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NELLORE MANUAL. 715 Dachama Nayndu, the great-grandson of Chevi Reddi, we return to legendary account of battles and inevitable victories, followed by triumphal ceremonies so savage and horrible that for the credit of the family it may be hoped that these accounts are as mythical as their chronology is vague. The Pandye Rajahs of Madura had at this period got possession of Kanchi (Conjeveram), and it was only by the strong arm of Yerra Dachama Nayudu that they were forcibly ousted.

Singama Nayudu, the eldest son and successor of this warrior, fell by treachery while besieging a small hill fort at Jallipalli held by Rajahs of the Chalukya race, and the family name and fame passed to his third brother Yachama Nayudu, who proved his bravery against the Mahomedans. Eventually, however, the eldest son of Singama Nayudu Anapotha Nayudu revenged his father's death by defeating, with a force of only 90,000 men and 700 elephants, the united army of the Kamma caste amounting to 560,000 men! In this wonderful engage- ment, which has entirely escaped the notice of the historian, the sword of Anapotha Nayudu dealt death to the round number of 101 rajahs. The family biographer is so convinced of the occurrence of this wonder- ful battle that he actually gives the date 1283 of the Salivahana era or 1300 A.D. Anapoths Nayudu and his brother Mada Nayudu divided their territorial possessions, the former retaining Ratchakonda and the latter taking Devarakonda. Mada Nayudu seems to have been always at war either with the Mahomedans or with the Reddi chiefs, his chief success recorded being the defeat of Anapotha Reddi near Danulakote.

Annama Nayudu, the eighth in descent and grandson of Anapotha Nayudu, is recorded to have conquered over Sambada Somedu of the junar race, and to have fallen himself in the siege of Gudikota by the hand of one Pallepalle Bakkarazu. His brother Chinna Singama Nayudu sent out his brother-in-law Jupalli Kondama Nayudu with some forces to avenge his death, Bakkarazu threw himself into the fort of Pudichattikonda, which was besieged and taken. He was at Jength compelled to surrender, and as the first instance of mercy shown to a captive of war, the Venkataghiri chronicle records that Singama Nayudu spared his life.

Of Timma Nayudu, another grandson of Anapotha Nayudu, it is related that he waged successful warfare with the chiefs of Gurazala in the Palnad,

The whole country seems to have been overrun with a multitude of petty chiefs perpetually at war with each other, and scattered and divided as the Mahomedans found them, it is not strange that in the end they established their power over the whole country. In the annals of the heroic deeds of the house of Venkataghiri we find different members of this family distinguishing themselves in all parts of Telin- �


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license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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 lakes and sweet-scented pine-woods. I would leave Texas behind me, and the open prairie and its sheep and bands of long-horned cattle, its chattering prairie dogs and howling coyotés, and prowling cougars, and try another country.

But before I could get away there were many things to do, and some things to suffer—notably a storm one night, a surprise to me, for it seemed that the wind blew calmly on the high plateau, using its energy in ceaseless breezes, not in sudden destructive cyclonic convulsion. But one day the breeze failed. The clouds came up from all quarters, opening and shutting, closing in the blue, dark and thunderous with pallid leaden edges. We sat in our camp, not thinking greatly about the matter, for so many threatened storms had blown over. But presently Jones got up, and went across the creek to the house, remarking that he thought we should have rain. The young Englishman soon followed, leaving me with Alexander, a Californian herder, and Bill, a Missourian.

Presently we heard thunder, and a few heavy drops of rain fell. We left the fire, and went into the big tent and sat down. Then there was a low roar of wind, and the rush of rain came with the wind and struck the tent, that bellied in and strained like a sail at sea. One moment of suspense, and, before we could move, the tent was flat on top of us and the howl of the gale and the pattering of rain so tremendous that we could not hear ourselves shouting. One by one we crawled out, and in a moment were drenched to the skin. Our oilskins were under the tent; it was utterly impossible


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171

NELLORE MANUAL.

Dravidian and Aryan races .-Vedas and the Vedantic system .--Worship of the powers of nature. — Monotheism. — The Vedangas. — The Vedapangas.-- Institutions of Menu. — The Puranas. — The Upavedas.- The Ramayanam. - The Mahabharata.-Progress of Aryan ideas. - Brahminism. - Hindu triad. - Development of mythology. - Buddhism. - Its rise and progress. — The Jains. - Buddhist remains.---Persecution of Buddhism. - Buddhists' expulsion from India. - Brahminism popularized .-- Creation of a mythology. - Survey of changes in religious belief. — Vaishnava and Shiva sects. — Sources of modern Hinduism. -Adwaitam. – Visistadwatam. - Dwaitam. - 101 sects reduced to 6. — Sankarachary and the Smartas. — Their seats. - Bashikachary and the Stri Vaishnuvas.— Tengali and Vadagali. Mardhavachary and the Mardhavas.-Basava and the Vira Shivas. - Their seats .— Sanya sis and Vairagis. — Jogis. — Satanis. — Mahomedanism, early history. - Shiahs and Sunnis. Wababees. - Hanafis. — Shafis. — Maliks. — Hanabalis. - Ghair Mohdis. Festivals. - Sam. vatsaradi. - Rama Navumi.-- Narasimha Jayenti. — Toleyekadasi. - Dukshinayanam. Naga Panchami. — Krishna Jayenti. - Shravanala Purnavami. – Vinayakachaviti. — Rushi. panchumi. — Atsbatadiya. — Anantapadmanabhuni Chaturdasi. - Muhalayapatshamulu. — Navaratrams.--Durgashtami. — Depavali. - Nagulu Chaviti. - Kartika Somavaralu. Chelukudvadasi. – Kartika Purunvami.— Dhanurmasaum. - Mokkotiyekadasi. - Bhogi panduga. - Magha Sankarantri. - Maghapu Audivaramulu. - Rathasaptami. – Vyasa LOCAL FESTIVALS.— Nellore.- Atmakur. Purnavami. - Shevaratri. - Holipanduga. Gudur. - Rapur. – Kavali. — Udayagiri. — Kandukur.- Ongole.-Kanigiri. — Venkatagiri. Polar. — Podile. - Darsi. — Principal Festivals. MAHOMEDAN FESTIVALS. — Moharram. Akhira Chaper Shamber. — Bari Wafat. - Pir -i-dastgir. - Khadir wali Miraje-i-Mahomed. -Shab -i-Barat. — Ramjan -ka -rozah. — Idul fiti. - Charagban -i-Baudar -Namaz. - Bakrid. Local festivals. - Urus. - Caste. Origin in successive conquests. - Hindus yags. — Changes in manners and customs. - Division of Brahming. - Kshatriyas.-- Vysayas. - Sudras. Division of Sudras. - Criminal classes. - Out -casts .-- Mahomedan Divisions.

The origin of the religions of Hindustan is involved in the deepest. obscurity. The Dravidian race who colonised Telingana appear undoubtedly to have been of Scythian origin, and were probably driven southwards from their first. seats in Northern India by subsequent incursions of other Scythian tribes. These later Scythian races who settled in the north appear to have been conquered by the Aryans, a Sanscrit -speaking race of Brahmins, Kshatriyas, and Vysayas ; but, when the Aryans came down further south, they do not seem to have conquered the people they found dwelling in these regions, but to have settled among them, gradually acquired influence over them, and incorporated them into the fourth or Sudra class.

The most ancient religious works of the Hindus are the Vedas. The founder of the Vedantic system is generally acknowledged to be Vyasa, who appears to have collected all the religious works extant in his day. He was by birth


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Page:An Account of English Ants (Gould, 1747, IA accountofenglish00goul).pdf/35

Rh much as poible to hun the Exces of Cold and Frot; for which Reaon they carry their Works to a coniderable Depth; ometimes two or three Feet from the Surface of the Hill. At this time of the Year you eldom find many towards the upper Part of the Colony. On the other Hand, at the Approach of Summer they begin to leave their Winter Quarters, and remove higher in Proportion to the Warmth of the Seaon, and Progres of their Young; o that about Midummer they even raie the Edifice half a Foot or more above its uual Height. By this means they have always a great deal of pare Room to upply any Damages that may happen to their Works, and to which they may retire, or at any time transfer the Young.

The manner of the Architecture deerves our Conideration, as being adjuted with remarkable Curioity and Art. The whole Structure is divided into a Number and Variety of Cells or Apartments, all communicating with one another by little ubterraneous Channels which are circular and mooth. The deign is obvious. For hence everal of them can


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212

NELLORE MANUAL,

Dwellings.- Domestic furniture. - Dress.-- Ornaments. - Music. — Physical characteristics and employments.--Moral character.-Domestic celebrations. — Punyahavachanam. Sixteen periods of life .---Garbhadana.-- Simantam .---Pumsavanam .— Jatakarona. Navagbabadama.--Namakarma.- Totla or cradle feast.- Anaprasanam. - Chndakarma. Choulam. — Upanayanam. — Upakarma. — Veda Chetrishtaya.--Godanam. - Snatakam. Vivaham marriage.--Different kinds of marriages.- Marriage token .--Expense at weddings. - Brahmin marriages .--. Madhuparkam. - Donation of the bride. — Talambralu. Saptapatha. - Nayudus marriages.- Marriages of Kapus. – Ariveni. - Alaka. - Gola marriages. - Sali marriages. - Chakalis marriages. - Kamasalis marriages. Mala mar. riages.- Madiga marriages. — Garbhadanam. — Shristiparti. — Petru medham. — Nitya karma.--- Silastapanam.- Silashakam.- Sutravisachanam.- Vapanakarma. — Silodwasa. Sapindikarnam. Swargapathyam. Mourning Shodasam. - Ekahvanam. ián , ceremonies performed by girls, performed by married women, performed after loss of children, in the advance of life, by the childless, by mothers. MAHOMEDAN MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. - Birth customs.- Marriage customs.- Funeral customs.

The villages in the Nellore District are generally small, and the dwellings mean, consisting mostly of three or four detached huts - one serving as a sleeping room for the family, another for a working room and kitchen, and a third for a store room for goods and chattels. The houses are generally built of mud and thatched ; but in the northern parts of the district ( Ongole and Podile, &c. ,) the roofs are of terraced, earth laid on beams, with wattle and daub between. Whenever there is rain, these roofs require to be attended to as the mud cracks with the heat, leaving crevices, which have to be filled up from time to time. The ordinary description of hut is circular in shape, from about 12 to 20 feet in diameter ; the walls are of mud, or wattle and daub, the roof pointed in the centre and thatched. There is but one door, and no other means of ventilation. With the general improvement in the condition of the people, improved dwellings may be everywhere seen, but in this respect the prejudices of caste still operate. Though a low -caste man may acquire wealth, the prejudices of his neighbours will not allow him to build a house with beams to support a roof, or to use tiles instead of thatch. We have known an instance of a Pariah bold enough to attempt to build himself an improved dwelling who had his habitation pulled down as soon as it was approaching completion. The Brahmins' and Komaties' houses are generally the best in every village, but many wealthy ryots are also beginning to build themselves houses with brick and chunam, tiled, provided with windows and open court yards.


