Virgil+Poet

==== Publius Vergilius Maro, better known as Virgil, was born October 15, 70 BC. Throughout his life, he was regarded as Rome's best poet and was most famous for his work, the "Aeneid". he was born in a Farming village in Northern Italy. Virgil lived with his father as a young boy and almost lost the land that they owned after the death of Caesar. After Caesar died, Octavian confiscated some of the land near Virgil's farmhouse in order to reward veterans. Virgil and his father were able to keep the land however. Virgil was largely influenced by the Greek poet Theocritus, which led him to write his first poem, the "Eclogues". Virgil used Homeric hexameter lines in order to write using pastoral themes rather than the popular epic theme. The rhythm and writing style that Virgil used to write this poem and his poems to follow was noted to be superior to that of his successors. The success of the "Eclogues" was great that he was quickly noticed by Octavian and sent to be educated in the better provinces of Italy, such as Milan. Virgil spent seven years after he was educated to write the epic poem the "Georgics". After this masterpiece was finished, he began to construct the poem that would be regarded as his best work and earn him the tittle of the greatest Roman poet. Before it was completed however, Virgil made the decision to travel to Greece in 19 B.C.E. While he was traveling, he met with Octavian who convinced him to travel with him back to Rome. On the way, Virgil developed a fever which began to get worse as the trip went on. On September 21 Virgil died of sickness and was buried in Naples. The work that he had previously started was never finished, however, it was saved from getting destroyed by Octavian. ====

Aim:
====Virgil's purpose in writing was to entertain and express his feelings through words. The purposes of his writings are often stated implicitly. Virgil used poems and writing to express how he feels about current topics and conflicts. One article states"The poem reflected the sorrows of the times"(Poets.org). After Virgil was noticed by Octavian, he had a much larger effect on people through his writing. This included sharing feelings about the sorrows of the time that could be related to the audience.====

Audience:
====The primary audience of Virgil's poems were people of authority and others who would request his poetry. Virgil assumes that his audience is aware of the issues that are currently taking place in the area that they live. This is a strength in his writing because it creates common ground between hi and his audience. One of the most important reasons that Virgil was regarded as a great poet in Roman times is because he could connect with the people of that time and write about the interests of the people. One article states, "exhibited rhythmic control and elegance superior to that of Virgil’s successors"(Poets.org). The way that Virgil wrote captured the audience and created a relationship that very few people could create when writing poetry.====

History:
====Political and historical events play a large role in the topics that Virgil wrote about. The text states, "The poem reflected the sorrows of the times"(Poets.org). Virgil took current topics that effected the large majority of people, and wrote about them. Virgil's persuasion effects the historical context of the written text because it persuades the readers to view the current topics of the time the same way he does. He persuades his readers to accept his opinions and creates something for people to base their opinions on.====

Cultural:
====Virgil uses cultural events to shape his writing in every aspect. Using past cultural writing techniques, he was able to create his own style of writing that capured the attention of people in his time as well as people in modern scoety. One article states, "Homeric hexameter lines to explore pastoral rather than epic themes"(Poets.org). His cultural writing techniques strengthen the relationship between him and the audience because his way of writing is different than the common epic themes, which captured the attention of his readers. Virgil had such strong writing that he as able to hold on to the attention of his readers throughout generations, even after his own death.====

=The Eclogues:=

Hesperus is here, home you sated goats: go home.
= = Literary Elements:

Point of View: Definition: The point from which the author presents the story. Effect: First person point of view. The author uses words like "I" and "my" to signify that the poem is in first person point of view.

Characterization: Definition: The creation of imaginary persons so they seem lifelike. Effect: The Author writes as if he is the protagonist due to the first person point of view. The protagonist is a person who goes on an adventure and vids that love conquers all.

Setting: Definition: Where the action takes place. Effect: The setting of book 1 of the Eclogues is a peaceful place away from Rome that the protagonists are speaking. They sit under a tree and discuss moving to Rome and away from their peacefull land.

Similarities: Both the song and the poem are about the struggles of love and war and the pain of having to leave a peaceful place and move to one that is more complicated. The poem and the song are both written in first person point of view. The setting is similar, and both take place on an open field, which will soon change to a different place.

Similar Song:


 * "Battlefield" by Jordan Sparks **

Don't try to explain your mind I know what's happening here One minute it's love and suddenly It's like a battle-field One word turns into a Why is it the smallest things that tear us down My world's nothing when you're gone I'm out here without a shield Can't go back now

Both hands tied behind my back for nothing Oh no These times when we climb so fast to fall again Why we gotta fall for it now

I never meant to start a war You know I never wanna hurt you Don't even know what we're fighting for

Why does love always feel like ... a battlefield (battlefield) a battlefield (battlefield) a battlefield (battlefield) //[repeat] // Why does love always feel like

Can't swallow our pride, Neither of us wanna raise that flag If we can't surrender then we both gonna lose what we had, oh no

Both hands tied behind my back with nothing (nothing) Oh no, these times when we climb so fast to fall again I don't wanna fall for it now

I never meant to start a war You know I never wanna hurt you Don't even know what we're fighting for

Why does love always feel like ... a battlefield (battlefield) a battlefield (battlefield) a battlefield (battlefield) //[repeat] //

I guess you better go and get your armor (get your armor) Get your armor (get your armor) I guess you better go and get your armor (get your armor) Get your armor (get your armor) I guess you better go and get your

We could pretend that we are friends tonight And in the morning we'll wake up and we'll be alright Cause baby we don't have to fight And I don't want this love to feel like

A battlefield (oh), a battlefield (oh), a battlefield, Why does love always feel like a battlefield (oh), A battlefield (oh), a battlefield

I guess you better go and get your armor I never meant to start a war (start a war) You know I never wanna hurt you Don't even know what we're fighting for (fighting, fighting for)

Why does love always feel like ... a battlefield (battlefield) a battlefield (battlefield) a battlefield (battlefield) //[repeat] //

I guess you better go and get your armor (get your armor) Get your armor (get your armor) I guess you better go and get your armor (get your armor) Get your armor (get your armor)

//[slowly fade] // Why does love always feel like (whooaa ooow) Why does love always feel like (whooaa ooow) A battlefield, a battlefield..

//[(whooaa ooow) throughout to end] // I never meant to start a war Don't even know what we're fighting for I never meant to start a war Don't even know what we're fighting for (whooaa ooow) //[fade out] //

