes! The promise

From your temple, from your throne
I have received the praise of love,
That full of love sang a son of Muses,
In thy light is heard already.
It is written as by your hands,
Thy good pleasure is the fairest reward,
And thou shalt one day consummate thy kingdom.
O Lord, I beseech thee, let not my song end!

Apollo Musagetes! Will Homer's

Praised song ring purified
In thy kingdom? He wrote in Eros
And in the lovely, the beautiful Mother.
And will you also crown Virgil with laurel,
For he is the servant of the sun's advent?
The most glorious of all the sons of the Muses
I will praise the Florentine today.
Let my song live too, you servant of your servants!

Rome I will sing this noon hour,

Help me, my genius, my love!
Aeneas sailed in the dim hour,
But already the mouth of the Tiber was approaching.
The sea at this point a little more turbid,
For the sky in it is cloud-grey reflected,
And a grey cloud hovered over
Italy, already the dew was dripping,
Man and woman fled from the rain into the hut.

It seems to me that the gods are angry, the gods are furious,
Deny to Latium the high blessing,
They speak their wrath with thundering voices
And express their grief with rain.
How impious men walk the paths
Of the world, there is not one more consecrated
To the celestials, and none will lie down
At Jupiter's feet in time,
To become royal in eternity!

And because the people of Latium

Have begun to go the ungodly way
And no one prays in the sanctuary any more,
Therefore all must fear, all must tremble.
Around their loins coil the serpents
And torment the people with bitter bites.
Who will gain the favour and grace of the gods?
Whom shall Urania kiss from heaven?
How stricken are the consciences of men!

Aeneas lands at the mouth of the Tiber,

He goes ashore with his crew.
O thou of fate's sacred union,
The crew under the captain's command,
You are beckoned by the high hand of the Most High:
You shall prepare a table for him to feast upon!
Aeneas found a good place,
Then they saw him striding to the table of the meal.
The rain clouds fled to the farthest reaches.

With a final thunderclap spoke

The Most High, as Aeneas speaks the word,
Now eat, in remembrance of God! Light
Breaks through the clouds, sanctifies that place,
The place of arrival, gracious port,
There they eat the meat and drink the wine.
Though it were murder in their legs
On their pilgrimage, sunshine wraps them up
At their arrival, golden glory wraps them.

The hunger for grace was so great

That they tore the lamb from the plates.
The hunger was so great that no doubt
They also feed the hostia of wheat.
Wisdom wanted to show the way:
Ye do feed the Host of God?
Then I will gloriously praise your arrival,
Then fate will lead you to Ostia,
The glorious Italy will be yours!

O Wisdom, your gates are suffering,

Yet melancholy consumes my song.
Can Aeneas with the hundred heathen fight,
When I am weary and faint and anxious?
O that I might walk by the river Tiber
And hear its waves murmur softly
And listen to the nightingale's song
And I could listen to the wind of the sky
And exchange my Germany for Italy!

Germany, you landscape under the rain,

Godlessness squats here in a black barrel!
Oh, I don't want to know your ways,
I only want to dream the dream of sweet bliss,
When the moon appears white and the sun golden
And sweet the summer night in Ischia
Surrounds little temples of the Madonna,
The sailor in the night saw the lighthouse
Of the faith that is the faith of Italy.

O let me dream in the Blue Grotto

And let me slumber in the black barges
And stagger through the night like a moth,
Longing for the chirping of cicadas,
Wrap myself in the foam of swans' wings
And bathe near Perugia
In the waters of crystal fountains
And with the fisherwomen here and there
Singing to Our Lady of Ischia!

Saint Peter! Do you still walk at night

With a lantern through Latium
And kiss the earth in the spirit of joy?
Your charisma rests on the sanctuary
Of the Vatican on the Palatium.
O when you pray in the marble halls,
Remember me too, I am your property,
O my patron, shepherd of us all.
I would gladly walk to your grave.
O Father, chariot and carriage of the Church,
Lock me with the key to the kingdom of heaven!
Let me like white blossom of red cherry
Through the summer breezes at night
Towards the sweet south fly,
I will sing the praises of nature
With a seraphic song full of joy.
A pining sighs in all creatures,
Arts and culture yearn for Christ.

Saint Peter, behold, your council describes

The new humanism; O Father, there
I think of Dante, as he lives and lives,
And of Virgil, who saw Christ,
And of Petrarch's epic Africa
And love also Ariost and Tasso very much
And sing Charis and Urania
As all poets' patron Homer.
To this Peter gives his fatherly blessing.

So Aeneas went with a hundred men

And met the prince Latinus in the city.
He could not banish the night visions,
Which he saw in his dream,
The fateless one from Fortuna's wheel,
Aeneas would free his daughter.
The hair was brown, the skin was white and smooth,
The white dress like snow in the May.
It was as if there were ten thousand graces around her.

While the men spoke of the city,

The maiden looked silently at the Trojan.
She smoothed out her robe of linen
And thought to herself silently: I am
For the Trojan surely no profit,
He knows sweet women from Asia
And perhaps he also has a woman in mind.
Cupid, this hunter, this driver,
He may drive this man Aeneas to other bodies.