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Page:Following darkness (IA followingdarknes00reid).pdf/64

 "Selfish!" I was too indignant to protest more than by simply repeating the word. People always called you selfish, I thought, bitterly, when you only wanted to prevent them from being so. I was convinced I was capable of making the most sublime sacrifices, if there were any need for them. Indeed I had often imagined myself making such sacrifices, making them secretly, but to be discovered in the end, when all my unsuspected nobility would suddenly be revealed, in some rather public way perhaps, but too late to save those who had wilfully misunderstood me from agonies of remorse. It was my father who was selfish, with his idea of making everybody think and set exactly as he did. He was not only selfish, but he was jealous. That was at the back of all these objections to my going to Derryaghy. Only, he never realized his own faults; he found moral justification for them. One thing was certain, I was going there to-morrow, whether he allowed me to or not. I was so full of these thoughts that I missed a great deal of what he was saying, but the gist of it I gathered—and I had heard it frequently before—that I should have my living to earn, my way to make in the world, that I shouldn't have Mrs. Carroll always, and that the fewer luxurious tastes I acquired, the more chance I should have of being happy in the very obscure and humble path that was apparently all my father saw before me.

If he really wanted to inspire me with feelings of humility, however, he could hardly have wasted his breath on a more thankless task. It was not that I saw myself becoming remarkably successful, but simply that I seemed to have had a glimpse of what an extraordinary youth I was. My interview with my father had made me forget all about my unhappy behaviour at Derryaghy, and as soon as I was in bed I began to compose a passionate drama, of which I was, naturally, the hero, but in which, without my rehearsal, Katherine Dale appeared as heroine. I had braved my


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text: Index:Manual of Italian renaissance sculpture as illustrated in the collection of casts at the Museum of fine arts, Boston (IA manualofitalianr00muserich).pdf


text: Index:The story of the flute (IA cu31924022386407).pdf


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 should be at the end of our mental chain. The bird is the thing to be aimed at—not with a gun, but a life-bestowing wand. what is essential to our right thinking is this: that the egg and the bird must not be thought of as equal cosmic occurrences recurring alternately for ever. They must not become a mere egg and bird pattern, like the egg and dart pattern. One is a means and the other an end; they are in different mental worlds. Leaving the complications of the human breakfast-table out of account, in an elemental sense, the egg only exists to produce the chicken. But the chicken does not exist only in order to produce another egg. He may also exist to amuse himself, to praise God, and even to suggest ideas to a French dramatist. Being a conscious life, he is, or may be, valuable in himself. Now our modern politics are full of a noisy forgetfulness; forgetfulness and compromises. we talk of nothing but useful men and working institutions; that is, we only think of the chickens as things that will lay more eggs. Instead of seeking to breed our ideal bird, the eagle of Zeus or the Swan of Avon, or whatever we happen to want, we talk entirely in terms of the process and the embryo. The process itself, divorced from its


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Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/1

 M. K. GANDHI

NAVAJIVAN PUBLISHING HOUSEAHMEDABAD 14

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The Satyagraha struggle of the Indians in South Africa lasted eight years. The term Satyagraha was invented and employed in connection therewith. I had long entertained a desire to write a history of that struggle myself. Some things only I could write. Only the general who conducts a campaign can know the objective of each particular move. And as this was the first attempt to apply the principle of Satyagraha to politics on a large scale, it is necessary any day that the public should have an idea of its development.

But today Satyagraha has had ample scope in India. Here there has been an inevitable series of struggles beginning with the rather local question of the Viramgam customs.

It was through the instrumentality of Bhai Motilal, the public-spirited good tailor of Vadhvan, that I became interested in the Viramgam question. I had just arrived from England and was proceeding to Saurashtra in the year 1915. I was travelling third class. At Vadhvan station Motilal came up to me with a small party. He gave me some account of the hardships inflicted on the people at Viramgam, and said:

“Please do something to end this trouble. It will be doing an immense service to Saurashtra, the land of your birth.”

There was an expression of both compassion and firmness in his eyes.

“Are you ready to go to jail?” I asked.

“We are ready to march to the gallows,” was the quick reply.

“Jail will do for me,” I said. “But see that you do not leave me in the lurch.”

“That only time can show,” said Motilal.

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 divine object, becomes doubtful and even morbid; poison enters the embryo of everything; and our politics are rotten eggs.

Idealism is only considering everything in its practical essence. Idealism only means that we should consider a poker in reference to poking before we discuss its suitability for wife-beating; that we should ask if an egg is good enough for practical poultry-rearing before we decide that the egg is bad enough for practical politics. But I know that this primary pursuit of the theory (which is but pursuit of the aim) exposes one to the cheap charge of fiddling while Rome is burning. A school, of which Lord Rosebery is representative, has endeavoured to substitute for the moral or social ideals which have hitherto been the motives of politics a general coherency or completeness in the social system which has gained the nickname of "efficiency." I am not very certain of the secret doctrine of this sect in the matter. But, as far as I can make out, "efficiency" means that we ought to discover everything about a machine except what it is for. There has arisen in our time a most singular fancy—the fancy that when things go very wrong we need a practical man. It would be far truer to say, that when things go very wrong we need an unpractical man. Certainly, at least, we need a theorist. A practical man


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 INDEX. 57;

Suvahu, 35, 44, 45, 146. 3vetaranva, 2G4.

Suvarat, 220. Swarga, 54, 101, 202, 493.

Suvela, 450, 456, 457. Swarnaroma, 82.

Suvira, 21, 102. gweta, 443.

Suyajna, 20, 132. yama, 100.

Svayambhu, 394. Syandika. 151. Svayamprabha, 382. Syenagjimi, 256 note, 260.

veta, 246. 6yeni, 246.

T.

Taclaka, 38, 39, 40, 41. Three-eyed God, 86.

Tadakeya, 266. Thunderer, 234.

Taittiriya, 132. Titan, 58, 67, 72, 79, 109, 114, 124.

Takshak, 432. Toran, 179.

Takshaka, 267. Town- Destroyer, 59, 60.

Talajanghas, 81, 219. Trident, 68.

Tamasa, 7, 147, 148, 149. Trident-wielding,. 54, 57.

Tamra, 245, 246. Trijat, 133.

Tarnraparni, 375. Trijata, 410, 463.

Tapan, 459, 555. Trikuta, 456, 457, 500, 515.

Tara, 364 note, 379 ff. Trinavindu, 515.

Tani, 9, 336, 34!) ff., 355. 359, 362, 363, 366, Tripathaga, 56.

367, 369, 371, 385, 403, 449, 546. Tripur, 306.

Tarak, 430. Tripura, 85, 86.

Tarkshya, 214. Trisanku, 68-72, 81, 144, 219, 429. Ten-necked, 250. Trisira, 9.

Thirty-three Gods, 51. Trisiras, 256 note. 260, 261, 264, 267, 271, Thousand-eyed, 41, 59, 60, 74, 75, 76, 86, 478, 479, 480, 502.

90, 112, 252, 297, 504. Tumburu, 198, 199, 232.

u.

Uclichaihsravas, 58, 522. Upasunda. 35.

Udayagiri, 379 note. Upendra, 74, 559.

Udavasu, 82, Urmila. 47, 83, 84, 88, 228.

Ukthya, 24. Urvasi, 286. 544, 545.

Ujjihana, 179. Usanas, 382. TJma, 49, 54, 205, 249 note, 471, 542, 543. Utkal, 374.

Upasad, 22. Utttinika, 179, 539.

V.

Vahli, 13. Vaitaranf, 293.

Vahlika, 376. Vajra, 376.

Vahni, 555. Vajradanshtra, 432, 433 note, 466, 467.

Vaijayanta, 99, 179, 522. Valmiki, 1, 711, 161, 519, 542.

Vaidyut, 375. Vamadeva, 14. 79, 80, 91, 174, 222, 505.

Vaikhanasas, 270, 271, 374. Vaman(a 14, 523.

Vainateya. 388. Vana, 81, 219.

Vaisyas, 246. Vanayu, 13.

Vaisravun, 265, 285, 378, 414, 515. Vangas, 102.


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I originally called this book "What is Wrong," and it would have satisfied your sardonic temper to note the number of social misunderstandings that arose from the use of the title. Many a mild lady visitor opened her eyes when I remarked casually, "I have been doing 'What is Wrong' all this morning." And one minister of religion moved quite sharply in his chair when I told him (as he understood it) that I had to run upstairs and do what was wrong, but should be down again in a minute. Exactly of what occult vice they silently accused me I cannot conjecture, but I know of hat I accuse myself; and that is, of having written a very shapeless and inadequate book, and one quite unworthy to be dedicated to you. As far as literature goes, this book is what is wrong, and no mistake.

It may seem a refinement of insolence to present so wild a composition to one who has recorded two or three of the really impressive visions of the moving millions in England. you

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Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v2.djvu/81

Runo XXXI]

Whom the bird to Russia carried

Soon grew up into a merchant;

Whom he carried to Carelia,

Kalervo was called by others,

While the third at home remaining,

Bore the name of Untamoinen,

For his father’s lifelong anguish,

And his mother’s deep affliction.

Untamoinen laid his netting

Down in Kalervo’s fish-waters:

Kalervoinen saw the netting,

In his bag he put the fishes.

Untamo of hasty temper

Then became both vexed and angry,

And his fingers turned to battle,

With his open palms he urged it,

Making strife for fishes’ entrails,

And for perch-fry made a quarrel.

Thus they fought and thus contended,

Neither overcame the other,

And though one might smite the other,

He himself again was smitten.

At another time it happened,

On the next and third day after,

Kalervoinen oats was sowing,

Back of Untamoinen’s dwelling.

Sheep of Untamo most reckless

Browsed the oats of Kalervoinen,

Whereupon his dog ferocious

Tore the sheep of Untamoinen.

Untamo began to threaten

Kalervo, his very brother;

Kalervo’s race vowed to slaughter,

Smite the great, and smite the little,

And to fall on all the people,

And their houses burn to ashes.

Men with swords in belt he mustered,

Weapons for their hands provided,

Little boys with spears in girdle,

Handsome youths who shouldered axes,

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70

And he marched to furious battle,

Thus to fight his very brother.

Kalervoinen’s son’s fair consort

Then was sitting near the window,

And she looked from out the window,

And she spoke the words which follow:

“Is it smoke I see arising,

Or a gloomy cloud that rises,

On the borders of the cornfields,

Just beyond the new-made pathway?”