=The "Georgics" book 1:=

I’ll begin to sing of what keeps the wheat fields happy, under what stars to plough the earth, and fasten vines to elms, what care the oxen need, what tending cattle require, Maecenas, and how much skill’s required for the thrifty bees. O you brightest lights of the universe that lead the passing year through the skies, Bacchus and kindly Ceres, since by your gifts fat wheat ears replaced Chaonian acorns, and mixed Achelous’s water with newly-discovered wine, and you, Fauns, the farmer’s local gods, (come dance, together, Fauns and Dryad girls!) your gifts I sing. And you, O Neptune, for whom earth at the blow of your mighty trident first produced whinnying horses: and you Aristaeus, planter of the groves, for whom three hundred snowy cattle graze Cea’s rich thickets: you, O Tegean Pan, if you care for your own Maenalus, leaving your native Lycaean woods and glades, guardian of the flocks, favour us: and Minerva bringer of the olive: and you Triptolemus, boy who revealed the curving plough, and Silvanus carrying a tender cypress by the roots: and all you gods and goddesses, whose care guards our fields, you who nurture the fresh fruits of the unsown earth, and you who send plentiful showers down for the crops: and you too, Caesar, who, in time, will live among a company of the gods, which one’s unknown, whether you choose to watch over cities and lands, and the vast world accepts you as bringer of fruits, and lord of the seasons, crowning your brows with your mother Venus’s myrtle, or whether you come as god of the vast sea, and sailors worship your powers, while furthest Thule serves you, and Tethys with all her waves wins you as son-in-law, or whether you add yourself to the slow months as a Sign, where a space opens between Virgo and the grasping claws, (Even now fiery Scorpio draws in his pincers for you, and leaves you more than your fair share of heaven): whatever you’ll be (since Tartarus has no hope of you as ruler, and may such fatal desire for power never touch you,  though Greece might marvel at the Elysian fields,  and Proserpine, re-won, might not care to follow her mother), grant me a fair course, and agree to my bold beginning, pitying the country folk, with me, who are ignorant of the way: prepare to start your duties, and even now, hear our prayer. = BkI:43-70 Spring Ploughing = In the early Spring, when icy waters flow from snowy hills, and the crumbling soil loosens in a westerly breeze, then I’d first have my oxen groaning over the driven plough, and the blade gleaming, polished by the furrow. The field that’s twice felt sun, and twice felt frost, answers to the eager farmer’s prayer: from it boundless harvest bursts the barns. But before our iron ploughshare slices the untried levels, let’s first know the winds, and the varying mood of the sky, and note our native fields, and the qualities of the place, and what each region grows and what it rejects. Here, wheat, there, vines, flourish more happily: trees elsewhere, and grasses, shoot up unasked for. See how Tmolus sends us saffron fragrance, India, ivory, the gentle Sabeans, their incense, while the naked Chalybes send iron, Pontus rank beaver-oil, Epirus the glories of her mares from Elis. Nature has necessarily imposed these rules, eternal laws, on certain places, since ancient times, when Deucalion hurled stones out into the empty world, from which a tough race of men was born. Come: and let your strong oxen turn the earth’s rich soil, right away, in the first months of the year, and let the clods lie for dusty summer to bake them in full sun: but if the earth has not been fertile it’s enough to lift it in shallow furrows, beneath Arcturus: in the first case so that the weeds don’t harm the rich crops, in the other, so what little moisture there is doesn’t leave the barren sand. = BkI:71-99 Treatment of the Land = Likewise alternate years let your cut fields lie fallow, and the idle ground harden with neglect: or sow yellow corn, under another star, where you first harvested beans rich in their quivering pods, or a crop of slender vetch, and the fragile stalks and rattling stems of bitter lupin. For example a harvest of flax exhausts the ground, oats exhaust it, and poppies exhaust it, filled with Lethean sleep: but by rotation, the labour prospers: don’t be ashamed to saturate the arid soil with rich dung, and scatter charred ashes over the weary fields. So with changes of crop the land can rest, and then the untilled earth is not ungrateful. It’s often been beneficial to fire the stubble fields, and burn the dry stalks in the crackling flames, whether the earth gains hidden strength and rich food from it, or every poison is baked out of it by the fire, and useless moistures sweated from it, or the heat frees more cracks and hidden pores, by which strength reaches the fresh shoots, or whether it hardens the soil more and narrows the open veins, so the fine rain, or the fiercer power of the blazing sun, or the north wind’s penetrating cold can’t harm it. He who breaks the dull clods with a hoe, and drags a harrow of willow over them, does the fields great good, and golden Ceres does not view him idly from high Olympus. And he too who reverses his plough and cuts across the ridges that he first raised, when he furrowed the levels, who constantly works the ground, and orders the fields. = BkI:100-117 Irrigation = Farmers, pray for moist summers and mild winters: the crops are glad, the fields are glad of winter dryness: Then Mysia boasts no finer cultivation, and even Gargarus marvels at its own harvests. Need I mention him who, having sown the seed, follows closely, and flattens the heaps of barren sand, then diverts the stream and its accompanying brooks to his crops, and see, when the scorched land burns, the grasses withering, he draws water, in channels, from the brow of the hill. Or him who grazes his luxuriant crop in the tender shoot, as soon as the new corn’s level with the furrow, lest the stalks bend down with over-heavy ears. Or him who soaks out a marsh’s gathered water with thirsty sand, especially in changeable seasons when rivers overflow and cover everything far and wide with a coat of mud, so the hollow ditches exude steamy vapours? = BkI:118-159 The Beginnings of Agriculture = Though men and oxen, labouring skilfully, have turned the land, the wretched geese still cause harm, and the Strymonian cranes, and the bitter fibred chicory, and the shade of trees. The great Father himself willed it, that the ways of farming should not be easy, and first stirred the fields with skill, rousing men’s minds to care, not letting his regions drowse in heavy lethargy. Before Jupiter’s time no farmers worked the land: it was wrong to even mark the fields or divide them with boundaries: men foraged in common, and the earth herself gave everything more freely, unasked. He added the deadly venom to shadowy snakes, made the wolves predators, and stirred the seas, shook honey from the trees, concealed fire, and curbed the wine that ran everywhere in streams, so that thoughtful practice might develop various skills, little by little, and search out shoots of grain in the furrows, and strike hidden fire from veins of flint. Then, rivers knew the hollowed alder-boat: then, sailors told and named the constellations, the Pleiades, the Hyades, and Lycaon’s gleaming Bears: then men learned to snare game in nets, deceive with birdlime, and surround great glades with dogs: Now one strikes into a broad river, seeking the depths, while another drags his dripping net through the sea: then came rigid iron and the melodious saw-blade (since the first men split the fissile wood with wedges), then came the various arts. Hard labour conquered all, and poverty’s oppression in harsh times. Ceres first taught men to plough the earth with iron, when the oaks and strawberry-trees of the sacred grove failed, and Dodona denied them food. Soon the crops began to suffer and the stalks were badly blighted, and useless thistles flourish in the fields: the harvest is lost and a savage growth springs up, goose-grass and star-thistles, and, amongst the bright corn, wretched darnel and barren oats proliferate. So that unless you continually attack weeds with your hoe, and scare the birds with noise, and cut back the shade from the dark soil with your knife, and call up rain with prayers, alas, you’ll view others’ vast hayricks in vain, and stave off hunger in the woods, shaking the oak-branches. = BkI:160-175 Tools and Tasks = I must tell of the sturdy countryman’s weapons, without which the crops could not be sown or grown: first the ploughshare, and the curved plough’s heavy frame, the slow lumbering wagons of Demeter, the Eleusinian mother, threshing sledges, drags, and cruelly weighted hoes: and the ordinary wicker-ware of Celeus, besides, hurdles of arbutus wood, and Iacchus’s sacred winnowing fans. You’ll store away all these, you’ve remembered to provide long before, if the noble glory of the divine countryside is to remain yours. At the start an elm, in the woods, bent by brute force, is trained to become a plough-beam, taking the form of the curving stock. A pole eight feet in length is fitted to the stock, two earth-boards, and a double-backed share-beam. A light lime-tree is felled beforehand for the yoke, and a tall beech for the plough handle, to turn the frame below, from behind, and smoke from the hearth seasons the hanging wood. = BkI:176-203 Ancient Maxims = I can repeat many ancient maxims to you, unless you reject them, and dislike learning lesser things. Especially that the threshing floor should be levelled with a heavy roller: brushed by hand: and firmed with tenacious clay, lest weeds spring up there, or it splits, crumbling to dust, and various blights mock you: often the little mouse sets up house under the soil, and builds its granaries, or moles with sightless eyes dig out chambers, and toads may be found in cavities, and all the many pests of the earth, and weevils infest vast heaps of grain, and ants fearful of a destitute old-age. Consider also, when the almond in the woods covers herself deeply in blossom, and dips her fragrant branches: if the young nuts are plentiful, a like wheat-harvest will follow, and a great threshing will come with great heat: but if the cloud’s heavy in the fullness of growth, your threshing-floor will thrash stalks rich in chaff. For my part I’ve seen many a sower treat his seeds, soaking them first in nitrate, and black lees of olive-oil, so the deceptive husks might bear larger grains which will quickly boil soft, however low the fire. I’ve seen choice seed, proven with much labour, degenerate, still, if the largest were not picked out each year, by human hand. So all things are fated to slide towards the worst, and revert by slipping back: just as if one who can hardly drive his boat with oars against the stream, should slacken his arms, and the channel sweep it away downstream. = BkI:204-258 Star-Lore = The star of Arcturus, and the days of the Kids, and bright Draco the Serpent, are as much ours as theirs, who sailing homewards over stormy seas, dare Pontus, and the jaws of oyster-rich Abydos. When Libra makes the hours of daytime and sleep equal, and divides the world between light and shadow, then work your oxen, men, sow barley in your fields right to the edge of formidable winter’s rains: then it’s time too to sow your crops of flax, in the soil, and Ceres’s poppy, and readily bend to the plough, while the dry ground will let you, and the clouds are high. Sow beans in Spring: then the crumbling furrows receive you, clover, and millet, you come to our annual attention, when snow-white Taurus with golden horns opens the year, and Sirius sets, overcome by opposing stars. But if you work the ground for harvests of wheat and hardy spelt, and you aim at grain alone, first let the Pleiades, Atlas’s daughters, set for you in the dawn, and let the Cretan stars of the burning Crown, Corona Borealis, vanish, before you commit the seeds required to the furrows, or rush to entrust a year’s hopes to the unwilling soil. Many have started to do so, before Maia’s setting, but the hoped-for crop has deluded them, the husks empty. Yet it’s true that if you sow vetch, or the humble kidney bean, and don’t ignore cultivation of Egypt’s lentils, Boötes setting will send no malign signals: begin, and carry on sowing into the thick of the frosts. For this purpose the golden sun commands his ecliptic, split into fixed segments, through twelve heavenly constellations. Five zones comprise the Earth: of which one is always bright with the glittering sun, and always burned by his flames: round this at the sky’s ends, two stretch to left and right, layered with ice and darkened by storms: between these and the central zone, two more have been given to weak humanity, by the grace of the gods, and a track passes between them, on which the oblique procession of Signs can revolve. Just as the world rises steeply north, towards Scythia and the Riphaean cliffs, it sinks down to Libya in the south. One pole is always high above us: while the other, under our feet, sees black Styx and the infernal Shades. Here mighty Draco glides in winding coils, around and between the two Bears, like a river, the Bears that fear to dip beneath the ocean. There, they say, either the dead of night keeps silence, and the shadows of night’s mask grow ever thicker: or Dawn, leaving us, brings back their day, and when the rising sun, with panting horses, first breathes on us, there burning Vesper lights his evening fire. From all this we can foretell the seasons, through unsettled skies: from this, the days for harvesting, and time for sowing, and when