The Aeneid — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Folklore

Authors: Virgil, 71 BCE-20 BCE, Dryden, John, 1631-1700 [Translator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 1995 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Aeneas (Legendary character) -- Poetry; Legends -- Rome -- Poetry; Epic poetry, Latin -- Translations into English Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

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Words 116,727

Reading time 508 min

Text sections 14

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Source: Project Gutenberg record #228

Virgil's epic follows Aeneas from Troy's fall to Italy, translated by John Dryden in heroic couplets. The opening lines establish Juno's wrath, while later excerpts show Amata's serpent-driven fury, illustrating Dryden's vivid, rhetorical style.

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e vengeance in her haughty mind. For this, far distant from the Latian coast She drove the remnants of the Trojan host; And sev’n long years th’ unhappy wand’ring train Were toss’d by storms, and scatter’d thro’ the main. Such time, such toil, requir’d the Roman name, Such length of labour for so vast a frame.

Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars, Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores, Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign, And plowing frothy furrows in the main; When, lab’ring still with endless discontent, The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent:

“Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?” said she, “And must the Trojans reign in Italy? So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force; Nor can my pow’r divert their happy course. Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen, The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men? She, for the fault of one offending foe, The bolts of Jove himself presum’d to throw: With whirlwinds from beneath she toss’d the ship, And bare expos’d the bosom of the deep; Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game, The wretch, yet hissing with her father’s flame, She strongly seiz’d, and with a burning wound Transfix’d, and naked, on a rock she bound. But I, who walk in awful state above, The majesty of heav’n, the sister wife of Jove, For length of years my fruitless force employ Against the thin remains of ruin’d Troy! What nations now to Juno’s pow’r will pray, Or off’rings on my slighted altars lay?”

Thus rag’d the goddess; and, with fury fraught. The restless regions of the storms she sought, Where, in a spacious cave of living stone, The tyrant Aeolus, from his airy throne, With pow’r imperial curbs the struggling winds, And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds. This way and that th’ impatient captives tend, And, pressing for release, the mountains rend. High in his hall th’ undaunted monarch stands, And shakes his scepter, and their rage commands; Which did he not, their unresisted sway Would sweep the world before them in their way; Earth, air, and seas thro’ empty space would roll, And heav’n would fly before the driving soul. In fear of this, the Father of the Gods Confin’d their fury to those dark abodes, And lock’d ’em safe within, oppress’d with mountain loads; Impos’d a king, with arbitrary sway, To loose their fetters, or their force allay. To whom the suppliant queen her pray’rs address’d, And thus the tenor of her suit express’d:

“O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heav’n The pow’r of tempests and of winds has giv’n; Thy force alone their fury can restrain, And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main. A race of wand’ring slaves, abhorr’d by me, With prosp’rous passage cut the Tuscan sea; To fruitful Italy their course they steer, And for their vanquish’d gods design new temples there. Raise all thy winds; with night involve the skies; Sink or disperse my fatal enemies. Twice sev’n, the charming daughters of the main, Around my person wait, and bear my train: Succeed my wish, and second my design; The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine, And make thee father of a happy line.”

To this the god: “’Tis yours, O queen, to will The work which duty binds me to fulfil. These airy kingdoms, and this wide command, Are all the presents of your bounteous hand: Yours is my sov’reign’s grace; and, as your guest, I sit with gods at their celestial feast; Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue; Dispose of empire, which I hold from you.”

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Virgil's Aeneid, translated by John Dryden, opens with the famous line 'Arms, and the man I sing,' immediately establishing the epic's dual focus on warfare and a singular hero. The first book introduces Juno's 'unrelenting hate' as the driving force behind Aeneas's trials, a divine grudge rooted in the judgment of Paris and the abduction of Ganymede. Dryden's translation renders these mythological causes in crisp, balanced couplets, giving the reader a clear sense of the poem's cosmic stakes. The narrative voice is direct and purposeful, calling upon the Muse to 'the causes and the crimes relate,' a phrase that signals both the epic's scope and its interest in human motive.

Divine Wrath and Human Suffering

The opening of Book I presents Juno's anger as both personal and political. Dryden writes that 'long causes working in her mind, / And secret seeds of envy, lay behind,' a formulation that turns divine resentment into a psychological process. The goddess's fear that 'times to come should see the Trojan race / Her Carthage ruin' gives the epic a forward-looking, almost prophetic dimension. This tension between divine will and human endurance is established early: Aeneas is 'forc'd by fate' yet 'expos'd to wants, and hurried into wars.' The reader is invited to watch how these forces play out across the poem's twelve books.

The Fury's Poison in Amata's Court

In the later excerpt, the Fury Allecto injects venom into Queen Amata, and Dryden's description is strikingly physical: 'the fiery serpent skims / Betwixt her linen and her naked limbs.' The poison works 'by degrees,' first seizing 'her cooler senses' before erupting into open rage. Amata's speech to her husband reveals her rhetorical skill—she invokes nature, pity, and precedent, comparing Aeneas to Paris as a 'faithless pirate.' When reason fails, she 'flies to rage,' and Dryden compares her frenzy to boys whipping a top, a simile that underscores the mechanical, almost absurd quality of her fury. This passage shows how the epic uses supernatural intervention to drive human conflict.

Ritual and Rebellion in Amata's Revolt

Amata's rebellion takes on a ritualistic dimension as she 'feign'd the rites of Bacchus' and leads a band of women into the wilderness. Dryden's lines capture the choral quality of their cries: 'Evoe! O Bacchus!' answered by the female throng. The queen 'shook high above her head a flaming pine' and 'roll'd her haggard eyes,' a portrait of ecstatic possession that blurs the line between religious fervor and political subversion. The passage notes that 'all seek the mountains, and forsake the town,' suggesting a breakdown of civic order. This episode contrasts sharply with the disciplined, fate-driven journey of Aeneas, highlighting the chaos that divine interference can produce among mortals.

Dryden's Couplets and the Epic Voice

Throughout these excerpts, Dryden's heroic couplets impose a formal order on turbulent events. The meter is regular, the rhymes often emphatic: 'hate' / 'fate,' 'town' / 'down.' This control creates a tension between the measured voice of the narrator and the violent passions described. In the Amata passage, the simile of the top—'The wooden engine flies and whirls about'—is contained within a neat couplet, as if the poet is disciplining chaos through verse. Readers should attend to how Dryden uses these structural choices to shape the epic's meaning, balancing the grand sweep of fate with the intimate details of human (and divine) emotion.

As you read, note how Dryden's translation consistently pairs abstract forces—fate, rage, love—with concrete, often physical imagery. The opening's 'haughty Juno' and the later 'flaming pine' of Amata are part of a single poetic strategy. Pay attention to the similes, which often draw on everyday life (a top, a serpent) to illuminate the extraordinary. The Aeneid rewards attention to these details, which ground its cosmic narrative in a vivid, human world.

That afternoon, the rain kept time with Dryden's couplets, and I lingered over Juno's storm-bright rage. Later, closing the book, I found myself thinking of fallen heroes, of fates unchecked. A quiet impulse led me to Ixion In Heaven — A Reader’s Guide, and there was that same reckless spinning, caught again in a different kind of wheel.