But no dark cloud there was rising,

Nor was smoke ascending thickly,

But ’twas Untamo’s assemblage

Marching onward to the battle.

On came Untamo’s assemblage,

In their belts their swords were hanging,

Kalervo’s folk overwhelming,

And his mighty race they slaughtered,

And they burned his house to ashes,

Like a level field they made it.

Left of Kalervo’s folk only

But one girl, and she was pregnant;

Then did Untamo’s assemblage

Lead her homeward on their journey,

That she there might sweep the chamber,

And the floor might sweep from litter.

But a little time passed over,

When a little boy was born her,

From a most unhappy mother,

So by what name should they call him?

Kullervo his mother called him,

Untamo, the Battle-hero.

Then the little boy they swaddled,

And the orphan child they rested

In the cradle made for rocking,

That it might be rocked to lull him.

So they rocked the child in cradle,

Rocked it till his hair was tossing,

Rocked him for one day, a second,

Rocked him on the third day likewise,

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Canto II. 7

Valmiki, graceful speaker, heard, To highest admiration stirred. To him whose fame the tale rehearsed He paid his mental worship first; Then with his pupil humbly bent Before the saint most eloquent. Thus honoured and dismissed the seer Departed to his heavenly sphere. Then from his cot Valmiki hied To Tamasa's sequestered side. Not far remote from Ganga's tide. He stood and saw the ripples roll Pellucid o'er a pebbly shoal. To Bharadvaja by his side He turned in ecstasy, and cried: 'See, pupil dear, this lovely sight, The smooth- floored shallow, pure and bright With not a speck or shade to mar, And clear as good men's bosoms are. Here on the brink thy pitcher lay, And bring my zone of bark, I pray. Here will I bathe : the rill has not, To lave the limbs, a fairer spot. Do quickly as I bid, nor waste The precious time ; away, and haste.'

 * Obedient to his master's hest

Quick from the cot he brought the vest; The hermit took it from his hand, And tightened round his waist the band ; Then duly dipped and bathed him there, And muttered low his secret prayer. To spirits and to Gods he made Libation of the stream, and strayed Viewing the forest deep and wide That spread its shade on every side. Close by the bank he saw a pair Of curlews sporting fearless there. Hut suddenly with evil mind An outcast fowler stole behind, And, with an aim. too sure and true, The male bird near the hermit slew.

The wretched hen in wild despair With fluttering pinions beat the air, And shrieked a long and bitter cry When low on earth she saw him lie, Her loved companion, quivering, dead, His dear wings with his lifeblood red ; And for her golden crested mate She mourned, and was disconsolate.

The hermit saw the slaughtered bird, And all his heart with ruth was stirred. The fowler's impious deed distressed His gentle sympathetic breast, And while the curlew's sad cries rang Within his ears, the hermit sang :

Because, base outcast, of thy crime, Whose cruel hand was fain to slay One of this gentle pair at play ! ' E'en as he spoke his bosom wrought And laboured with the wondering thought What was the speech his ready tongue Had uttered when his heart was wrung. He pondered long upon the speech, Recalled the words and measured each, And thus exclaimed the saintly guide
 * No fame be thine for endless time,

To Bharadvaja by his side:

 * With equal lines of even feet,

With rhythm and time and tone complete, The measured form of words I spoke In shock of grief be termed a sloke.' 1 And Bharadvaja, nothing slow His faithful love and zeal to show, Answered those words of wisdom, ' Be The name, my lord, as pleases thee.' As rules prescribe the hermit took Some lustral water from the brook. But still on this his constant thought Kept brooding, as his home he sought ; While Bharadvaja paced behind, A pupil sage of lowly mind, And in his hand a pitcher bore With pure fresh water brimming o'er. Soon as they reached their calm retreat The holy hermit took his seat ; !iis mind from worldly cares recalled, And mused in deepest thought enthralled. Then glorious Brahma, 2 Lord Most High, Creator of the earth and sky,

1 The poet plays upon the similarity in sound of the two words : soha, means ^rief, sloka, the heroic measure in which he poem is composed. It need scarcely je said that the derivation is fanciful.

z Brahma, the Creator, is usually regarded as the first person of the divine triad of ndia. The four heads with which he is epresented are supposed to have allusion o the four corners of the earth which he s sometimes considered to personify. As an object of adoration Brahma has been


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Aeneid (Williams)/Book IV

Now felt the Queen the sharp, slow-gathering pangs of love; and out of every pulsing vein nourished the wound and fed its viewless fire. Her hero's virtues and his lordly line keep calling to her soul; his words, his glance, cling to her heart like lingering, barbed steel, and rest and peace from her vexed body fly.

A new day's dawn with Phoebus' lamp divine lit up all lands, and from the vaulted heaven Aurora had dispelled the dark and dew; when thus unto the ever-answering heart of her dear sister spoke the stricken Queen: “Anna, my sister, what disturbing dreams perplex me and alarm? What guest is this new-welcomed to our house? How proud his mien! What dauntless courage and exploits of war! Sooth, I receive it for no idle tale that of the gods he sprang. 'T is cowardice betrays the base-born soul. Ah me! How fate has smitten him with storms! What dire extremes of war and horror in his tale he told! O, were it not immutably resolved in my fixed heart, that to no shape of man I would be wed again (since my first love left me by death abandoned and betrayed); loathed I not so the marriage torch and train, I could—who knows?—to this one weakness yield. Anna, I hide it not! But since the doom of my ill-starred Sichaeus, when our shrines were by a brother's murder dabbled o'er, this man alone has moved me; he alone has shaken my weak will. I seem to feel the motions of love's lost, familiar fire.

But may the earth gape open where I tread, and may almighty Jove with thunder-scourge hurl me to Erebus' abysmal shade, to pallid ghosts and midnight fathomless, before, O Chastity! I shall offend thy holy power, or cast thy bonds away! He who first mingled his dear life with mine took with him all my heart. 'T is his alone — o, let it rest beside him in the grave!” She spoke: the bursting tears her breast o'erflowed. “O dearer to thy sister than her life,” Anna replied, “wouldst thou in sorrow's weed waste thy long youth alone, nor ever know sweet babes at thine own breast, nor gifts of love? Will dust and ashes, or a buried ghost reck what we do? 'T is true thy grieving heart was cold to earlier wooers, Libya's now, and long ago in Tyre. Iarbas knew thy scorn, and many a prince and captain bred in Afric's land of glory. Why resist a love that makes thee glad? Hast thou no care what alien lands are these where thou dost reign? Here are Gaetulia's cities and her tribes unconquered ever; on thy borders rove Numidia's uncurbed cavalry; here too lies Syrtis' cruel shore, and regions wide of thirsty desert, menaced everywhere by the wild hordes of Barca. Shall I tell of Tyre's hostilities, the threats and rage of our own brother? Friendly gods, I bow, wafted the Teucrian ships, with Juno's aid, to these our shores. O sister, what a throne, and what imperial city shall be thine, if thus espoused! With Trojan arms allied how far may not our Punic fame extend in deeds of power? Call therefore on the gods to favor thee; and, after omens fair, give queenly welcome, and contrive excuse to make him tarry, while yon wintry seas are loud beneath Orion's stormful star, and on his battered ships the season frowns.” So saying, she stirred a passion-burning breast to Iove more madly still; her words infused a doubting mind with hope, and bade the blush of shame begone. First to the shrines they went and sued for grace; performing sacrifice, choosing an offering of unblemished ewes, to law-bestowing Ceres, to the god of light, to sire Lyeus, Iord of wine; but chiefly unto Juno, patroness of nuptial vows. There Dido, beauteous Queen held forth in her right hand the sacred bowl and poured it full between the lifted horns of the white heifer; or on temple floors she strode among the richly laden shrines, the eyes of gods upon her, worshipping with many a votive gift; or, peering deep into the victims' cloven sides, she read the fate-revealing tokens trembling there.

How blind the hearts of prophets be! Alas! Of what avail be temples and fond prayers to change a frenzied mind? Devouring ever, love's fire burns inward to her bones; she feels quick in her breast the viewless, voiceless wound. Ill-fated Dido ranges up and down the spaces of her city, desperate her life one flame—like arrow-stricken doe through Cretan forest rashly wandering, pierced by a far-off shepherd, who pursues with shafts, and leaves behind his light-winged steed, not knowing; while she scours the dark ravines of Dicte and its woodlands; at her heart the mortal barb irrevocably clings.

Around her city's battlements she guides aeneas, to make show of Sidon's gold, and what her realm can boast; full oft her voice essays to speak and frembling dies away: or, when the daylight fades, she spreads anew a royal banquet, and once more will plead mad that she is, to hear the Trojan sorrow; and with oblivious ravishment once more hangs on his lips who tells; or when her guests are scattered, and the wan moon's fading horn bedims its ray, while many a sinking star invites to slumber, there she weeps alone in the deserted hall, and casts her down on the cold couch he pressed. Her love from far beholds her vanished hero and receives his voice upon her ears; or to her breast, moved by a father's image in his child, she clasps Ascanius, seeking to deceive her unblest passion so. Her enterprise of tower and rampart stops: her martial host no Ionger she reviews, nor fashions now defensive haven and defiant wall; but idly all her half-built bastions frown, and enginery of sieges, high as heaven.

But soon the chosen spouse of Jove perceived the Queen's infection; and because the voice of honor to such frenzy spoke not, she, daughter of Saturn, unto Venus turned and counselled thus: “How noble is the praise, how glorious the spoils of victor for thee and for thy boy! Your names should be in lasting, vast renown—that by the snare of two great gods in league one woman fell! it 'scapes me not that my protected realms have ever been thy fear, and the proud halls of Carthage thy vexation and annoy. Why further go? Prithee, what useful end has our long war? Why not from this day forth perpetual peace and nuptial amity? Hast thou not worked thy will? Behold and see how Iove-sick Dido burns, and all her flesh 'The madness feels! So let our common grace smile on a mingled people! Let her serve a Phrygian husband, while thy hands receive her Tyrian subjects for the bridal dower!”

In answer (reading the dissembler's mind which unto Libyan shores were fain to shift italia's future throne) thus Venus spoke: “'T were mad to spurn such favor, or by choice be numbered with thy foes. But can it be that fortune on thy noble counsel smiles? To me Fate shows but dimly whether Jove unto the Trojan wanderers ordains a common city with the sons of Tyre, with mingling blood and sworn, perpetual peace. His wife thou art; it is thy rightful due to plead to know his mind. Go, ask him, then! For humbly I obey!” With instant word Juno the Queen replied: “Leave that to me! But in what wise our urgent task and grave may soon be sped, I will in brief unfold to thine attending ear. A royal hunt in sylvan shades unhappy Dido gives for her Aeneas, when to-morrow's dawn uplifts its earliest ray and Titan's beam shall first unveil the world. But I will pour black storm-clouds with a burst of heavy hail along their way; and as the huntsmen speed to hem the wood with snares, I will arouse all heaven with thunder. The attending train shall scatter and be veiled in blinding dark, while Dido and her hero out of Troy to the same cavern fly. My auspices I will declare—if thou alike wilt bless; and yield her in true wedlock for his bride. Such shall their spousal be!” To Juno's will Cythera's Queen inclined assenting brow, and laughed such guile to see.