it’s right to set oars to the treacherous sea, when to launch the armed fleet, or fell the mature pine-tree in the forest. We don’t observe the Signs in vain, as they rise and set, nor the year divided into its four varied seasons. = BkI:259-310 Appropriate Times for Tasks = Whenever freezing rain keeps the farmer indoors, he can ready much that would soon have to be hurried, in clearer weather: the farmer forges a hard blade for the blunted ploughshare, carves out troughs from tree-trunks, or brands his cattle, or labels his ricks’ measures. Others sharpen stakes and two-pronged forks, or make tethers for the pliant vines, from Amerian willow. Now weave the graceful basket of reddish twigs, now parch grain by the fire, now grind it on the stone. Even on sacred days you can carry out certain tasks, by divine and human law: no religious rule forbids diverting streams, protecting crops with a hedge, setting snares for birds, firing brambles, or dipping the bleating flock in the health-giving water. Often the farmer loads his slow mule’s flanks with flasks of olive-oil, or humble fruit, and returns from town with a metalled millstone, or a mass of dark pitch. The Moon herself has set certain days as auspicious for certain kinds of work. Avoid the fifth: it’s then pale Orcus and the Furies were born: then in impious labour Earth gave birth to Coeus, Iapetus, and savage Typhoeus, and the brothers who banded together to raze the Heavens. Three times, indeed, they tried to pile Ossa on Pelion, and roll wooded Olympus on top of Ossa: three times Jupiter split the mountain pile apart with his lightning bolt. The seventeenth is good for planting vines, and taming yoked oxen, and adding threads to the loom. The ninth is better for runaways, harmful for the thief. Many things too go better in the cool night, or when, at first light, Dawn wets the Earth with dew. Slender stalks are best cut at night, and dry meadows, at night there’s no lack of lingering moisture. One stays awake by the late blaze of a winter fire, and sharpens torches with a keen knife, while his wife solaces herself with singing over her endless labour, running the noisy shuttle through the warp, or boiling down the sweet juice of grape must, on the fire, while skimming the cauldron’s boiling liquid with a leaf. But Ceres’s golden crop is reaped in midday heat, and in midday heat the threshing floor thrashes the dry ears. Plough half-naked: half-naked, sow: winter’s the farmer’s quiet time. In the cold season countrymen mainly enjoy their lot and treat themselves, delighting in feasts, together. Genial winter entices them, and soothes their cares, just as when loaded ships touch harbour, and happy sailors crown the sterns with garlands. But then is the time to gather acorns, and berries from the bay-tree, and trim the olives, and blood-red myrtles, to set snares for cranes, and nets for stags, and chase the long-eared hares, to strike the deer whirling a Balearic sling by its thongs of hemp, when snow lies deep, and rivers thrust up ice. = BkI:311-334 Storms = What should I tell of autumn’s storms, and stars, and what men must watch for when the daylight shortens, and summer becomes more changeable, or when spring pours down showers, when spiked crops bristle in the fields, and wheat swells with sap on its green stem? Often, when the farmer brought the reapers to his golden fields, and cut the barley with its brittle stalks, I’ve seen all the winds conflict in battle, ripping up the heavy crop from its deepest roots, on every side, and hurling it into the air: then the storm would sweep away the light stalks and the flying stubble in its dark whirlwind. Often a vast column of water towers in the sky, and clouds from the heights gather into a vile tempest of dark rain: high heaven falls, and washes away the joyful crops and the oxen’s labour, with its great deluge: the ditches fill, and the channelled rivers swell and roar, and the heaving ocean boils in the narrow straits. Jupiter himself, at storm-clouded midnight, wields his lightning bolts with glittering hand: at whose shock the vast earth trembles: the creatures run, and humbling terror subdues men’s hearts everywhere: with blazing shafts of light he rushes over Athos, Rhodope and the Ceraunian peaks. The Southerlies redouble, and the rain intensifies, now the woods moan with the mighty blast, now the shores. = BkI:335-350 The Worship Of Ceres = Fearing this, note the signs and seasons of the heavens, to what region Saturn’s cold planet retreats, and into what celestial orbit Mercury’s fire wanders. Above all worship the gods, and offer great Ceres her yearly rites, with sacrifice on the grass, delighted, at winter’s final end, now it is clear springtime. Then lambs grow fattest, and wine is mellow, sleep is sweet, and the shadows are dense on the hills. Let all the country folk worship Ceres: bathe the honeycomb for her, in milk and vintage wine, let the auspicious victim go three times round the new crop, while your whole choir of companions follow, rejoicing, and call Ceres loudly to their homes: and let no one put his sickle to the ripe corn, until he has wreathed his brow with a garland of oak leaves, danced artless dances and sung her songs. = BkI:351-392 Weather Signs: Terrestrial = And so that we might learn the sure signs of these things, heat, and rain, and cold-bearing winds, Jupiter himself commanded what the monthly moon should warn of, what would signal the easing of the winds, at what frequent sight the farmer should stable his cattle. Immediately the winds rise, either the straits of the sea begin to heave and swell, and a low noise is heard from the high mountains: or the shore rings with a distant sound, and a murmuring rises in the glades. Then the waves don’t spare the curved ships, the swift sea-birds fly back from mid-ocean, and send their cries to shore, coots of the seaboard settle on dry land, and the grey heron leaves its familiar marsh, and flies high above the clouds. Often when the wind is threatening you’ll see stars slide headlong from the sky, showing white in the dark of night, with a long trail of flame behind them: often light chaff, and fallen leaves fly up, and feathers dance together skimming the water. But when lightning flashes from the wild North sector, and when the house of the East and West winds thunders, the whole countryside is afloat, with overflowing ditches, every sailor furls dripping sails at sea. Rain never takes men unawares: either the cranes, airborne, fly before it, as it reaches the valley’s depths, or a heifer looks up at the sky and sniffs the air with nostrils spread, or the swallows twitter circling the pools, and the frogs in the mud croak their ancient lament. And often the ant, beating out a narrow track, brings eggs from an innermost nest, and a huge rainbow drinks, and a great troop of rooks leaving the fields beat their wings together densely, in ranks. Then there are the many sea birds, and those that search in Cayster’s sweet pools among the Asian meadows: you see them emulating each other splashing water madly over their backs, dipping their heads in the waves, paddling into the stream, and enjoying their bath with wild enthusiasm. Then the cruel raven’s deep cry calls up the rain, and, alone with himself, he walks the dry sands. Even girls, spinning, at their nocturnal task, have not failed to note the coming storm, seeing the oil sputter in the fiery lamp, and a clot of soot gather on the wick. = BkI:393-423 Weather Signs: After The Rain = No less, after rain, do we predict sunlight and clear skies, and recognise fair weather by certain signs: since the stars’ sharp edges are not obscured and the Moon rises, not dimmed by her brother’s rays, and thin fleecy clouds no longer drift across the sky: The halcyons, Thetis’s delight, stop spreading their wings on the sand, to catch the warm sun, and the muddy pigs forget to toss loose bales of hay around with their snouts. But the mists seek out the valleys more, and settle on the plains, and the owl, watching the sunset from some high hill, gives out its twilight calls in vain. Nisus, the sea-eagle’s seen high in the clear sky, and Scylla, the rock-dove, suffers for the purple lock: wherever she flies, cutting the thin air with her wings, see, her fierce enemy Nisus, follows her through the breeze with a loud whirring: when Nisus climbs in the sky, she flies quickly, cutting the thin air with her wings. Now the rooks repeat their clear calls, three or four times, with narrowed throats, and often caw to themselves in their high nests among the leaves, delighting in some unusual pleasantry: they’re glad, the rain over, to see their sweet nests and their little chicks again: not that I think they have divine wisdom or greater knowledge of the workings of Fate: but when the weather changes, and the rain from fickle skies, and Jupiter, among the wet South winds, makes what was now rarefied, dense, and makes dense what was rarefied, ideas in their minds alter, and their hearts feel differently, differently to when the wind was chasing the clouds. So that chorus of birds in the fields, the delight of the cattle, the triumphant cries of the rooks. = BkI:424-460 Weather Signs: Moon And Sun = If you pay close attention to the rapid suns and moon, following in order, tomorrow’s hour won’t fail you, you’ll not be caught out by a cloudless night. As soon as the moon waxes, as her light renews, if she encloses a dark mist in dim horns, heavy rains are brewing for farmers and for sailors: but if a virgin blush spreads over her face, the wind will rise, golden Phoebe always blushes in the wind. And if on the fourth day (and this is the clearest sign) she travels a clear sky with undimmed horns, then that day, and all the days after it, to the end of the month, will be free of wind and rain, and sailors safe in harbour will worship Glaucus, Panopea, and Melicerta, Ino’s son. The Sun too provides signals, rising, and when setting into the waves: certain signals follow the sun, those he brings at dawn, and as the stars rise. When, hidden in cloud, he’s discoloured the early morning with blotches, and is veiled at the centre of his disc, expect the showers: since the south wind, inauspicious for trees, crops and herds, is sweeping up from the deep. Or when scattered rays break through dense cloud at dawn, or Aurora rises pale as she leaves Tithonus’s saffron bed, ah, then the vine-leaf will protect the ripe grapes badly: the bristling hail dances so fiercely, rattling on the roofs. And it will do you more good still to remember, this, when he’s crossed the sky and is setting: often we see varied colours wandering over his face: dark-blue announces rain, fiery colours an Easterly, but if the hues begin to mix with glowing fire, then you’ll see everything rage with wind and storm. Don’t let anyone advise me to travel the sea that night, or haul in my cable from the land. But if when the sun brings and ends the day his disc is bright, your fear of storms is groundless, and you’ll see the woods swaying in a clear North wind. = BkI:461-497 The Portents At Julius Caesar’s Death = So, the sun will give you signs of what late evening brings, and from where a fair-weather wind blows the clouds, or what the rain-filled southerly intends. Who dares to say the sun tricks us? He often warns us that hidden troubles threaten, that treachery and secret wars are breeding. He pitied Rome when Caesar was killed, and hid his shining face in gloomy darkness, and an impious age feared eternal night. At that time earth, and the level sea, troublesome dogs, and fateful birds, gave omens. How often Etna inundated the Cyclopes’s fields, streams of lava pouring from her shattered furnace, hurling gouts of flame and molten rock! In Germany they heard the clash of weapons, across the sky, the Alps shook with strange quakes. A great shout was heard, openly, in the silent groves, and pale ghosts in strange forms were seen in the dark of night, and, ah horror, creatures spoke like men. Rivers stopped, earth split, and sad, the ivories wept in the temples, and the bronze sweated. Eridanus, king of the rivers, washed away forests in the whirl of his maddened vortex, and swept cattle and stables over the plains. Nor at that time was there any lack of ominous marks in the dark entrails, blood flowing in the wells, and mighty cities echoing at night with the howls of wolves. Never did greater lightning flash from a clear sky, never did fatal comets shine more often. So Philippi again saw Roman armies clash amongst themselves, with equal weapons: And the gods thought it not unfitting that Emathia and the broad plain of Haemus, should twice be enriched with our blood. And a time will come, when in those lands, the farmer labouring at the earth with curved plough, will come upon spears eaten by scabrous rust, or strike an empty helmet with his heavy hoe, and wonder at giant bones in the opened grave. = BkI:498-514 A Prayer for Augustus’s Success = Gods of my country, Heroes, Romulus, Mother Vesta, who guards the Tuscan Tiber, and Rome’s Palatine, don’t stop this young prince at least from rescuing a world turned upside down! Our blood’s atoned, long enough, for Laomedon’s perjuries at Troy: heaven’s realms have denied you to us long enough, Caesar, and they complain of your need for earthly triumphs. Here right and wrong are reversed: so many wars in the world, so many faces of evil: the plough not worthy of any honour, our lands neglected, robbed of farmers, and the curved pruning-hooks beaten into solid blades. Here Germany, there Euphrates wages war: neighbouring cities take up arms, breaking the laws that bound them: impious Mars rages through the world:

