Named Entity Results
P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. John Dryden)

Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc'd by fate, And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate, Expell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan shore. Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore, And in the doubtful war, before he won The Latian realm, and built the destin'd town; His banish'd gods restor'd to rites divine, And settled sure succession in his line, From whence the race of Alban fathers come, And the long glories of majestic Rome.

All were attentive to the godlike man, When from his lofty couch he thus began: Great queen, what you command me to relate Renews the sad remembrance of our fate: An empire from its old foundations rent, And ev'ry woe the Trojans underwent; A peopled city made a desart place; All that I saw, and part of which I was: Not ev'n the hardest of our foes could hear, Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear. And now the latter watch of wasting night, And setting stars, to kindly rest invite; But, since you take such int'rest in our woe, And Troy's disastrous end desire to know, I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell What in our last and fatal night befell.

When Heav'n had overturn'd the Trojan state And Priam's throne, by too severe a fate; When ruin'd Troy became the Grecians' prey, And Ilium's lofty tow'rs in ashes lay; Warn'd by celestial omens, we retreat, To seek in foreign lands a happier seat. Near old Antandros, and at Ida's foot, The timber of the sacred groves we cut, AndIlium's lofty tow'rs in ashes lay; Warn'd by celestial omens, we retreat, To seek in foreign lands a happier seat. Near old Antandros, and at Ida's foot, The timber of the sacred groves we cut, And build our fleet; uncertain yet to find What place the gods for our repose assign'd. Friends daily flock; and scarce the kindly spring Began to clothe the ground, and birds to sing, When old Anchises summon'd all to sea: The crew my father and the Fates obey. With sighs and tears I leave my native shore, And empty fields, where Ilid scarce the kindly spring Began to clothe the ground, and birds to sing, When old Anchises summon'd all to sea: The crew my father and the Fates obey. With sighs and tears I leave my native shore, And empty fields, where Ilium stood before. My sire, my son, our less and greater gods, All sail at once, and cleave the briny floods.

Her sister first with early care she sought, And thus in mournful accents eas'd her thought: “My dearest Anna, what new dreams affright My lab'ring soul! what visions of the night Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast With strange ideas of our Trojan guest! His worth, his actions, and majestic air, A man descended from the gods declare. Fear ever argues a degenerate kind; His birth is well asserted by his mind. Then, what he suffer'd, when by Fate betray'd! What brave attempts for falling Troy he made! Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke, That, were I not resolv'd against the yoke Of hapless marriage, never to be curst With second love, so fatal was my first, To this one error I might yield again; For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain, This only man is able to subvert The fix'd foundations of my stubborn heart. And, to confess my frailty, to my shame, Somewhat I find within, if not the same, Too like the sparkles of my former flame. But first let yawning earth a passage re