The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse. Gawin Douglas
thi devote son by the godly estate.
Bot quharto suld I mak langar delay?
As I haue said, fayr weil, pas on ȝour way;
Quhat nedis with my speche ȝou tary mor,
Or stop this fair wynd blawing evyn befor?
This not theles, Andromacha, wo begone,
The lattir tyme we suld depart onon,
Brocht to ws brusyt clathis, and rych wedis,
Figuryt and prynnyt all with goldyn thredis,
And to Ascanyus a prowd tawbart gave
Sik as was honorabill hym to weir and have;
Hym and his feris of hir nedyll wark
And wovyn dowreys furnyst, worth mony mark:
And thus scho said, my child, ressaue alswa
Thir remembrance wrocht with my handis twa,
In takyn lang tyme to thynkyng apon me,
Thine vncle Hectouris wife, Andromache:
Tak thir with the as lattir presandis seir
Of thi kynd natyve frendis gudis and geir.
O leif is me! the lykast thing levyng,
And verray ymage of my Astianax ȝyng!
Syk eyn had he, and syk fair handis tway,
For all the warld, syk mowth and face, perfay:
And, gif he war on lyve quhil now infeir,
He had bene evyneild with the, and hedy peir.
Quhat wil ȝe mair? quhen we behuffyt depart,
Terys brysting furth on fors, and with sair hart,
To thame I said; deir frendis, weil ȝe be,
Weil mot ȝe leif in ȝour felicite,
Quhamtill the prospir forton is brocht till end:
Bot we, from werd to werd, and chance, mon wend.
Ȝour rest is fund, ȝou nedis sewch throw na seys,
Nor seik feildis of Itail, that evir ws fleys:
Symylytude of Exanthus, and Troy ȝe se
Quhilk ȝour awyn warkis hes beldit vp on hie;
God grant in bettyr tyme thai be begunnyn,
And neuer eft with Grekis fors ourrunnyn!
Gif evir in Tybir to entyr me betydis,
And, on the feildis neirby Tybris sydis,
May behald wallis vpset for my menȝe,
Or may the frendly citeis sum tyme se,
Lat ws of Epyrus and of Italy,
Cummyn baith of Dardanus genealogy,
And quhamto eik the chance of fortoun is ane,
Mak but a Troy of athir realmys twane;
And this sam lyge with our posterite
Sal evir remane in faith and vnyte.
CAP. VIII
Quhar fyrst Eneas Itale dyd aspy, And mony strange wentis hes salyt by.
Furth on, with this, throu owt the sey we slyde,
By the forland Cerawnya fast beside,
Quhar fra, out our the fludis forto saill,
The schortast way and cours lyis to Itaill.
Down gois the son be than, and hillis hie
Wolx dyrknyt with schaddowis of the sky;
We sort our aris, and chesis rowaris ilke deill,
And at a sownd or cost we likit weill
We strike at nycht, and on the dry strandis
Dyd bawne and beyk our bodeys, feyt, and handis.
Sone on our irkyt lymmys, lethis, and banys
The naturale rest of sleip slaid al atanys.
And, or the speyre his howris rollit richt
Sa far about that it was scars mydnycht,
Not sweir, bot in hys dedis deligent,
Palynurus furth of his cowch vpsprent,
Lysnyng about, and harknyng our alquhar
With erys prest to kep the wynd or ayr.
Of euery starn the twynklyng notis he
That in the still hevyn move cours we se,
Arthuris huyf, and Hyades betakynnand rayn,
Syne Watlyng streit, the Horn, and the Charle wayn,
The fers Orion with hys goldyn glave;
And, quhen he hes thame eueryane persaue
Into the cleir and serene firmament,
Furth of his eft schip a bekyn gart he stent:
We rays, and went on burd in our the waill,
Syne slakis down the schetis, and maid sayll.
Be this the dawyng gan at morn walx red,
And chasit away the starnys fra euery sted;
The dym hillis on far we dyd aspy,
And saw the law landis of Italy.
Italy! Italy! fyrst cryis Achates,
Syne al our feris of clamour micht nocht ces,
Bot with a voce atanys cryis, Itaill!
And hailsyng gan the land with hey and haill.
Than my fader, ammyral of our flote,
A mekil tankart with wyne fild to the throte,
And tharon set a garland or a crown,
And to the goddis maid this orysoun,
Sittand in the hie eft castell of our schip,
With ful devote reverens and wirschip:
O ȝe, quod he, goddis haldis in pouste
Weddir and stormys, the land eik and the se,
Grant our vayage ane esy and reddy wynd,
Inspyre ȝour favouris that prospir cours we fynd.
Scars this wes said, quhen, evyn at our desyre,
The sessonabil ayr pipis vp fair and schyre;
The havyn apperis, and thiddir nerrar we draw,
And of Mynerva the strang tempill saw
Set in the castell apon ane hillis hycht.
Our fallowis fangis in thar salys tyght,
And towart the cost thar stevynnys dyd addres.
A port thar is, quham the est fludis hes,
In maner of a bow, maid bowle or bay,
With rochys set forgane the streym ful stay,
To brek the salt fame of the seys stowr:
On athir hand, als hie as ony towr,
The byg hewis strekis furth lyke a wall:
Within the hawyn goith lown, but wynd or wall,
And at the port the tempill may not be seyn.
Heir fyrst I saw apon the plesand greyn
A fatale takyn, fowr horssis quhite as snaw
Gnyppand gresys the large feildis on raw.
Ha! lugyn land, batale thou ws pretendis,
Quod my fader Anchisis; for, as weil kend is,
Horssis ar dressit for the bargane feil sys;
Weir and debait thir stedis signyfyis.
Bot,