just as when the chariots stream from the starting gates, add to their speed each lap, and the charioteer tugging vainly at the bridles, is dragged on by the horses, the chariot not responding to the reins

Literary Elements:

Point of View:

Definition: The point from which the author presents the story.

Effect: The poem is written in third person omniscient point of view because the narrator is able to know all that is happening.

Characterization:

Definition: The creation of imaginary persons so they seem lifelike.

Effect: The poem uses imagery and figurative language to develop characters in third person point of view.

Setting:

Definition: Where the action takes place.

Effect: The action takes place on a peaceful field and then moves to a battlefield where war is determining who the overall power of the land is.

Similarities: Both the song and the poem describe battle and how brutal it can be. The develops the characters in a way that makes them dislike war, along with the poem. The poem and the song share a similar setting and both take place on a battlefield.

Similar song:


 * "One" by Metallica **

I Can't Remember Anything Can't Tell If this Is True or Dream Deep down Inside I Feel to Scream this Terrible Silence Stops Me Now That the War Is Through with Me I'm Waking up I Can Not See That There's Not Much Left of Me Nothing Is Real but Pain Now

Hold My Breath as I Wish for Death Oh Please God,wake Me

Back in the Womb its Much Too Real in Pumps Life That I must Feel but Can't Look Forward to Reveal Look to the Time When I'll Live Fed Through the Tube That Sticks in Me Just like a Wartime Novelty Tied to Machines That Make Me Be Cut this Life off from Me

Hold My Breath as I Wish for Death Oh Please God,wake Me

Now the World Is Gone I'm Just One Oh God,help Me Hold My Breath as I Wish for Death Oh Please God Help Me

Darkness

Imprisoning Me All That I See Absolute Horror I Cannot Live I Cannot Die Trapped in Myself Body My Holding Cell

Landmine

Has Taken My Sight Taken My Speech Taken My Hearing Taken My Arms Taken My Legs Taken My Soul Left Me with Life in Hell =The Aeneid- Book 1:=