Aurora rose, and left the ocean's rim. The city's gates pour forth to greet the morn a gallant train of huntsmen, bearing many a woven snare and steel-tipped javelin; while to and fro run the keen-scented dogs and Libyan squires. The Queen still keeps her chamber; at her doors the Punic lords await; her palfrey, brave in gold and purple housing, paws the ground and fiercely champs the foam-flecked bridle-rein. At last, with numerous escort, forth she shines: her Tyrian pall is bordered in bright hues, her quiver, gold; her tresses are confined only with gold; her robes of purple rare meet in a golden clasp. To greet her come the noble Phrygian guests; among them smiles the boy Iulus; and in fair array Aeneas, goodliest of all his train. In such a guise Apollo (when he leaves cold Lycian hills and Xanthus' frosty stream to visit Delos to Latona dear) ordains the song, while round his altars cry the choirs of many islands, with the pied, fantastic Agathyrsi; soon the god moves o'er the Cynthian steep; his flowing hair he binds with laurel garland and bright gold; upon his shining shoulder as he goes the arrows ring:—not less uplifted mien aeneas wore; from his illustrious brow such beauty shone. Soon to the mountains tall the cavalcade comes nigh, to pathless haunts of woodland creatures; the wild goats are seen, from pointed crag descending leap by leap down the steep ridges; in the vales below are routed deer, that scour the spreading plain, and mass their dust-blown squadrons in wild flight, far from the mountain's bound. Ascanius flushed with the sport, spurs on a mettled steed from vale to vale, and many a flying herd his chase outspeeds; but in his heart he prays among these tame things suddenly to see a tusky boar, or, leaping from the hills, a growling mountain-lion, golden-maned.

Meanwhile low thunders in the distant sky mutter confusedly; soon bursts in full the storm-cloud and the hail. The Tyrian troop is scattered wide; the chivalry of Troy, with the young heir of Dardan's kingly line, of Venus sprung, seek shelter where they may, with sudden terror; down the deep ravines the swollen torrents roar. In that same hour Queen Dido and her hero out of Troy to the same cavern fly. Old Mother-Earth and wedlock-keeping Juno gave the sign; the flash of lightnings on the conscious air were torches to the bridal; from the hills the wailing wood-nymphs sobbed a wedding song. Such was that day of death, the source and spring of many a woe. For Dido took no heed of honor and good-name; nor did she mean her loves to hide; but called the lawlessness a marriage, and with phrases veiled her shame.

Swift through the Libyan cities Rumor sped. Rumor! What evil can surpass her speed? In movement she grows mighty, and achieves strength and dominion as she swifter flies. small first, because afraid, she soon exalts her stature skyward, stalking through the lands and mantling in the clouds her baleful brow. The womb of Earth, in anger at high Heaven, bore her, they say, last of the Titan spawn, sister to Coeus and Enceladus. Feet swift to run and pinions like the wind the dreadful monster wears; her carcase huge is feathered, and at root of every plume a peering eye abides; and, strange to tell, an equal number of vociferous tongues, foul, whispering lips, and ears, that catch at all. At night she spreads midway 'twixt earth and heaven her pinions in the darkness, hissing loud, nor e'er to happy slumber gives her eyes: but with the morn she takes her watchful throne high on the housetops or on lofty towers, to terrify the nations. She can cling to vile invention and malignant wrong, or mingle with her word some tidings true. She now with changeful story filled men's ears, exultant, whether false or true she sung: how, Trojan-born Aeneas having come, Dido, the lovely widow, Iooked his way, deigning to wed; how all the winter long they passed in revel and voluptuous ease, to dalliance given o'er; naught heeding now of crown or kingdom—shameless! lust-enslaved! Such tidings broadcast on the lips of men the filthy goddess spread; and soon she hied to King Iarbas, where her hateful song to newly-swollen wrath his heart inflamed.

Him the god Ammon got by forced embrace upon a Libyan nymph; his kingdoms wide possessed a hundred ample shrines to Jove, a hundred altars whence ascended ever the fires of sacrifice, perpetual seats for a great god's abode, where flowing blood enriched the ground, and on the portals hung garlands of every flower. The angered King, half-maddened by malignant Rumor's voice, unto his favored altars came, and there, surrounded by the effluence divine, upraised in prayer to Jove his suppliant hands. “Almighty Jupiter, to whom each day, at banquet on the painted couch reclined, Numidia pours libation! Do thine eyes behold us? Or when out of yonder heaven, o sire, thou launchest the swift thunderbolt, is it for naught we fear thee? Do the clouds shoot forth blind fire to terrify the soul with wild, unmeaning roar? O, Iook upon that woman, who was homeless in our realm, and bargained where to build her paltry town, receiving fertile coastland for her farms, by hospitable grant! She dares disdain our proffered nuptial vow. She has proclaimed Aeneas partner of her bed and throne. And now that Paris, with his eunuch crew, beneath his chin and fragrant, oozy hair ties the soft Lydian bonnet, boasting well his stolen prize. But we to all these fanes, though they be thine, a fruitless offering bring, and feed on empty tales our trust in thee.”

As thus he prayed and to the altars clung, th' Omnipotent gave ear, and turned his gaze upon the royal dwelling, where for love the amorous pair forgot their place and name. Then thus to Mercury he gave command: “Haste thee, my son, upon the Zephyrs call, and take thy winged way! My mandate bear unto that prince of Troy who tarries now in Tyrian Carthage, heedless utterly of empire Heaven-bestowed. On winged winds hasten with my decrees. Not such the man his beauteous mother promised; not for this twice did she shield him from the Greeks in arms: but that he might rule Italy, a land pregnant with thrones and echoing with war; that he of Teucer's seed a race should sire, and bring beneath its law the whole wide world. If such a glory and event supreme enkindle not his bosom; if such task to his own honor speak not; can the sire begrudge Ascanius the heritage of the proud name of Rome? What plans he now? What mad hope bids him linger in the lap of enemies, considering no more the land Lavinian and Ausonia's sons. Let him to sea! Be this our final word: this message let our herald faithful bear.”

He spoke. The god a prompt obedience gave to his great sire's command. He fastened first those sandals of bright gold, which carry him aloft o'er land or sea, with airy wings that race the fleeting wind; then lifted he his wand, wherewith he summons from the grave pale-featured ghosts, or, if he will, consigns to doleful Tartarus; or by its power gives slumber or dispels; or quite unseals the eyelids of the dead: on this relying, he routs the winds or cleaves th' obscurity of stormful clouds. Soon from his flight he spied the summit and the sides precipitous of stubborn Atlas, whose star-pointing peak props heaven; of Atlas, whose pine-wreathed brow is girdled evermore with misty gloom and lashed of wind and rain; a cloak of snow melts on his shoulder; from his aged chin drop rivers, and ensheathed in stiffening ice glitters his great grim beard. Here first was stayed the speed of Mercury's well-poising wing; here making pause, from hence he headlong flung his body to the sea; in motion like some sea-bird's, which along the levelled shore or round tall crags where rove the swarming fish, flies Iow along the waves: o'er-hovering so between the earth and skies, Cyllene's god flew downward from his mother's mountain-sire, parted the winds and skimmed the sandy merge of Libya. When first his winged feet came nigh the clay-built Punic huts, he saw Aeneas building at a citadel, and founding walls and towers; at his side was girt a blade with yellow jaspers starred, his mantle with the stain of Tyrian shell flowed purple from his shoulder, broidered fair by opulent Dido with fine threads of gold, her gift of love; straightway the god began: “Dost thou for lofty Carthage toil, to build foundations strong? Dost thou, a wife's weak thrall, build her proud city? Hast thou, shameful loss! Forgot thy kingdom and thy task sublime? From bright Olympus, I. He who commands all gods, and by his sovran deity moves earth and heaven—he it was who bade me bear on winged winds his high decree. What plan is thine? By what mad hope dost thou linger so Iong in lap of Libyan land? If the proud reward of thy destined way move not thy heart, if all the arduous toil to thine own honor speak not, Iook upon Iulus in his bloom, thy hope and heir Ascanius. It is his rightful due in Italy o'er Roman lands to reign.” After such word Cyllene's winged god vanished, and e'er his accents died away, dissolved in air before the mortal's eyes. Aeneas at the sight stood terror-dumb with choking voice and horror-rising hair. He fain would fly at once and get him gone from that voluptuous land, much wondering at Heaven's wrathful word. Alas! how stir? What cunning argument can plead his cause before th' infuriate Queen? How break such news? Flashing this way and that, his startled mind makes many a project and surveys them all. But, pondering well, his final counsel stopped at this resolve: he summoned to his side Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus bold, and bade them fit the fleet, all silently gathering the sailors and collecting gear, but carefully dissembling what emprise such novel stir intends: himself the while (Since high-born Dido dreamed not love so fond could have an end) would seek an audience, at some indulgent time, and try what shift such matters may require. With joy they heard, and wrought, assiduous, at their prince's plan.

But what can cheat true love? The Queen foreknew his stratagem, and all the coming change perceived ere it began. Her jealous fear counted no hour secure. That unclean tongue of Rumor told her fevered heart the fleet was fitting forth, and hastening to be gone. Distractedly she raved, and passion-tossed roamed through her city, like a Maenad roused by the wild rout of Bacchus, when are heard the third year's orgies, and the midnight scream to cold Cithaeron calls the frenzied crew. Finding Aeneas, thus her plaint she poured: “Didst hope to hide it, false one, that such crime was in thy heart,—to steal without farewell out of my kingdom? Did our mutual joy not move thee; nor thine own true promise given once on a time? Nor Dido, who will die a death of sorrow? Why compel thy ships to brave the winter stars? Why off to sea so fast through stormy skies? O, cruelty! If Troy still stood, and if thou wert not bound for alien shore unknown, wouldst steer for Troy through yonder waste of waves? Is it from me thou takest flight? O, by these flowing tears, by thine own plighted word (for nothing more my weakness left to miserable me), by our poor marriage of imperfect vow, if aught to me thou owest, if aught in me ever have pleased thee—O, be merciful to my low-fallen fortunes! I implore, if place be left for prayer, thy purpose change! Because of thee yon Libyan savages and nomad chiefs are grown implacable, and my own Tyrians hate me. Yes, for thee my chastity was slain and honor fair, by which alone to glory I aspired, in former days. To whom dost thou in death abandon me? my guest!—since but this name is left me of a husband! Shall I wait till fell Pygmalion, my brother, raze my city walls? Or the Gaetulian king, Iarbas, chain me captive to his car? . O, if, ere thou hadst fled, I might but bear some pledge of love to thee, and in these halls watch some sweet babe Aeneas at his play, whose face should be the memory of thine own — I were not so forsaken, Iost, undone!