My breasts are as small as apricots

And not like round swelling shells
And my hips do not tempt men's desires,
Perhaps too chastely my looks have asked.
Men talk of city and state,
I think only hopelessly a tender: You!
At my cradle stood furies
And no graces. Alas, I am bereft of rest
By god Amor! - And Aeneas smiled upon her.

O night! There he sat with Lavinia,

As softly the wind fanned in the arbour.
The summer air of Alexandria
Came with a dove's winged murmur.
Cupid, great thief, rob me of my heart
And give it to the gentle dear woman!
That she is like a wife, that I gladly believe,
I gladly believe, as I look into her eyes:
Like nights dark, deep, and full of the moon's dew.

Then came forth, hunted by the Furies,

The black-haired Turnus, full of rage,
He wants him to feast all alone
On Maid Lavinia, the source of delight,
The cup of joy and the horn of plenty.
So he calls Aeneas to battle,
Then he calls his troop to arms,
Aeneas turns to the camp in a hurry.
To the camp, calls together the scattered troop.

I must avenge the insult of Turnus

With your help I with great fury!
Then the lovely Ascanius
To his father spoke with his unbroken voice:
The bee must first gather many blossoms
Before she can make the honey. So
Down the blue father Tiber swim
And seek at the Palatium
Euander's help for the fight for Latium.

Euander was born of the nymph

Carmenta in fair Greece.
She did not seek the moors and the marshes,
She sought the crystal springs, found
The moisture of pure waters with her hand
And was as pure as the gods made her.
Like a marble statue she stood
In her marble-white body, her hair gilded,
The charms of the gaze from the graces reproduced.

And under a pomegranate tree

In glorious Arcadia
Euander she bears from her womb's foam,
Which was golden as the dear sun,
His eye like the July skies clear
And as sweet roses red his mouth,
Upon it lay the host of Amoretti.
Carmenta clothed him in linen
And loved him and was sore with motherly love.

O golden child with your angel eyes,

Who like thee awakens such sweet rich love?
How gladly I see thee suck at the breasts,
To seek satisfaction of pure urges.
Like a sun thou dost brighten my gloom.
With thy smile sweet and thy laughter.
And I play the bliss of games,
I practise being a child with a child, there
The angels watch over us, slaying old dragons.

And seventy years before the war of Troy

Euander left Arcadia
With his beloved Metanoia
To found his city Palatium.
He named his hill sanctuary
After his native land Pallanteum.
O Roma, I will sing your glory!
Venus in the Vatican Museum
Will coo like the turtledove a te-deum!

In Latium Euander's citadel

Aeneas received in the sun's glow.
Together at the Father Tiber's wave
They both went to the sacrificial grove
And brought to the beloved peace
An innocent and spotless lamb
To the Most High and a cup of wine.
Blessed was Euander's heroic tribe
With Aeneas' noble hundred together.

In the silent grove of sacrifice

To the power of the Holy One,
We will be thunder of his thunder
And wandering lightning of his lightning remain
And be the reflection of his sun's sonship
And be his winds and his messengers.
And the battle approaches, and death draws near,
Then we will unite with our blood
To the Judge, the Lord of the living and the dead.

And now through the Carmental Gate,

Asking for blessings, for the Virgin's blessing,
Sound the Greek chant in the choir
And prayers resound all around,
To move the Virgin's genius,
Carmenta herself was a song
Which all sounds lay at her feet
Like nightingales before the moon.
Out of pure fear of God her song was so long.

And then to the altar of Carmenta,

Euander sacrificed to his mother,
And Aeneas joined them in prayer;
To her they offered honey and butter,
And flowers, flower seeds, birdseed
And a little turtledove's meat
And fresh catch from a fishing boat.
Euander prayed, O mother, pray -
I give thee! desire - and I give chastely!

The pagan now led from the palatine

Aeneas, the one chosen by the gods,
The wilderness around the sacrificial hill
And through overgrown brushwood and thorns.
The two conspirators were allied,
Surrounded by the wings of Amoretti,
By nymphs and goddesses born,
They passed under the golden sun's seal
Through new Rome by the wild Palatine hill.

The booksellers' quarter looked on Aeneas,

As they mocked Virgil, Horace,
Ovid, Catullus, and then laughed
And called antiquated the style of Orpheus
And called Pindar's quill bluntly,
And too passionately called Sappho's ode,
Homer wrote too much poetry
And King David was long out of fashion
And Cygnus was still singing himself to death!

But then, by the she-wolf's grotto

Euander and Aeneas pledged their allegiance
And swore by the most high God:
The alliance of the Palatium renew
In Rome the old Troy that rejoices
She, the patron saint of Ilion,
Before whose beauty all grace shuns,
Who, as Bellona, stands by her son.
The mistress of the armies smiled from the shell throne.

The battle began, the tremendous battle,

Aeneas stood in red blood's stream
As a torch of lightning in the night of war
And Turnus died and entered Hades' dome
As a shadow. And victory was votive aroma
In Venus' beautiful nose (which I saw
And her lips smiling on Rome) -
Lowering her veil on Italy
Madonna gave the fair one to her son as bride.