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. O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate; What goddess was provok'd, and whence her hate; For what offense the Queen of Heav'n began To persecute so brave, so just a man; Involv'd his anxious life in endless cares, Expos'd to wants, and hurried into wars! Can heav'nly minds such high resentment show, Or exercise their spite in human woe? Against the Tiber's mouth, but far away, An ancient town was seated on the sea; A Tyrian colony; the people made Stout for the war, and studious of their trade: Carthage the name; belov'd by Juno more Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore. Here stood her chariot; here, if Heav'n were kind, The seat of awful empire she design'd. Yet she had heard an ancient rumor fly, (Long cited by the people of the sky,) That times to come should see the Trojan race Her Carthage ruin, and her tow'rs deface; Nor thus confin'd, the yoke of sov'reign sway Should on the necks of all the nations lay. She ponder'd this, and fear'd it was in fate; Nor could forget the war she wag'd of late For conqu'ring Greece against the Trojan state. Besides, long causes working in her mind, And secret seeds of envy, lay behind; Deep graven in her heart the doom remain'd Of partial Paris, and her form disdain'd; The grace bestow'd on ravish'd Ganymed, Electra's glories, and her injur'd bed. Each was a cause alone; and all combin'd To kindle 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 labor 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: "'T is 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." He said, and hurl'd against the mountain side His quiv'ring spear, and all the god applied. The raging winds rush thro' the hollow wound, And dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground; Then, settling on the sea, the surges sweep, Raise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep. South, East, and West with mix'd confusion roar, And roll the foaming billows to the shore. The cables crack; the sailors' fearful cries Ascend; and sable night involves the skies; And heav'n itself is ravish'd from their eyes. Loud peals of thunder from the poles ensue; Then flashing fires the transient light renew; The face of things a frightful image bears, And present death in various forms appears. Struck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief, With lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief; And, "Thrice and four times happy those," he cried, "That under Ilian walls before their parents died! Tydides, bravest of the Grecian train!  Why could not I by that strong arm be slain,  And lie by noble Hector on the plain,  Or great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields  Where Simois rolls the bodies and the shields  Of heroes, whose dismember'd hands yet bear  The dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!" Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails, Fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails, And rent the sheets; the raging billows rise, And mount the tossing vessels to the skies: Nor can the shiv'ring oars sustain the blow; The galley gives her side, and turns her prow; While those astern, descending down the steep, Thro' gaping waves behold the boiling deep. Three ships were hurried by the southern blast, And on the secret shelves with fury cast. Those hidden rocks th' Ausonian sailors knew: They call'd them Altars, when they rose in view, And show'd their spacious backs above the flood. Three more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood, Dash'd on the shallows of the moving sand, And in mid ocean left them moor'd aland. Orontes' bark, that bore the Lycian crew, (A horrid sight!) ev'n in the hero's view, From stem to stern by waves was overborne: The trembling pilot, from his rudder torn, Was headlong hurl'd; thrice round the ship was toss'd, Then bulg'd at once, and in the deep was lost; And here and there above the waves were seen Arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men. The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way, And suck'd thro' loosen'd planks the rushing sea. Ilioneus was her chief: Alethes old, Achates faithful, Abas young and bold, Endur'd not less; their ships, with gaping seams, Admit the deluge of the briny streams. Meantime imperial Neptune heard the sound Of raging billows breaking on the ground. Displeas'd, and fearing for his wat'ry reign, He rear'd his awful head above the main, Serene in majesty; then roll'd his eyes Around the space of earth, and seas, and skies. He saw the Trojan fleet dispers'd, distress'd, By stormy winds and wintry heav'n oppress'd. Full well the god his sister's envy knew, And what her aims and what her arts pursue. He summon'd Eurus and the western blast, And first an angry glance on both he cast; Then thus rebuk'd: "Audacious winds! from whence This bold attempt, this rebel insolence?  Is it for you to ravage seas and land,  Unauthoriz'd by my supreme command?  To raise such mountains on the troubled main?  Whom I- but first 't is fit the billows to restrain;  And then you shall be taught obedience to my reign.  Hence! to your lord my royal mandate bear-  The realms of ocean and the fields of air  Are mine, not his. By fatal lot to me  The liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea.  His pow'r to hollow caverns is confin'd:  There let him reign, the jailer of the wind,  With hoarse commands his breathing subjects call,  And boast and bluster in his empty hall." He spoke; and, while he spoke, he smooth'd the sea, Dispell'd the darkness, and restor'd the day. Cymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train Of beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main, Clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands: The god himself with ready trident stands, And opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands; Then heaves them off the shoals. Where'er he guides His finny coursers and in triumph rides, The waves unruffle and the sea subsides. As, when in tumults rise th' ignoble crowd, Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud; And stones and brands in rattling volleys fly, And all the rustic arms that fury can supply: If then some grave and pious man appear, They hush their noise, and lend a list'ning ear; He soothes with sober words their angry mood, And quenches their innate desire of blood: So, when the Father of the Flood appears, And o'er the seas his sov'reign trident rears, Their fury falls: he skims the liquid plains, High on his chariot, and, with loosen'd reins, Majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains. The weary Trojans ply their shatter'd oars To nearest land, and make the Libyan shores. Within a long recess there lies a bay: An island shades it from the rolling sea, And forms a port secure for ships to ride; Broke by the jutting land, on either side, In double streams the briny waters glide. Betwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene Appears above, and groves for ever green: A grot is form'd beneath, with mossy seats, To rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats. Down thro' the crannies of the living walls The crystal streams descend in murm'ring falls: No haulsers need to bind the vessels here, Nor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear. Sev'n ships within this happy harbor meet, The thin remainders of the scatter'd fleet. The Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes, Leap on the welcome land, and seek their wish'd repose. First, good Achates, with repeated strokes Of clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes: Short flame succeeds; a bed of wither'd leaves The dying sparkles in their fall receives: Caught into life, in fiery fumes they rise, And, fed with stronger food, invade the skies. The Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around The cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground: Some dry their corn, infected with the brine, Then grind with marbles, and prepare to dine. Aeneas climbs the mountain's airy brow, And takes a prospect of the seas below, If Capys thence, or Antheus he could spy, Or see the streamers of Caicus fly. No vessels were in view; but, on the plain, Three beamy stags command a lordly train Of branching heads: the more ignoble throng Attend their stately steps, and slowly graze along. He stood; and, while secure they fed below, He took the quiver and the trusty bow Achates us'd to bear: the leaders first He laid along, and then the vulgar pierc'd; Nor ceas'd his arrows, till the shady plain Sev'n mighty bodies with their blood distain. For the sev'n ships he made an equal share, And to the port return'd, triumphant from the war. The jars of gen'rous wine (Acestes' gift, When his Trinacrian shores the navy left) He set abroach, and for the feast prepar'd, In equal portions with the ven'son shar'd. Thus while he dealt it round, the pious chief With cheerful words allay'd the common grief: "Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose To future good our past and present woes.  With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;  Th' inhuman Cyclops and his den defied.  What greater ills hereafter can you bear?  Resume your courage and dismiss your care,  An hour will come, with pleasure to relate  Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.  Thro' various hazards and events, we move  To Latium and the realms foredoom'd by Jove.  Call'd to the seat (the promise of the skies)  Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise,  Endure the hardships of your present state;  Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate." These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart; His outward smiles conceal'd his inward smart. The jolly crew, unmindful of the past, The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste. Some strip the skin; some portion out the spoil; The limbs, yet trembling, in the caldrons boil; Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil. Stretch'd on the grassy turf, at ease they dine, Restore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with wine. Their hunger thus appeas'd, their care attends The doubtful fortune of their absent friends: Alternate hopes and fears their minds possess, Whether to deem 'em dead, or in distress. Above the rest, Aeneas mourns the fate Of brave Orontes, and th' uncertain state Of Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus. The day, but not their sorrows, ended thus. When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys Earth, air, and shores, and navigable seas, At length on Libyan realms he fix'd his eyes- Whom, pond'ring thus on human miseries, When Venus saw, she with a lowly look, Not free from tears, her heav'nly sire bespoke: "O King of Gods and Men! whose awful hand Disperses thunder on the seas and land,  Disposing all with absolute command;  How could my pious son thy pow'r incense?  Or what, alas! is vanish'd Troy's offense?  Our hope of Italy not only lost,  On various seas by various tempests toss'd,  But shut from ev'ry shore, and barr'd from ev'ry coast.  You promis'd once, a progeny divine  Of Romans, rising from the Trojan line,  In after times should hold the world in awe,  And to the land and ocean give the law.  How is your doom revers'd, which eas'd my care  When Troy was ruin'd in that cruel war?  Then fates to fates I could oppose; but now,  When Fortune still pursues her former blow,  What can I hope? What worse can still succeed?  What end of labors has your will decreed? Antenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts, Could pass secure, and pierce th' Illyrian coasts, Where, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves And thro' nine channels disembogues his waves. At length he founded Padua's happy seat, And gave his Trojans a secure retreat; There fix'd their arms, and there renew'd their name, And there in quiet rules, and crown'd with fame. But we, descended from your sacred line, Entitled to your heav'n and rites divine, Are banish'd earth; and, for the wrath of one, Remov'd from Latium and the promis'd throne. Are these our scepters? these our due rewards? And is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards?" To whom the Father of th' immortal race,  Smiling with that serene indulgent face,  With which he drives the clouds and clears the skies,  First gave a holy kiss; then thus replies:  "Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire The fates of thine are fix'd, and stand entire. Thou shalt behold thy wish'd Lavinian walls; And, ripe for heav'n, when fate Aeneas calls, Then shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me: No councils have revers'd my firm decree. And, lest new fears disturb thy happy state, Know, I have search'd the mystic rolls of Fate: Thy son (nor is th' appointed season far) In Italy shall wage successful war, Shall tame fierce nations in the bloody field, And sov'reign laws impose, and cities build, Till, after ev'ry foe subdued, the sun Thrice thro' the signs his annual race shall run: This is his time prefix'd. Ascanius then, Now call'd Iulus, shall begin his reign. He thirty rolling years the crown shall wear, Then from Lavinium shall the seat transfer, And, with hard labor, Alba Longa build. The throne with his succession shall be fill'd Three hundred circuits more: then shall be seen Ilia the fair, a priestess and a queen, Who, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes, Shall at a birth two goodly boys disclose. The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain: Then Romulus his grandsire's throne shall gain, Of martial tow'rs the founder shall become, The people Romans call, the city Rome. To them no bounds of empire I assign, Nor term of years to their immortal line. Ev'n haughty Juno, who, with endless broils, Earth, seas, and heav'n, and Jove himself turmoils; At length aton'd, her friendly pow'r shall join, To cherish and advance the Trojan line. The subject world shall Rome's dominion own, And, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown. An age is ripening in revolving fate When Troy shall overturn the Grecian state, And sweet revenge her conqu'ring sons shall call, To crush the people that conspir'd her fall. Then Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise, Whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies Alone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils, Our heav'n, the just reward of human toils, Securely shall repay with rites divine; And incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine. Then dire debate and impious war shall cease, And the stern age be soften'd into peace: Then banish'd Faith shall once again return, And Vestal fires in hallow'd temples burn; And Remus with Quirinus shall sustain The righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain. Janus himself before his fane shall wait, And keep the dreadful issues of his gate, With bolts and iron bars: within remains Imprison'd Fury, bound in brazen chains; High on a trophy rais'd, of useless arms, He sits, and threats the world with vain alarms." He said, and sent Cyllenius with command  To free the ports, and ope the Punic land  To Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate,  The queen might force them from her town and state.  