She said. But he, obeying Jove's decree, gazed steadfastly away; and in his heart with strong repression crushed his cruel pain; then thus the silence broke: “O Queen, not one of my unnumbered debts so strongly urged would I gainsay. Elissa's memory will be my treasure Iong as memory holds, or breath of life is mine. Hear my brief plea! 'T was not my hope to hide this flight I take, as thou hast dreamed. Nay, I did never light a bridegroom's torch, nor gave I thee the vow of marriage. Had my destiny decreed, that I should shape life to my heart's desire, and at my own will put away the weight of foil and pain, my place would now be found in Troy, among the cherished sepulchres of my own kin, and Priam's mansion proud were standing still; or these my loyal hands had rebuilt Ilium for her vanquished sons. But now to Italy Apollo's power commands me forth; his Lycian oracles are loud for Italy. My heart is there, and there my fatherland. If now the towers of Carthage and thy Libyan colony delight thy Tyrian eyes; wilt thou refuse to Trojan exiles their Ausonian shore? I too by Fate was driven, not less than thou, to wander far a foreign throne to find. Oft when in dewy dark night hides the world, and flaming stars arise, Anchises' shade looks on me in my dreams with angered brow. I think of my Ascanius, and the wrong to that dear heart, from whom I steal away Hesperia, his destined home and throne. But now the winged messenger of Heaven, sent down by Jove (I swear by thee and me!), has brought on winged winds his sire's command. My own eyes with unclouded vision saw the god within these walls; I have received with my own ears his word. No more inflame with lamentation fond thy heart and mine. 'T is not my own free act seeks Italy.” She with averted eyes and glance that rolled speechless this way and that, had listened long to his reply, till thus her rage broke forth: “No goddess gave thee birth. No Dardanus begot thy sires. But on its breast of stone Caucasus bore thee, and the tigresses of fell Hyrcania to thy baby lip their udders gave. Why should I longer show a lying smile? What worse can I endure? Did my tears draw one sigh? Did he once drop his stony stare? or did he yield a tear to my lament, or pity this fond heart? Why set my wrongs in order? Juno, now, and Jove, the son of Saturn, heed no more where justice lies. No trusting heart is safe in all this world. That waif and castaway I found in beggary and gave him share— fool that I was!—in my own royal glory. His Iost fleet and his sorry crews I steered from death away. O, how my fevered soul unceasing raves! Forsooth Apollo speaks! His Lycian oracles! and sent by Jove the messenger of Heaven on fleeting air the ruthless bidding brings! Proud business for gods, I trow, that such a task disturbs their still abodes! I hold thee back no more, nor to thy cunning speeches give the lie. Begone! Sail on to Italy, thy throne, through wind and wave! I pray that, if there be any just gods of power, thou mayest drink down death on the mid-sea rocks, and often call with dying gasps on Dido's name—while I pursue with vengeful fire. When cold death rends the body from the breath, my ghost shall sit forever in thy path. Full penalties thy stubborn heart shall pay. They'll bring me never in yon deep gulf of death of all thy woe.” Abrupt her utterance ceased; and sick at heart she fled the light of day, as if to shrink from human eyes, and left Aeneas there irresolute with horror, while his soul framed many a vain reply. Her swooning shape her maidens to a marble chamber bore and on her couch the helpless limbs reposed. Aeneas, faithful to a task divine, though yearning sore to remedy and soothe such misery, and with the timely word her grief assuage, and though his burdened heart was weak because of love, while many a groan rose from his bosom, yet no whit did fail to do the will of Heaven, but of his fleet resumed command. The Trojans on the shore ply well their task and push into the sea the lofty ships. Now floats the shining keel, and oars they bring all leafy from the grove, with oak half-hewn, so hurried was the flight. Behold them how they haste—from every gate forth-streaming!—just as when a heap of corn is thronged with ants, who, knowing winter nigh, refill their granaries; the long black line runs o'er the levels, and conveys the spoil in narrow pathway through the grass; a part with straining and assiduous shoulder push the kernels huge; a part array the file, and whip the laggards on; their busy track swarms quick and eager with unceasing toil. O Dido, how thy suffering heart was wrung, that spectacle to see! What sore lament was thine, when from the towering citadel the whole shore seemed alive, the sea itself in turmoil with loud cries! Relentless Love, to what mad courses may not mortal hearts by thee be driven? Again her sorrow flies to doleful plaint and supplication vain; again her pride to tyrant Love bows down lest, though resolved to die, she fail to prove each hope of living: “O Anna, dost thou see yon busy shore? From every side they come. their canvas wooes the winds, and o'er each prow the merry seamen hang their votive flowers. Dear sister, since I did forebode this grief, I shall be strong to bear it. One sole boon my sorrow asks thee, Anna! Since of thee, thee only, did that traitor make a friend, and trusted thee with what he hid so deep — the feelings of his heart; since thou alone hast known what way, what hour the man would yield to soft persuasion—therefore, sister, haste, and humbly thus implore our haughty foe: ‘I was not with the Greeks what time they swore at Aulis to cut off the seed of Troy; I sent no ships to Ilium. Pray, have I profaned Anchises' tomb, or vexed his shade?’ Why should his ear be deaf and obdurate to all I say? What haste? May he not make one last poor offering to her whose love is only pain? O, bid him but delay till flight be easy and the winds blow fair. I plead no more that bygone marriage-vow by him forsworn, nor ask that he should lose his beauteous Latium and his realm to be. Nothing but time I crave! to give repose and more room to this fever, till my fate teach a crushed heart to sorrow. I implore this last grace. (To thy sister's grief be kind!) I will requite with increase, till I die.” Such plaints, such prayers, again and yet again, betwixt the twain the sorrowing sister bore. But no words move, no lamentations bring persuasion to his soul; decrees of Fate oppose, and some wise god obstructs the way that finds the hero's ear. Oft-times around the aged strength of some stupendous oak the rival blasts of wintry Alpine winds smite with alternate wrath: Ioud is the roar, and from its rocking top the broken boughs are strewn along the ground; but to the crag steadfast it ever clings; far as toward heaven its giant crest uprears, so deep below its roots reach down to Tartarus:—not less the hero by unceasing wail and cry is smitten sore, and in his mighty heart has many a pang, while his serene intent abides unmoved, and tears gush forth in vain. Then wretched Dido, by her doom appalled, asks only death. It wearies her to see the sun in heaven. Yet that she might hold fast her dread resolve to quit the light of day, behold, when on an incense-breathing shrine her offering was laid—O fearful tale!— the pure libation blackened, and the wine flowed like polluting gore. She told the sight to none, not even to her sister's ear. A second sign was given: for in her house a marble altar to her husband's shade, with garlands bright and snowy fleeces dressed, had fervent worship; here strange cries were heard as if her dead spouse called while midnight reigned, and round her towers its inhuman song the lone owl sang, complaining o'er and o'er with lamentation and long shriek of woe. Forgotten oracles by wizards told whisper old omens dire. In dreams she feels cruel Aeneas goad her madness on, and ever seems she, friendless and alone, some lengthening path to travel, or to seek her Tyrians through wide wastes of barren lands. Thus frantic Pentheus flees the stern array of the Eumenides, and thinks to see two noonday lights blaze oer his doubled Thebes; or murdered Agamemnon's haunted son, Orestes, flees his mother's phantom scourge of flames and serpents foul, while at his door avenging horrors wait. Now sorrow-crazed and by her grief undone, resolved on death, the manner and the time her secret soul prepares, and, speaking to her sister sad, she masks in cheerful calm her fatal will: “I know a way—O, wish thy sister joy!— to bring him back to Iove, or set me free. On Ocean's bound and next the setting sun lies the last Aethiop land, where Atlas tall lifts on his shoulder the wide wheel of heaven, studded with burning stars. From thence is come a witch, a priestess, a Numidian crone, who guards the shrine of the Hesperides and feeds the dragon; she protects the fruit of that enchanting tree, and scatters there her slumb'rous poppies mixed with honey-dew. Her spells and magic promise to set free what hearts she will, or visit cruel woes on men afar. She stops the downward flow of rivers, and turns back the rolling stars; on midnight ghosts she calls: her vot'ries hear earth bellowing loud below, while from the hills the ash-trees travel down. But, sister mine, thou knowest, and the gods their witness give, how little mind have I to don the garb of sorcery. Depart in secret, thou, and bid them build a lofty funeral pyre inside our palalce-wall, and heap thereon the hero's arms, which that blasphemer hung within my chamber; every relic bring, and chiefly that ill-omened nuptial bed, my death and ruin! For I must blot out all sight and token of this husband vile. 'T is what the witch commands.” She spoke no more, and pallid was her brow. Yet Anna's mind knew not what web of death her sister wove by these strange rites, nor what such frenzy dares; nor feared she worse than when Sichaeus died, but tried her forth the errand to fulfil. Soon as the funeral pyre was builded high in a sequestered garden, Iooming huge with boughs of pine and faggots of cleft oak, the queen herself enwreathed it with sad flowers and boughs of mournful shade; and crowning all she laid on nuptial bed the robes and sword by him abandoned; and stretched out thereon a mock Aeneas;—but her doom she knew. Altars were there; and with loose locks unbound the priestess with a voice of thunder called three hundred gods, Hell, Chaos, the three shapes of triple Hecate, the faces three of virgin Dian. She aspersed a stream from dark Avernus drawn, she said; soft herbs were cut by moonlight with a blade of bronze, oozing black poison-sap; and she had plucked that philter from the forehead of new foal before its dam devours. Dido herself, sprinkling the salt meal, at the altar stands; one foot unsandalled, and with cincture free, on all the gods and fate-instructed stars, foreseeing death, she calls. But if there be some just and not oblivious power on high, who heeds when lovers plight unequal vow, to that god first her supplications rise.

