Book VI

pour Dark wine to Jupiter with hands unwashed. Nor is it fitting that a man like me, Defiled with blood and battle-dust, should make Vows to the cloud-compeller, Saturn’s son. But thou, with incense, seek the temple reared To Pallas the despoiler⁠—calling first Our honored dames together. Take with thee What thou shalt deem the fairest of the robes, And amplest, in thy palace, and the one Thou prizest most, and lay it on the knees Of the bright-haired Minerva. Make a vow To offer to the goddess in her fane Twelve yearling heifers that have never borne The yoke, if she in mercy will regard The city, and the wives and little ones Of its defenders; if she will protect Our sacred Ilium from the ruthless son Of Tydeus, from whose valor armies flee. So to the shrine of Pallas, warrior-queen, Do thou repair, while I depart to seek Paris, if he will listen to my voice. Would that the earth might open where he stands, And swallow him! Olympian Jupiter Reared him to be the bane of all who dwell In Troy, to large-souled Priam and his sons. Could I behold him sinking to the shades, My heart would lose its sense of bitter woe.”