Down from the steep of heav'n Cyllenius flies,  And cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies.  Soon on the Libyan shore descends the god,  Performs his message, and displays his rod:  The surly murmurs of the people cease;  And, as the fates requir'd, they give the peace:  The queen herself suspends the rigid laws,  The Trojans pities, and protects their cause.  Meantime, in shades of night Aeneas lies:  Care seiz'd his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes.  But, when the sun restor'd the cheerful day,  He rose, the coast and country to survey, Anxious and eager to discover more. It look'd a wild uncultivated shore; But, whether humankind, or beasts alone Possess'd the new-found region, was unknown. Beneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides: Tall trees surround the mountain's shady sides; The bending brow above a safe retreat provides. Arm'd with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends, And true Achates on his steps attends. Lo! in the deep recesses of the wood, Before his eyes his goddess mother stood: A huntress in her habit and her mien; Her dress a maid, her air confess'd a queen. Bare were her knees, and knots her garments bind; Loose was her hair, and wanton'd in the wind; Her hand sustain'd a bow; her quiver hung behind. She seem'd a virgin of the Spartan blood: With such array Harpalyce bestrode Her Thracian courser and outstripp'd the rapid flood. "Ho, strangers! have you lately seen," she said, "One of my sisters, like myself array'd, Who cross'd the lawn, or in the forest stray'd?  A painted quiver at her back she bore;  Varied with spots, a lynx's hide she wore;  And at full cry pursued the tusky boar." Thus Venus: thus her son replied again: "None of your sisters have we heard or seen, O virgin! or what other name you bear  Above that style- O more than mortal fair!  Your voice and mien celestial birth betray!  If, as you seem, the sister of the day,  Or one at least of chaste Diana's train,  Let not an humble suppliant sue in vain;  But tell a stranger, long in tempests toss'd,  What earth we tread, and who commands the coast?  Then on your name shall wretched mortals call,  And offer'd victims at your altars fall." "I dare not," she replied, "assume the name Of goddess, or celestial honors claim:  For Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear,  And purple buskins o'er their ankles wear.  Know, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are-  A people rude in peace, and rough in war.  The rising city, which from far you see,  Is Carthage, and a Tyrian colony.  Phoenician Dido rules the growing state,  Who fled from Tyre, to shun her brother's hate.  Great were her wrongs, her story full of fate;  Which I will sum in short. Sichaeus, known  For wealth, and brother to the Punic throne,  Possess'd fair Dido's bed; and either heart  At once was wounded with an equal dart.  Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid;  Pygmalion then the Tyrian scepter sway'd:  One who condemn'd divine and human laws. Then strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause. The monarch, blinded with desire of wealth, With steel invades his brother's life by stealth; Before the sacred altar made him bleed, And long from her conceal'd the cruel deed. Some tale, some new pretense, he daily coin'd, To soothe his sister, and delude her mind. At length, in dead of night, the ghost appears Of her unhappy lord: the specter stares, And, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares. The cruel altars and his fate he tells, And the dire secret of his house reveals, Then warns the widow, with her household gods, To seek a refuge in remote abodes. Last, to support her in so long a way, He shows her where his hidden treasure lay. Admonish'd thus, and seiz'd with mortal fright, The queen provides companions of her flight: They meet, and all combine to leave the state, Who hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate. They seize a fleet, which ready rigg'd they find; Nor is Pygmalion's treasure left behind. The vessels, heavy laden, put to sea With prosp'rous winds; a woman leads the way. I know not, if by stress of weather driv'n, Or was their fatal course dispos'd by Heav'n; At last they landed, where from far your eyes May view the turrets of new Carthage rise; There bought a space of ground, which (Byrsa call'd, From the bull's hide) they first inclos'd, and wall'd. But whence are you? what country claims your birth? What seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?" To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes,  And deeply sighing, thus her son replies:  "Could you with patience hear, or I relate, O nymph, the tedious annals of our fate! Thro' such a train of woes if I should run, The day would sooner than the tale be done! From ancient Troy, by force expell'd, we came- If you by chance have heard the Trojan name. On various seas by various tempests toss'd, At length we landed on your Libyan coast. The good Aeneas am I call'd- a name, While Fortune favor'd, not unknown to fame. My household gods, companions of my woes, With pious care I rescued from our foes. To fruitful Italy my course was bent; And from the King of Heav'n is my descent. With twice ten sail I cross'd the Phrygian sea; Fate and my mother goddess led my way. Scarce sev'n, the thin remainders of my fleet, From storms preserv'd, within your harbor meet. Myself distress'd, an exile, and unknown, Debarr'd from Europe, and from Asia thrown, In Libyan desarts wander thus alone." His tender parent could no longer bear;  But, interposing, sought to soothe his care.  "Whoe'er you are- not unbelov'd by Heav'n, Since on our friendly shore your ships are driv'n- Have courage: to the gods permit the rest, And to the queen expose your just request. Now take this earnest of success, for more: Your scatter'd fleet is join'd upon the shore; The winds are chang'd, your friends from danger free; Or I renounce my skill in augury. Twelve swans behold in beauteous order move, And stoop with closing pinions from above; Whom late the bird of Jove had driv'n along, And thro' the clouds pursued the scatt'ring throng: Now, all united in a goodly team, They skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream. As they, with joy returning, clap their wings, And ride the circuit of the skies in rings; Not otherwise your ships, and ev'ry friend, Already hold the port, or with swift sails descend. No more advice is needful; but pursue The path before you, and the town in view." Thus having said, she turn'd, and made appear  Her neck refulgent, and dishevel'd hair,  Which, flowing from her shoulders, reach'd the ground.  And widely spread ambrosial scents around:  In length of train descends her sweeping gown;  And, by her graceful walk, the Queen of Love is known.  The prince pursued the parting deity  With words like these: "Ah! whither do you fly? Unkind and cruel! to deceive your son In borrow'd shapes, and his embrace to shun; Never to bless my sight, but thus unknown; And still to speak in accents not your own." Against the goddess these complaints he made,  But took the path, and her commands obey'd.  They march, obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds  With mists their persons, and involves in clouds,  That, thus unseen, their passage none might stay,  Or force to tell the causes of their way.  This part perform'd, the goddess flies sublime  To visit Paphos and her native clime;  Where garlands, ever green and ever fair,  With vows are offer'd, and with solemn pray'r:  A hundred altars in her temple smoke;  A thousand bleeding hearts her pow'r invoke.  They climb the next ascent, and, looking down,  Now at a nearer distance view the town.  The prince with wonder sees the stately tow'rs,  Which late were huts and shepherds' homely bow'rs, The gates and streets; and hears, from ev'ry part, The noise and busy concourse of the mart. The toiling Tyrians on each other call To ply their labor: some extend the wall; Some build the citadel; the brawny throng Or dig, or push unwieldly stones along. Some for their dwellings choose a spot of ground, Which, first design'd, with ditches they surround. Some laws ordain; and some attend the choice Of holy senates, and elect by voice. Here some design a mole, while others there Lay deep foundations for a theater; From marble quarries mighty columns hew, For ornaments of scenes, and future view. Such is their toil, and such their busy pains, As exercise the bees in flow'ry plains, When winter past, and summer scarce begun, Invites them forth to labor in the sun; Some lead their youth abroad, while some condense Their liquid store, and some in cells dispense; Some at the gate stand ready to receive The golden burthen, and their friends relieve; All with united force, combine to drive The lazy drones from the laborious hive: With envy stung, they view each other's deeds; The fragrant work with diligence proceeds. "Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!" Aeneas said, and view'd, with lifted eyes, Their lofty tow'rs; then, entiring at the gate, Conceal'd in clouds (prodigious to relate) He mix'd, unmark'd, among the busy throng, Borne by the tide, and pass'd unseen along. Full in the center of the town there stood, Thick set with trees, a venerable wood. The Tyrians, landing near this holy ground, And digging here, a prosp'rous omen found: From under earth a courser's head they drew, Their growth and future fortune to foreshew. This fated sign their foundress Juno gave, Of a soil fruitful, and a people brave. Sidonian Dido here with solemn state Did Juno's temple build, and consecrate, Enrich'd with gifts, and with a golden shrine; But more the goddess made the place divine. On brazen steps the marble threshold rose, And brazen plates the cedar beams inclose: The rafters are with brazen cov'rings crown'd; The lofty doors on brazen hinges sound. What first Aeneas this place beheld, Reviv'd his courage, and his fear expell'd. For while, expecting there the queen, he rais'd His wond'ring eyes, and round the temple gaz'd, Admir'd the fortune of the rising town, The striving artists, and their arts' renown; He saw, in order painted on the wall, Whatever did unhappy Troy befall: The wars that fame around the world had blown, All to the life, and ev'ry leader known. There Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies, And fierce Achilles, who both kings defies. He stopp'd, and weeping said: "O friend! ev'n here The monuments of Trojan woes appear!  Our known disasters fill ev'n foreign lands:  See there, where old unhappy Priam stands!  Ev'n the mute walls relate the warrior's fame,  And Trojan griefs the Tyrians' pity claim." He said (his tears a ready passage find), Devouring what he saw so well design'd, And with an empty picture fed his mind: For there he saw the fainting Grecians yield, And here the trembling Trojans quit the field, Pursued by fierce Achilles thro' the plain, On his high chariot driving o'er the slain. The tents of Rhesus next his grief renew, By their white sails betray'd to nightly view; And wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword The sentries slew, nor spar'd their slumb'ring lord, Then took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food Of Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood. Elsewhere he saw where Troilus defied Achilles, and unequal combat tried; Then, where the boy disarm'd, with loosen'd reins, Was by his horses hurried o'er the plains, Hung by the neck and hair, and dragg'd around: The hostile spear, yet sticking in his wound, With tracks of blood inscrib'd the dusty ground. Meantime the Trojan dames, oppress'd with woe, To Pallas' fane in long procession go, In hopes to reconcile their heav'nly foe. They weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair, And rich embroider'd vests for presents bear; But the stern goddess stands unmov'd with pray'r. Thrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew The corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew. Here Priam sues; and there, for sums of gold, The lifeless body of his son is sold. So sad an object, and so well express'd, Drew sighs and groans from the griev'd hero's breast, To see the figure of his lifeless friend, And his old sire his helpless hand extend. Himself he saw amidst the Grecian train, Mix'd in the bloody battle on the plain; And swarthy Memnon in his arms he knew, His pompous ensigns, and his Indian crew. Penthisilea there, with haughty grace, Leads to the wars an Amazonian race: In their right hands a pointed dart they wield; The left, for ward, sustains the lunar shield. Athwart her breast a golden belt she throws, Amidst the press alone provokes a thousand foes, And dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose. Thus while the Trojan prince employs his eyes, Fix'd on the walls with wonder and surprise, The beauteous Dido, with a num'rous train And pomp of guards, ascends the sacred fane. Such on Eurotas' banks, or Cynthus' height, Diana seems; and so she charms the sight, When in the dance the graceful goddess leads The choir of nymphs, and overtops their heads: Known by her quiver, and her lofty mien, She walks majestic, and she looks their queen; Latona sees her shine above the rest, And feeds with secret joy her silent breast. Such Dido was; with such becoming state, Amidst the crowd, she walks serenely great. Their labor to her future sway she speeds, And passing with a gracious glance proceeds; Then mounts the throne, high plac'd before the shrine: In crowds around, the swarming people join. She takes petitions, and dispenses laws, Hears and determines ev'ry private cause; Their tasks in equal portions she divides, And, where unequal, there by lots decides. Another way by chance Aeneas bends His eyes, and unexpected sees his friends, Antheus, Sergestus grave, Cloanthus strong, And at their backs a mighty Trojan throng, Whom late the tempest on the billows toss'd, And widely scatter'd on another coast. The prince, unseen, surpris'd with wonder stands, And longs, with joyful haste, to join their hands; But, doubtful of the wish'd event, he stays, And from the hollow cloud his friends surveys, Impatient till they told their present state, And where they left their ships, and what their fate, And why they came, and what was their request; For these were sent, commission'd by the rest, To sue for leave to land their sickly men, And gain admission to the gracious queen. Ent'ring, with cries they fill'd the holy fane; Then thus, with lowly voice, Ilioneus began: "O queen! indulg'd by favor of the gods To found an empire in these new abodes,  To build a town, with statutes to restrain  The wild inhabitants beneath thy reign,  We wretched Trojans, toss'd on ev'ry shore,  From sea to sea, thy clemency implore.  