Soon fell the night, and peaceful slumbers breathed on all earth's weary creatures; the loud seas and babbling forests entered on repose; now midway in their heavenly course the stars wheeled silent on; the outspread lands below lay voiceless; all the birds of tinted wing, and flocks that haunt the merge of waters wide or keep the thorny wold, oblivious lay beneath the night so still; the stings of care ceased troubling, and no heart its burden knew. Not so the Tyrian Queen's deep-grieving soul! To sleep she could not yield; her eyes and heart refused the gift of night; her suffering redoubled, and in full returning tide her love rebelled, while on wild waves of rage she drifted to and fro. So, ceasing not from sorrow, thus she brooded on her wrongs: “What refuge now? Shall I invite the scorn of my rejected wooers, or entreat of some disdainful, nomad blackamoor to take me to his bed—though many a time such husbands I made mock of? Shall I sail on Ilian ships away, and sink to be the Trojans' humble thrall? Do they rejoice that once I gave them bread? Lives gratitude in hearts like theirs for bygone kindnesses? O, who, if so I stooped, would deign to bear on yon proud ships the scorned and fallen Queen? Lost creature! Woe betide thee! Knowest thou not the perjured children of Laomedon? What way is left? Should I take flight alone and join the revelling sailors? Or depart with Tyrians, the whole attending train of my own people? Hard the task to force their hearts from Sidon's towers; how once more compel to sea, and bid them spread the sail? Nay, perish! Thou hast earned it. Let the sword from sorrow save thee! Sister of my blood— who else but thee,—my own tears borne down, didst heap disaster on my frantic soul, and fling me to this foe? Why could I not pass wedlock by, and live a blameless life as wild things do, nor taste of passion's pain? But I broke faith! I cast the vows away made at Sichaeus' grave.” Such loud lament burst from her breaking heart with doleful sound. Meanwhile Aeneas on his lofty ship, having made ready all, and fixed his mind to launch away upon brief slumher fell. But the god came; and in the self-same guise once more in monitory vision spoke, all guised as Mercury,—his voice, his hue, his golden locks, and young limbs strong and fair. “Hail, goddess-born! Wouldst linger on in sleep at such an hour? Nor seest thou the snares that hem thee round? Nor hearest thou the voice of friendly zephyrs calling? Senseless man! That woman's breast contrives some treachery and horrid stroke; for, resolute to die, she drifts on swollen floods of wrath and scorn. Wilt thou not fly before the hastening hour of flight is gone? To-morrow thou wilt see yon waters thronged with ships, the cruel glare of fire-brands, and yonder shore all flame, if but the light of morn again surprise thee loitering in this land. Away! Away! Stay not! A mutable and shifting thing is woman ever.” Such command he spoke, then melted in the midnight dark away. Aeneas, by that fleeting vision struck with an exceeding awe, straightway leaped forth from slumber's power, and to his followers cried : “Awake, my men! Away! Each to his place upon the thwarts! Unfurl at once the sails! A god from heaven a second time sent down urges our instant flight and bids us cut the twisted cords. Whatever be thy name, behold, we come, O venerated Power! Again with joy we follow! Let thy grace assist us as we go! And may thy power bring none but stars benign across our sky.” So saying, from its scabbard forth he flashed the lightning of his sword, with naked blade striking the hawsers free. Like ardor seized on all his willing men, who raced and ran; and, while their galleys shadowed all the sea, clean from the shore they scudded, with strong strokes sweeping the purple waves and crested foam. Aurora's first young beams to earth were pouring as from Tithonus' saffron bed she sprang; while from her battlements the wakeful Queen watched the sky brighten, saw the mated sails push forth to sea, till all her port and strand held not an oar or keel. Thrice and four times she smote her lovely breast with wrathful hand, and tore her golden hair. “Great Jove,” she cries, “Shall that departing fugitive make mock of me, a queen? Will not my men-at-arms draw sword, give chase, from all my city thronging? Down from the docks, my ships! Out, out! Begone! Take fire and sword! Bend to your oars, ye slaves! What have I said? Where am I? What mad thoughts delude this ruined mind? Woe unto thee, thou wretched Dido, now thy impious deeds strike back upon thee. Wherefore struck they not, as was most fit, when thou didst fling away thy sceptre from thy hand? O Iying oaths! O faith forsworn! of him who brings, they boast, his father's gods along, and bowed his back to lift an age-worn sire! Why dared I not seize on him, rend his body limb from limb, and hurl him piecemeal on the rolling sea? Or put his troop of followers to the sword, ascanius too, and set his flesh before that father for a feast? Such fearful war had been of doubtful issue. Be it so! What fears a woman dying? Would I had attacked their camp with torches, kindled flame from ship to ship, until that son and sire, with that whole tribe, were unto ashes burned in one huge holocaust—myself its crown! Great orb of light whose holy beam surveys all earthly deeds! Great Juno, patroness of conjugal distress, who knowest all! Pale Hecate, whose name the witches cry at midnight crossways! O avenging furies! O gods that guard Queen Dido's dying breath! Give ear, and to my guiltless misery extend your power. Hear me what I pray! If it be fated that yon creature curst drift to the shore and happy haven find, if Father Iove's irrevocable word such goal decree—there may he be assailed by peoples fierce and bold. A banished man, from his Iulus' kisses sundered far, may his own eyes see miserably slain his kin and kind, and sue for alien arms. nor when he basely bows him to receive terms of unequal peace, shall he be blest with sceptre or with life; but perish there before his time, and lie without a grave upon the barren sand. For this I pray. This dying word is flowing from my heart with my spilt blood. And—O ye Tyrians! I sting with your hatred all his seed and tribe forevermore. This is the offering my ashes ask. Betwixt our nations twain, No Iove! No truce or amity! Arise, Out of my dust, unknown Avenger, rise! To harry and lay waste with sword and flame those Dardan settlers, and to vex them sore, to-day, to-morrow, and as long as power is thine to use! My dying curse arrays shore against shore and the opposing seas in shock of arms with arms. May living foes pass down from sire to son insatiate war!” She said. From point to point her purpose flew, seeking without delay to quench the flame of her loathed life. Brief bidding she addressed to Barce then, Sichaeus' nurse (her own lay dust and ashes in a lonely grave beside the Tyrian shore), “Go, nurse, and call my sister Anna! Bid her quickly bathe her limbs in living water, and procure due victims for our expiating fires. bid her make haste. Go, bind on thy own brow the sacred fillet. For to Stygian Jove it is my purpose now to consummate the sacrifice ordained, ending my woe, and touch with flame the Trojan's funeral pyre.” The aged crone to do her bidding ran with trembling zeal. But Dido (horror-struck at her own dread design, unstrung with fear, her bloodshot eyes wide-rolling, and her cheek twitching and fever-spotted, her cold brow blanched with approaching death)—sped past the doors into the palace garden; there she leaped, a frenzied creature, on the lofty pyre and drew the Trojan's sword; a gift not asked for use like this! When now she saw the garb of Ilian fashion, and the nuptial couch she knew too well, she lingered yet awhile for memory and tears, and, falling prone on that cold bed, outpoured a last farewell: “Sweet relics! Ever dear when Fate and Heaven upon me smiled, receive my parting breath, and from my woe set free! My life is done. I have accomplished what my lot allowed; and now my spirit to the world of death in royal honor goes. The founder I of yonder noble city, I have seen walls at my bidding rise. I was avenged for my slain husband: I chastised the crimes of our injurious brother. Woe is me! Blest had I been, beyond deserving blest, if but the Trojan galleys ne'er had moored upon my kingdom's bound!” So saying, she pressed one last kiss on the couch. “Though for my death no vengeance fall, O, give me death!” she cried. “O thus! O thus! it is my will to take the journey to the dark. From yonder sea may his cold Trojan eyes discern the flames that make me ashes! Be this cruel death his omen as he sails!” She spoke no more. But almost ere she ceased, her maidens all thronged to obey her cry, and found their Queen prone fallen on the sword, the reeking steel still in her bloody hands. Shrill clamor flew along the lofty halls; wild rumor spread through the whole smitten city: Ioud lament, groans and the wail of women echoed on from roof to roof, and to the dome of air the noise of mourning rose. Such were the cry if a besieging host should break the walls of Carthage or old Tyre, and wrathful flames o'er towers of kings and worshipped altars roll. Her sister heard. Half in a swoon, she ran with trembling steps, where thickest was the throng, beating her breast, while with a desperate hand she tore at her own face, and called aloud upon the dying Queen. “Was it for this my own true sister used me with such guile? O, was this horrid deed the dire intent of altars, Iofty couch, and funeral fires? What shall I tell for chiefest of my woes? Lost that I am! Why, though in death, cast off thy sister from thy heart? Why not invite one mortal stroke for both, a single sword, one agony together? But these hands built up thy pyre; and my voice implored the blessing of our gods, who granted me that thou shouldst perish thus—and I not know! In thy self-slaughter, sister, thou hast slain myself, thy people, the grave counsellors of Sidon, and yon city thou didst build to be thy throne!—Go, fetch me water, there! That I may bathe those gashes! If there be one hovering breath that stays, let my fond lips discover and receive!” So saying, she sprang up from stair to stair, and, clasping to her breast her sister's dying form, moaned grievously, and staunched the dark blood with her garment's fold. Vainly would Dido lift her sinking eyes, but backward fell, while at her heart the wound opened afresh; three times with straining arm she rose; three times dropped helpless, her dimmed eyes turned skyward, seeking the sweet light of day, — which when she saw, she groaned. Great Juno then looked down in mercy on that lingering pain and labor to depart: from realms divine she sent the goddess of the rainbow wing, Iris, to set the struggling spirit free and loose its fleshly coil. For since the end came not by destiny, nor was the doom of guilty deed, but of a hapless wight to sudden madness stung, ere ripe to die, therefore the Queen of Hades had not shorn the fair tress from her forehead, nor assigned that soul to Stygian dark. So Iris came on dewy, saffron pinions down from heaven, a thousand colors on her radiant way, from the opposing sun. She stayed her flight above that pallid brow: “I come with power to make this gift to Death. I set thee free from thy frail body's bound.” With her right hand she cut the tress: then through its every limb the sinking form grew cold; the vital breath fled forth, departing on the viewless air.

title: Aeneid (Williams)/Book IV


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A. Local Officials Discover the Reedley Biolab

The Reedley Biolab was discovered in a warehouse located at 850 I Street in Reedley, California. It was across the street from a residential neighborhood, next to a railway line, and a short walk from the town’s high school, city hall, and water supply. Officials ultimately learned that Jiabei “Jesse” Zhu, under the false identity of David He, had set up a facility engaged in fraudulent sales of medical device kits and, other biological laboratory activity—the “Reedley Biolab.” Zhu did so after he and his associates had to hastily move from their previous location in Fresno, “an illegal laboratory similar to the Reedley site” due to a fire and threat of eviction. Zhu operated the Biolab through the corporation Universal Meditech Incorporated (UMI) and, later, Prestige Biotech Incorporated (Prestige Biotech).

''Figure 1 - Aerial view of Reedley, with Reedley Biolab in blue, major landmarks in red, and residential areas in yellow. Source: Google Earth.''

Officials first learned about the Reedley Biolab thanks to the work of Code Enforcement Officer Jesalyn Harper, who identified the aberrant garden hose building code violation outside the warehouse in December 2022. Upon being let

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Runo XXXI]

When the boy began his kicking,

And he kicked and pushed about him,

Tore his swaddling clothes to pieces,

Freed himself from all his clothing,

Then he broke the lime-wood cradle,

All his rags he tore from off him.

