Virgil - The Aenied Annotated by VM Lyrics
Pg 124
With haste, he now performed the
Sibyl’s orders. There was a cave-monstrously gaping, jagged,
Deep. A dark wood, a black lake sheltered it.
Birds at their peril made their winging way
Above, in position that the black throat breathed,
Pouring it upward to the dome of heaven.
The Birdless Place is what the Greek have named it.
First the priest had four young black bullocks brought
To stand there. He poured wine between their horns
And clipped the bristling turfs the stood up highest,
As the first offering for the sacred fire,
And called on Hecate, strong in hell and heaven.
Others applied their knifes and caught the warm blood
In bowls. Aeneas slaughtered with his sword
A black-Fleeced lamb for Night, the Furies’ mother,
And Earth, their sister: for Proserpina
A sterile cow; and started the night rituals
Of the Stygian king with whole bulls on the flames
And a rich oil poured on the burning entrails.
Now, right before the rising sun’s light broke,
The ground beneath their feet roared. Wooded slopes
Shifted. Dog seemed to growl among the shadows.
It was the goddess. “Get out!” yelled the priestess,
“Get clear out of the grove, if you’re not pure.
But you go forward boldly. Pull your sword free.
It's now you need your fearless heart, Aeneas.”
Into the open cave she bolted, maddened.
And he kept pace with her, guide, with brave steps.
You gods who rule dead souls, you silent shades,
And Phlegethon and Chaos, spread with still night,
Give holy sanction, let me pass this tale on
And open what deep earth and darkness cover.
With haste, he now performed the
Sibyl’s orders. There was a cave-monstrously gaping, jagged,
Deep. A dark wood, a black lake sheltered it.
Birds at their peril made their winging way
Above, in position that the black throat breathed,
Pouring it upward to the dome of heaven.
The Birdless Place is what the Greek have named it.
First the priest had four young black bullocks brought
To stand there. He poured wine between their horns
And clipped the bristling turfs the stood up highest,
As the first offering for the sacred fire,
And called on Hecate, strong in hell and heaven.
Others applied their knifes and caught the warm blood
In bowls. Aeneas slaughtered with his sword
A black-Fleeced lamb for Night, the Furies’ mother,
And Earth, their sister: for Proserpina
A sterile cow; and started the night rituals
Of the Stygian king with whole bulls on the flames
And a rich oil poured on the burning entrails.
Now, right before the rising sun’s light broke,
The ground beneath their feet roared. Wooded slopes
Shifted. Dog seemed to growl among the shadows.
It was the goddess. “Get out!” yelled the priestess,
“Get clear out of the grove, if you’re not pure.
But you go forward boldly. Pull your sword free.
It's now you need your fearless heart, Aeneas.”
Into the open cave she bolted, maddened.
And he kept pace with her, guide, with brave steps.
You gods who rule dead souls, you silent shades,
And Phlegethon and Chaos, spread with still night,
Give holy sanction, let me pass this tale on
And open what deep earth and darkness cover.