Forbid the fires our shipping to deface!  Receive th' unhappy fugitives to grace,  And spare the remnant of a pious race!  We come not with design of wasteful prey,  To drive the country, force the swains away:  Nor such our strength, nor such is our desire;  The vanquish'd dare not to such thoughts aspire.  A land there is, Hesperia nam'd of old;  The soil is fruitful, and the men are bold-  Th' Oenotrians held it once- by common fame  Now call'd Italia, from the leader's name.  To that sweet region was our voyage bent, When winds and ev'ry warring element Disturb'd our course, and, far from sight of land, Cast our torn vessels on the moving sand: The sea came on; the South, with mighty roar, Dispers'd and dash'd the rest upon the rocky shore. Those few you see escap'd the Storm, and fear, Unless you interpose, a shipwreck here. What men, what monsters, what inhuman race, What laws, what barb'rous customs of the place, Shut up a desart shore to drowning men, And drive us to the cruel seas again? If our hard fortune no compassion draws, Nor hospitable rights, nor human laws, The gods are just, and will revenge our cause. Aeneas was our prince: a juster lord, Or nobler warrior, never drew a sword; Observant of the right, religious of his word. If yet he lives, and draws this vital air, Nor we, his friends, of safety shall despair; Nor you, great queen, these offices repent, Which he will equal, and perhaps augment. We want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts, Where King Acestes Trojan lineage boasts. Permit our ships a shelter on your shores, Refitted from your woods with planks and oars, That, if our prince be safe, we may renew Our destin'd course, and Italy pursue. But if, O best of men, the Fates ordain That thou art swallow'd in the Libyan main, And if our young Iulus be no more, Dismiss our navy from your friendly shore, That we to good Acestes may return, And with our friends our common losses mourn." Thus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew  With cries and clamors his request renew.  The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes,  Ponder'd the speech; then briefly thus replies:  "Trojans, dismiss your fears; my cruel fate, And doubts attending an unsettled state, Force me to guard my coast from foreign foes. Who has not heard the story of your woes, The name and fortune of your native place, The fame and valor of the Phrygian race? We Tyrians are not so devoid of sense, Nor so remote from Phoebus' influence. Whether to Latian shores your course is bent, Or, driv'n by tempests from your first intent, You seek the good Acestes' government, Your men shall be receiv'd, your fleet repair'd, And sail, with ships of convoy for your guard: Or, would you stay, and join your friendly pow'rs To raise and to defend the Tyrian tow'rs, My wealth, my city, and myself are yours. And would to Heav'n, the Storm, you felt, would bring On Carthaginian coasts your wand'ring king. My people shall, by my command, explore The ports and creeks of ev'ry winding shore, And towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest Of so renown'd and so desir'd a guest." Rais'd in his mind the Trojan hero stood,  And long'd to break from out his ambient cloud:  Achates found it, and thus urg'd his way:  "From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay? What more can you desire, your welcome sure, Your fleet in safety, and your friends secure? One only wants; and him we saw in vain Oppose the Storm, and swallow'd in the main. Orontes in his fate our forfeit paid; The rest agrees with what your mother said." Scarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way,  The mists flew upward and dissolv'd in day.  The Trojan chief appear'd in open sight,  August in visage, and serenely bright.  His mother goddess, with her hands divine,  Had form'd his curling locks, and made his temples shine,  And giv'n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace,  And breath'd a youthful vigor on his face;  Like polish'd ivory, beauteous to behold,  Or Parian marble, when enchas'd in gold:  Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke,  And thus with manly modesty he spoke:  "He whom you seek am I; by tempests toss'd, And sav'd from shipwreck on your Libyan coast; Presenting, gracious queen, before your throne, A prince that owes his life to you alone. Fair majesty, the refuge and redress Of those whom fate pursues, and wants oppress, You, who your pious offices employ To save the relics of abandon'd Troy; Receive the shipwreck'd on your friendly shore, With hospitable rites relieve the poor; Associate in your town a wand'ring train, And strangers in your palace entertain: What thanks can wretched fugitives return, Who, scatter'd thro' the world, in exile mourn? The gods, if gods to goodness are inclin'd; If acts of mercy touch their heav'nly mind, And, more than all the gods, your gen'rous heart. Conscious of worth, requite its own desert! In you this age is happy, and this earth, And parents more than mortal gave you birth. While rolling rivers into seas shall run, And round the space of heav'n the radiant sun; While trees the mountain tops with shades supply, Your honor, name, and praise shall never die. Whate'er abode my fortune has assign'd, Your image shall be present in my mind." Thus having said, he turn'd with pious haste,  And joyful his expecting friends embrac'd:  With his right hand Ilioneus was grac'd,  Serestus with his left; then to his breast  Cloanthus and the noble Gyas press'd;  And so by turns descended to the rest.  The Tyrian queen stood fix'd upon his face,  Pleas'd with his motions, ravish'd with his grace;  Admir'd his fortunes, more admir'd the man;  Then recollected stood, and thus began:  "What fate, O goddess-born; what angry pow'rs Have cast you shipwrack'd on our barren shores? Are you the great Aeneas, known to fame, Who from celestial seed your lineage claim? The same Aeneas whom fair Venus bore To fam'd Anchises on th' Idaean shore? It calls into my mind, tho' then a child, When Teucer came, from Salamis exil'd, And sought my father's aid, to be restor'd: My father Belus then with fire and sword Invaded Cyprus, made the region bare, And, conqu'ring, finish'd the successful war. From him the Trojan siege I understood, The Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood. Your foe himself the Dardan valor prais'd, And his own ancestry from Trojans rais'd. Enter, my noble guest, and you shall find, If not a costly welcome, yet a kind: For I myself, like you, have been distress'd, Till Heav'n afforded me this place of rest; Like you, an alien in a land unknown, I learn to pity woes so like my own." She said, and to the palace led her guest;  Then offer'd incense, and proclaim'd a feast.  Nor yet less careful for her absent friends,  Twice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends;  Besides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs,  With bleating cries, attend their milky dams;  And jars of gen'rous wine and spacious bowls  She gives, to cheer the sailors' drooping souls.  Now purple hangings clothe the palace walls,  And sumptuous feasts are made in splendid halls:  On Tyrian carpets, richly wrought, they dine;  With loads of massy plate the sideboards shine,  And antique vases, all of gold emboss'd  (The gold itself inferior to the cost),  Of curious work, where on the sides were seen  The fights and figures of illustrious men, From their first founder to the present queen. The good Aeneas, paternal care Iulus' absence could no longer bear, Dispatch'd Achates to the ships in haste, To give a glad relation of the past, And, fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy, Snatch'd from the ruins of unhappy Troy: A robe of tissue, stiff with golden wire; An upper vest, once Helen's rich attire, From Argos by the fam'd adultress brought, With golden flow'rs and winding foliage wrought, Her mother Leda's present, when she came To ruin Troy and set the world on flame; The scepter Priam's eldest daughter bore, Her orient necklace, and the crown she wore Of double texture, glorious to behold, One order set with gems, and one with gold. Instructed thus, the wise Achates goes, And in his diligence his duty shows. But Venus, anxious for her son's affairs, New counsels tries, and new designs prepares: That Cupid should assume the shape and face Of sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace; Should bring the presents, in her nephew's stead, And in Eliza's veins the gentle poison shed: For much she fear'd the Tyrians, double-tongued, And knew the town to Juno's care belong'd. These thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke, And thus alarm'd, to winged Love she spoke: "My son, my strength, whose mighty pow'r alone Controls the Thund'rer on his awful throne,  To thee thy much-afflicted mother flies,  And on thy succor and thy faith relies.  Thou know'st, my son, how Jove's revengeful wife,  By force and fraud, attempts thy brother's life;  And often hast thou mourn'd with me his pains.  Him Dido now with blandishment detains;  But I suspect the town where Juno reigns.  For this 't is needful to prevent her art,  And fire with love the proud Phoenician's heart:  A love so violent, so strong, so sure,  As neither age can change, nor art can cure.  How this may be perform'd, now take my mind:  Ascanius by his father is design'd  To come, with presents laden, from the port,  To gratify the queen, and gain the court.  I mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep, And, ravish'd, in Idalian bow'rs to keep, Or high Cythera, that the sweet deceit May pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat. Take thou his form and shape. I beg the grace But only for a night's revolving space: Thyself a boy, assume a boy's dissembled face; That when, amidst the fervor of the feast, The Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast, And with sweet kisses in her arms constrains, Thou may'st infuse thy venom in her veins." The God of Love obeys, and sets aside  His bow and quiver, and his plumy pride;  He walks Iulus in his mother's sight,  And in the sweet resemblance takes delight.  The goddess then to young Ascanius flies,  And in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes:  Lull'd in her lap, amidst a train of Loves,  She gently bears him to her blissful groves,  Then with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head,  And softly lays him on a flow'ry bed.  Cupid meantime assum'd his form and face,  Foll'wing Achates with a shorter pace,  And brought the gifts. The queen already sate  Amidst the Trojan lords, in shining state,  High on a golden bed: her princely guest  Was next her side; in order sate the rest.  Then canisters with bread are heap'd on high; Th' attendants water for their hands supply, And, having wash'd, with silken towels dry. Next fifty handmaids in long order bore The censers, and with fumes the gods adore: Then youths, and virgins twice as many, join To place the dishes, and to serve the wine. The Tyrian train, admitted to the feast, Approach, and on the painted couches rest. All on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze, But view the beauteous boy with more amaze, His rosy-color'd cheeks, his radiant eyes, His motions, voice, and shape, and all the god's disguise; Nor pass unprais'd the vest and veil divine, Which wand'ring foliage and rich flow'rs entwine. But, far above the rest, the royal dame, (Already doom'd to love's disastrous flame,) With eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy, Beholds the presents, and admires the boy. The guileful god about the hero long, With children's play, and false embraces, hung; Then sought the queen: she took him to her arms With greedy pleasure, and devour'd his charms. Unhappy Dido little thought what guest, How dire a god, she drew so near her breast; But he, not mindless of his mother's pray'r, Works in the pliant bosom of the fair, And molds her heart anew, and blots her former care. The dead is to the living love resign'd; And all Aeneas enters in her mind. Now, when the rage of hunger was appeas'd, The meat remov'd, and ev'ry guest was pleas'd, The golden bowls with sparkling wine are crown'd, And thro' the palace cheerful cries resound. From gilded roofs depending lamps display Nocturnal beams, that emulate the day. A golden bowl, that shone with gems divine, The queen commanded to be crown'd with wine: The bowl that Belus us'd, and all the Tyrian line. Then, silence thro' the hall proclaim'd, she spoke: "O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke, With solemn rites, thy sacred name and pow'r;  Bless to both nations this auspicious hour!  So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line  In lasting concord from this day combine.  Thou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer,  And gracious Juno, both be present here!  And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address  To Heav'n with mine, to ratify the peace." The goblet then she took, with nectar crown'd (Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,) And rais'd it to her mouth with sober grace; Then, sipping, offer'd to the next in place. 'T was Bitias whom she call'd, a thirsty soul; He took challenge, and embrac'd the bowl, With pleasure swill'd the gold, nor ceas'd to draw, Till he the bottom of the brimmer saw. The goblet goes around: Iopas brought His golden lyre, and sung what ancient Atlas taught: The various labors of the wand'ring moon, And whence proceed th' eclipses of the sun; Th' original of men and beasts; and whence The rains arise, and fires their warmth dispense, And fix'd and erring stars dispose their influence; What shakes the solid earth; what cause delays The summer nights and shortens winter days. With peals of shouts the Tyrians praise the song: Those peals are echo'd by the Trojan throng. Th' unhappy queen with talk prolong'd the night, And drank large draughts of love with vast delight; Of Priam much enquir'd, of Hector more; Then ask'd what arms the swarthy Memnon wore, What troops he landed on the Trojan shore; The steeds of Diomede varied the discourse, And fierce Achilles, with his matchless force; At length, as fate and her ill stars requir'd, To hear the series of the war desir'd. "Relate at large, my godlike guest," she said, "The Grecian stratagems, the town betray'd: The fatal issue of so long a war,  Your flight, your wand'rings, and your woes, declare;  For, since on ev'ry sea, on ev'ry coast,  Your men have been distress'd, your navy toss'd,  Sev'n times the sun has either tropic view'd,  The winter banish'd, and the spring renew'd." 