And it seemed that he would prosper,

And become a man of mettle.

Untamola thought already

That when he was grown to manhood,

He would grow both wise and mighty,

And become a famous hero,

As a servant worth a hundred,

Equal to a thousand servants.

Thus he grew for two and three months,

But already in the third month,

When a boy no more than knee-high,

He began to speak in thiswise:

“Presently when I am bigger,

And my body shall be stronger,

I’ll avenge my father’s slaughter,

And my mother’s tears atone for.”

This was heard by Untamoinen,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“He will bring my race to ruin,

Kalervo reborn is in him.”

Thereupon the heroes pondered

And the old crones all considered

How to bring the boy to ruin,

So that death might come upon him.

Then they put him in a barrel,

In a barrel did they thrust him,

And they pushed it to the water,

Pushed it out upon the billows.

Then they went to look about them,

After two nights, after three nights,

If the boy had sunk in water,

Or had perished in the barrel.

In the waves he was not sunken,

Nor had perished in the barrel,

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72

He had ’scaped from out the barrel,

And upon the waves was sitting,

In his hand a rod of copper,

At the end a line all silken,

And for lake-fish he was fishing,

As he floated on the water.

There was water in the lakelet,

Which perchance might fill two ladles,

Or if more exactly measured,

Partly was a third filled also.

Untamo again reflected,

“How can we o’ercome the infant,

That destruction come upon him,

And that death may overtake him?”

Then he bade his servants gather

First a large supply of birch-trees,

Pine-trees with their hundred needles,

Trees from which the pitch was oozing,

For the burning of the infant,

And for Kullervo’s destruction.

So they gathered and collected

First a large supply of birch-trees,

Pine-trees with their hundred needles,

Trees from which the pitch was oozing,

And of bark a thousand sledgefuls,

Ash-trees, long a hundred fathoms.

Fire beneath the wood they kindled,

And the pyre began to crackle,

And the boy they cast upon it,

’Mid the glowing fire they cast him.

Burned the fire a day, a second,

Burning likewise on the third day,

When they went to look about them.

Knee-deep sat the boy in ashes,

In the embers to his elbows.

In his hand he held the coal-rake,

And was stirring up the fire,

And he raked the coals together.

Not a hair was singed upon him,

Not a lock was even tangled.

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. [Outside] Three minutes! The train stops three minutes!

. Water! Fresh water! Who wants water?

. Here, girl! Water!

. Hurry up; it only stops a minute. I thought we'd die in that compartment. See if we have everything. One, two… Where's the basket? The basket!

. Here it is, mamma.

. Gracious! What a fright you did give me! The one thing, too, your aunt asked us to bring with us—She would always have insisted that we lost it on purpose.—Good afternoon.

. Good afternoon. I beg your pardon, but as I was riding alone, although it says "No Smoking"…

. For goodness' sake, don't stop upon our account! Smoke as much as you want to—it doesn't bother me, or my daughter, either. We are used to it. Her poor father, my first husband—who is now in glory—was never without a cigar in his mouth. As he bit off one, he lit it with the butt of the other. And my second husband—who now rests in peace—they were alike as two buttons; you could scarcely tell the difference. I had a difficulty at one time myself, a


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Runo XXXI]

Then did Untamo grow angry.

“Where then can I place the infant,

That we bring him to destruction,

And that death may overtake him?”

So upon a tree they hanged him,

Strung him up upon an oak-tree.

Two nights and a third passed over,

And upon the dawn thereafter,

Untamo again reflected:

“Time it is to look around us,

Whether Kullervo has fallen,

Or is dead upon the gallows.”

Then he sent a servant forward,

Back he came, and thus reported:

“Kullervo not yet has perished,

Nor has died upon the gallows.

Pictures on the tree he’s carving,

In his hands he holds a graver.

All the tree is filled with pictures,

All the oak-tree filled with carvings;

Here are men, and here are sword-blades,

And the spears are leaning by them.”

Where should Untamo seek aidance,

’Gainst this boy, the most unhappy?

Whatsoever deaths he planned him,

Or he planned for his destruction,

In the jaws of death he fell not,

Nor could he be brought to ruin.

And at length he grew full weary

Of his efforts to destroy him,

So he reared up Kullervoinen

As a slave beneath his orders.

Thereupon said Untamoinen,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“If you live as it is fitting,

Always acting as is proper,

In my house I will retain you,

And the work of servants give you.

I will pay you wages for it,

As I think that you deserve it,

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 suffocating feeling, all stuffed up here—terrible distress—and the doctors were telling me that it was asthma and that it wasn't asthma—Well, I smoked then myself—aromatic cigarettes—which didn't do me any good, either, by the way, I can say that. So you see as far as we are concerned… My dear, what on earth are you doing with that basket? Don't you see that you've got it with the holes against the wall, and the poor animal will be smothered to death? It's a cat, yes, sir, an aunt of my daughter's—she requested us to bring it with us, as a favor to her. She is my sister-in-law. It began to howl the moment the conductor came after the tickets, and this poor child had to sit there and sing and laugh so as to drown it—so the conductor couldn't tell who was howling. I should say it was a favor!

. [Outside] All aboard! Passengers who are going will please take the train!

. Good! They are afraid we might be left behind. However, we are off now—But you needn't think you are inconveniencing us. You can't annoy us by smoking. Before we changed we were travelling in the ladies' compartment, and we transferred to this one as soon as we could because there were people in it one simply couldn't travel with; they were out of the question. You would think that people who travelled first class would have manners, that they would know something. But not a bit of it! Believe me, if you want to find out what people are like, play cards with them, or watch them eat, or else go travelling. You'll find out then soon enough. There was a woman in that compartment—I say she was a woman because I don't know what else to call her—with her companion—she must have been her companion, she was with her anyway—well, I can tell you I was mortified. I was ashamed—such a conversation! Between the two of them! They might as well


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74

For your waist a pretty girdle,

Or upon your ear a buffet.”

So when Kullervo was taller,

And had grown about a span-length,

Then he found some work to give him,

That he should prepare to labour.

’Twas to rock a little infant,

Rock a child with little fingers.

“Watch with every care the infant,

Give it food, and eat some also,

Wash his napkins in the river,

Wash his little clothes and cleanse them.”

So he watched one day, a second,

Broke his hands, and gouged his eyes out,

And at length upon the third day,

Let the infant die of sickness,

Cast the napkins in the river,

And he burned the baby’s cradle.

Untamo thereon reflected,

“Such a one is quite unfitted

To attend to little children,

Rock the babes with little fingers.

Now I know not where to send him,

Nor what work I ought to give him.

Perhaps he ought to clear the forest?”

So he went to clear the forest.

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring

Answered in the words which follow:

“Now I first a man can deem me,

When my hands the axe are wielding.

I am handsomer to gaze on,

Far more noble than aforetime,

Five men’s strength I feel within me

And I equal six in valour.”

Then he went into the smithy,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“O thou smith, my dearest brother,

Forge me now a little hatchet,

Such an axe as fits a hero,

Iron tool for skilful workman,

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 have been sitting in their own parlors. As far as that goes, you know, speaking for myself, a widow twice, it was nothing to me; but before my daughter… I had to make her sit with her head out of the window all the way. It was pretty chilly for her. You can see for yourself she has taken cold. And she's got a cinder in her eye, too—worse luck! Her eyes are the best part of her.

. For mercy's sake, mamma! What will this gentleman think? I hope you don't mind mamma.

. Keep quiet, for heaven's sake! Such women! And they didn't stop there. One of them, tired of gabbling, I suppose, takes out a book if you please, and settles herself down to read. And what a book! There was a woman on the cover in her chemise, fanning herself.

. Evidently hot…

. You needn't tell me it was hot.

. You cannot always be sure. Sometimes the publishers—so as to attract attention—And then it turns out that there is nothing in the book, after all.

. You needn't tell me. Why, didn't she begin to laugh right out loud, and the other one wanted to know what she was laughing at? And she started in to read to her, at the top of her voice. It was too much for me this time. There we sat in that compartment, helpless, wondering what was coming next. I made up my mind I'd have to ask them to show some consideration for the girl. I'd better have held my tongue! How they did go for us! I didn't ring the alarm and stop the train because I was too excited. It isn't safe to travel with people who begin to gabble and talk the minute they lay eyes on you, and tell you all their private affairs just as if you were one of the


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Runo XXXI]

For I go to clear the forest,

And to fell the slender birch-trees.”

So the smith forged what he needed,

And an axe he forged him quickly;

Such an axe as fits a hero,

Iron tool for skilful workman.

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Set to work the axe to sharpen,

And he ground it in the daytime,

And at evening made a handle.

Then he went into the forest,

High upon the wooded mountains,

There to seek the best of planking,

And to seek the best of timber.

With his axe he smote the tree-trunks,

With the blade of steel he felled them,

At a stroke the best he severed,

And the bad ones at a half-stroke.

Five large trees at length had fallen,

Eight in all he felled before him,

And he spoke the words which follow,

And in words like these expressed him:

“Lempo may the work accomplish,

Hiisi now may shape the timber!”

In a stump he struck his axe-blade,

And began to shout full loudly,

And he piped, and then he whistled,

And he said the words which follow:

“Let the wood be felled around me,

Overthrown the slender birch-trees,

Far as sounds my voice resounding,

Far as I can send my whistle.

“Let no sapling here be growing,

Let no blade of grass be standing,

Never while the earth endureth,

Or the golden moon is shining,

Here in Kalervo’s son’s forest,

Here upon the good man’s clearing.

“If the seed on earth has fallen,

And the young corn should shoot upward,

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 family. People ought to be careful what they say. The very least that happens is that they tell you some scandal or dishonesty or something of the sort about Mr. So-and-so—that he is this way or that he is that way, and the next thing you know he turns out to be your father. And a person who would talk like that about your father, what wouldn't he say about your uncle or your cousins or any one else in the family? And there you are!

. Good afternoon.

. The tickets, child! What have you done with the tickets?

. Why, you have them, mamma!

. No, my dear; I gave them to you—the last time they came round. I am so sorry— [The cat begins to howl.] My dear! [The  begins to sing.] I can't find them; you must have them. What's that? Ah, yes! Of course! Wait a minute. Here they are

. Thank you. Good afternoon.

. What did you ask me for? You knew perfectly well that I couldn't stop singing.