Literary Elements:

Point of View:

Definition: The point from which the author presents the story.

Effect: The poem is written in third person omniscient point of view because the narrator is able to know all that is happening.

Characterization:

Definition: The creation of imaginary persons so they seem lifelike.

Effect: The poem uses imagery and figurative language to develop characters in third person point of view.

Setting:

Definition: Where the action takes place.

Effect: The action takes place during war on a battlefield sand describes the many hardships of war.

Similarities: Both the song and the poem signify the harsh conditions of war and what people really have to do during battle. The songs have a similar setting and characterization. both of the pieces use figurative language to develop the characters and focuses on the sorrow of battle.

Similar Song:


 * "Devils & Dust" by Bruce Springsteen **

I got my finger on the trigger But I don't know who to trust When I look into your eyes There's just devils and dust We're a long, long way from home, Bobbie Home's a long, long way from us I feel a dirty wind blowing Devils and dust

I got God on my side And I'm just trying to survive What if what you do to survive Kills the things you love Fear's a powerful thing, baby It can turn your heart black you can trust It'll take your God filled soul And fill it with devils and dust

Well I dreamed of you last night In a field of blood and stone The blood began to dry The smell began to rise Well I dreamed of you last night, Bobbie In a field of mud and bone Your blood began to dry And the smell began to rise

We've got God on our side We're just trying to survive What if what you do to survive Kills the things you love Fear's a powerful thing, baby It'll turn your heart black you can trust It'll take your God filled soul Fill it with devils and dust It'll take your God filled soul Fill it with devils and dust

//[Harmonica solo] //

Now every woman and every man They wanna take a righteous stand Find the love that God wills And the faith that He commands I've got my finger on the trigger And tonight faith just ain't enough When I look inside my heart There's just devils and dust

Well I've got God on my side And I'm just trying to survive What if what you do to survive Kills the things you love Fear's a dangerous thing It can turn your heart black you can trust It'll take your God filled soul Fill it with devils and dust Yeah it'll take your God filled soul Fill it with devils and dust

//[Harmonica solo] //  Works Cited ""Battlefield" Lyrics." //JORDIN SPARKS LYRICS//. N.p., n.d. Web. 05 May 2014. .

"METALLICA LYRICS." //AZLyrics.com//. AZLyrics.com, n.d. Web <http%3A%2F%2Fwww.azlyrics.com%2Flyrics%2Fmetallica%2Fone.html>.

//Poets.org//. Academy of American Poets, n.d. Web. 05 May 2014. <http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/virgil>.