. I wonder what that animal has against the conductor? I told you it was a nuisance; now judge for yourself. If it wasn't that my relations with my sister-in-law are a little bit strained—you understand—I don't want to give her a chance to do any talking—Well, the fact is she wasn't pleased because I married a second time. Just as if I would be likely to forget my first husband any sooner on that account! Put yourself in my place. Suppose you had been a widow of twenty-six without any visible means of support, and the man who was in love with you, without any offense to his predecessor, without reflecting upon his merits in the least, was the best man in the world—I ought


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 of sight of land. Then she saw that, if she were going to get back to the beach by evening, she must hurry and use her remaining daylight in that direction. So she turned about, with great difficulty because of the wind, and then she started homeward. But everything that had before been favourable was now against her; with her clumsy craft she could make no headway, and the waves were rising higher all the time. So she gave up, thinking that possibly the wind would soon change or calm down altogether. But this did not happen.

She was dashed about wildly, ever going farther from land, and seeing nothing save the unlimited expanse of rough water. Yet, even in her fright, she enjoyed it. She was not hurt at all, and she had only to cling tight to the raft. The sensation of being so dashed set and of riding up and down on the waves was glorious.

All the same, when it began to grow darker, darker, the wind remaining steady, she began to wish she had not ventured forth, but had stayed in shelter and safety at her little beach. She had always had great fun watching the storms, the high spray, the wind-tossed gulls; but now she saw that she had wished for rather too much.

It became steadily blacker, and still she was borne on, making no resistance now, for she saw

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76

If the sprout should be developed,

And the stalk should form upon it,

May it never come to earing,

Or the stalk-end be developed.”

Then the mighty Untamoinen,

Wandered forth to gaze about him,

Learn how Kalervo’s son cleared it,

And the new slave made a clearing.

But he found not any clearing,

And the young man had not cleared it.

Untamo thereon reflected,

“For such labour he’s unsuited,

He has spoiled the best of timber,

And has felled the best for planking.

Now I know not where to send him,

Nor what work I ought to give him.

Should I let him make a fencing?“

So he went to make a fencing.

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Set himself to make a fencing,

And for this he took whole pine-trees,

And he used them for the fence-stakes,

Took whole fir-trees from the forest,

Wattled them to make the fencing,

Bound the branches fast together

With the largest mountain-ashtrees;

But he made the fence continuous,

And he made no gateway through it,

And he spoke the words which follow,

And in words like these expressed him:

“He who cannot raise him birdlike,

Nor upon two wings can hover,

Never may he pass across it,

Over Kalervo’s son’s fencing!”

Then did Untamo determine

Forth to go and gaze around him,

Viewing Kalervo’s son’s fencing

By the slave of war constructed.

Stood the fence without an opening

Neither gap nor crevice through it,

title: Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v2.djvu/88


text:
Author:Leonard Burke Sand

Works

 * Michael Anthony Jewelers, Inc. v. Peacock Jewelry, Inc. (1992)

title: Author:Leonard Burke Sand


text:
Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 3.djvu/25

Rh toward the chasm, to see whether they would not again make their appearance somewhere below. He was just about descending to salute these strange travellers, when Felix came climbing up, and said, "Father, may I not go home with these boys to their house? They want to take me with them. Thou must go too, the man said to me. Come! they are waiting down there."

"I will speak with them," answered Wilhelm.

He found them at a place where the path was more level, and he could not but gaze in wonder at the singular figures which had so strongly attracted his attention. Not till now had it been in his power to note the peculiarities of the group. The young, stout man, he found, had a joiner's axe on his shoulder, and a long, thin iron square. The children bore in their hands large sedge-tufts, like palms; and if, in this point, they resembled angels, they likewise carried little baskets with shop-wares in them, thereby resembling the little daily posts, as they pass to and fro over the mountains. The mother, also, he observed, on looking more leisurely, wore under her blue mantle a reddish, mild-coloured, lower garment: so that "The Flight into Egypt," which our friend had so often seen painted, he now, with amazement, saw bodied forth before his eyes.

The strangers exchanged salutations; and as Wilhelm, from surprise and attention, could not speak, the young man said, "Our children have formed a friend- ship in these few moments. Will you go with us to see whether some kind relation will not spring up between the elder parties also?"

Wilhelm bethought himself an instant, and then answered, "The aspect of your little family procession awakens trust and good-will, and, to confess it frankly, curiosity no less, and a lively desire to be better acquainted with you. For, at the first glance, one might


text:
Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Second series (IA playsbyjacintobe00bena).pdf/31

 to have known, though, that it couldn't last. Something was sure to happen— Good Lord! What's the matter?

. We are coming to a tunnel.

. Horrors! [''They pass into a tunnel. After a moment they come out''] Don't look at that gentleman. I was the one who pinched you on the arm

. Madam!

. But that was not all. My sister-in-law is of a very domineering disposition. She is the moneyed member of the family, and, naturally, she expects everybody to bow down before her. She wants them to grovel. Well, that isn't my style. If I say anything she doesn't like, it results in an explosion. Now she has set herself on marrying my daughter to a nephew of hers about whom we know absolutely nothing. It is a delicate subject. A woman only marries once; at least, the first time that is all that she counts on. She plans no further ahead. She says he is a nice fellow, but I have made inquiries— Look out of the window, my dear— I hear he is very fond of the ladies. But what of that? All men are alike. Would you believe it, when we had been married only eight days, I surprised my first husband kissing the nurse?

. Did you have a nurse when you had been married only eight days?

. For my little sister. For heaven's sake, what did you think?

. Mamma! Mamma! Look at all the little rabbits!

. Don't talk to me about little rabbits. You can take your head in now. We were discussing your fiancé.

. What does this gentleman think?

. He thinks the same as I do. He says that without knowing him thoroughly— And he is perfectly right


text: Poems (McDonald)/The Promised Land

title: Poems (McDonald)/The Promised Land


text: Index:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf

title: Index:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf


text:
Colombo v. New York (405 U.S. 9)

Petitioner refused to answer a grand jury's questions despite a grant of immunity. A trial judge found the questions to be proper and directed petitioner to answer. Petitioner refused, and the judge found that by "his contumacious and unlawful refusal... to answer any legal and proper interrogatories and for his willful disobedience to the lawful mandate of this Court" petitioner had "committed a criminal contempt of court" in violation of N.Y. Judiciary Law § 750. He was sentenced to 30 days and fined $250. His offer to testify thereafter was refused and he paid his fine and served his sentence. Petitioner was then indicted under N.Y. Penal Law § 600 "for his contumacious and unlawful refusal... to answer legal and proper interrogatories." The trial court dismissed the indictment on double jeopardy grounds, but the appellate court reversed. The New York Court of Appeals, sustaining the reversal, held that there were two acts of contempt, one before the grand jury, and the other the refusal to obey the court order, and that the trial judge had committed petitioner for civil, not criminal, contempt.

Held: Petitioner was penalized for criminal contempt for purposes of the Double Jeopardy Clause, and in view of the state court's misconception of the nature of the contempt judgment, and the substantial question of state law arising from the State's response that it considers the two acts of contempt as being partially intertwined, the judgment is vacated and the case is remanded to the state court.

Certiorari granted, 29 N.Y. 2d 1, 271 N.E. 2d 694, vacated and remanded.

PER CURIAM.

title: Colombo v. New York (405 U.S. 9)


text:
Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Second series (IA playsbyjacintobe00bena).pdf/32

. [Aside] Where did this woman get the idea that I said anything?

. Are we coming to a stop?

. Yes, we are stopping now. That was a long run, mamma.

. I believe I shall get out and stretch myself for a moment. With your permission, ladies

. Be sure you have time enough.

. Yes. The engine takes in water.

. [Outside] Two minutes! The train stops two minutes!

. Water! Who wants water?

. Buy your cinnamon-cakes! Cinnamon-cakes!

. Mamma, I want some cinnamon-cakes.

. Didn't I tell you when you were travelling to be careful what you ate? We've had spice enough already. We're a great deal better off in this compartment. That seems to be a very nice gentleman. Probably he is taking a little vacation— I think we saw him in Madrid one afternoon with a fat lady, that day we were at the Lyric to see "The Iron Ring." Don't you remember the woman who sat in front of us with the big hat, so that you couldn't see? She cried through all the sad parts.

. I don't remember, mamma.

. When I get a good look at a person I never forget. I'll ask him when he comes back.

. All aboard! Passengers who are going will please take the train!

. Goodness, there's the bell! The gentleman hasn't come back— See if he's on the platform— Can't you see him?

. No.


text:
Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Second series (IA playsbyjacintobe00bena).pdf/33

. Here! Stop! Don't start the train! There's a gentleman missing!— I wonder where he can be? The train is moving— He's left— What can the matter be? Too bad! What a pity!

. He hasn't moved to another compartment. Here are his things.

. Of course he hasn't. We had better throw them out of the window. He can pick them up on the platform. It's the best we can do for him.

. Yes! It's the best.

. Help me! Hurry up!

. There they go!

. They belong to a gentleman who has lost the train! Keep them for him! He'll be out in a minute!— Didn't he know that the train doesn't wait for anybody? I am so sorry!

. We forgot the book.

. Never mind; it's all right. It won't be like the other one, anyhow— What a pity!

. [Looking at the book] What a pity!

. If there isn't another train to-day and his family should be waiting for him and he should be ashamed to let them know— I hate to think of it! It's too horrible for words!

. [Giggling] Too horrible!

. God bless me! It's too bad. While he was here, we had an escort, as it were. We were having a very agreeable conversation. It was easy to see he had acquired a great deal of information.

. He was very good-looking. Listen, mamma; where did you say that you pinched me in the tunnel? On the arm?

. What do you want to know that for?

. Nothing. Because it hurts.


text:
Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v2.djvu/89

Runo XXXI]

On the solid earth it rested,

Up among the clouds it towered.

Then he spoke the words which follow:

“For such labour he’s unsuited.

Here’s the fence without an opening,

And without a gateway through it.

Up to heaven the fence is builded,

To the very clouds uprising;

None can ever pass across it,

Pass within through any opening.

Now I know not where to send him,

Nor what work I ought to give him.

There is rye for threshing ready.”

So he sent him to the threshing.

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Set himself to do the threshing,

And the rye to chaff he pounded,

Into very chaff he threshed it.

Soon thereafter came the master,

Strolling forth to gaze around him,

See how Kalervo’s son threshed it,

And how Kullervoinen pounded.

All the rye to chaff was pounded,

Into very chaff he’d threshed it.

Untamoinen then was angry.

“As a labourer he is useless.

Whatsoever work I give him,

All his work he spoils from malice.

Shall I take him into Russia,

Shall I sell him in Carelia,

To the smith named Ilmarinen,

That he there may wield the hammer?”

Kalervo’s son took he with him,

And he sold him in Carelia,

To the smith named Ilmarinen,

Skilful wielder of the hammer.

What then gave the smith in payment?

Great the payment that he made him;

For he gave two worn-out kettles,

And three halves of hooks he gave him,

title: Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v2.djvu/89


text: Page:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/5

title: Page:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/5