Virgil's Æneid.
Book IV
translated by John
Dryden.
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of Contents
THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE
AENEIS
THE ARGUMENT.-- Dido discovers
to her sister her passion for AEneas, and her thoughts of marrying him.
She prepares a hunting match for his entertainment. Juno, by Venus's
consent,
raises a storm, which separates the hunters, and drives AEneas and Dido
into the same cave, where their marriage is suppos'd to be completed.
Jupiter
dispatches Mercury to AEneas, to warn him from Carthage. AEneas
secretly prepares
for his voyage. Dido finds out his design, and, to put a stop to it,
makes
use of her own and her sister's entreaties, and discovers all the
variety
of passions that are incident to a neglected lover. When
nothing would prevail upon him, she contrives her own death, with which
this book concludes.
BUT
anxious cares already seiz'd the queen:
She fed within her veins a
flame
unseen;
The hero's valor, acts,
and birth
inspire
Her soul with love, and
fan the
secret fire.
His words, his looks,
imprinted
in her heart,
Improve the passion, and
increase
the smart.
Now, when the purple morn
had chas'd
away
The dewy shadows, and
restor'd the
day,
Her sister first with
early care
she sought,
And thus in mournful
accents eas'd
her thought:
"My dearest Anna,
what new
dreams affright
My lab'ring soul! what
visions of
the night
Disturb my quiet, and
distract my
breast
With strange ideas of our
Trojan
guest!
His worth, his actions,
and majestic
air,
A man descended from the
gods declare.
Fear ever argues a
degenerate kind;
His birth is well asserted
by his
mind.
Then, what he suffer'd,
when by
Fate betray'd!
What brave attempts for
falling
Troy he made!
Such were his looks, so
gracefully
he spoke,
That, were I not resolv'd
against
the yoke
Of hapless marriage, never
to be
curst
With second love, so fatal
was my
first,
To this one error I might
yield
again;
For, since Sichaeus was
untimely
slain,
This only man is able to
subvert
The fix'd foundations of
my stubborn
heart.
And, to confess my
frailty, to my
shame,
Somewhat I find within, if
not the
same,
Too like the sparkles of
my former
flame.
But first let yawning
earth a passage
rend,
And let me thro' the dark
abyss
descend;
First let avenging Jove,
with flames
from high,
Drive down this body to
the nether
sky,
Condemn'd with ghosts in
endless
night to lie,
Before I break the
plighted faith
I gave!
No! he who had my vows
shall ever
have;
For, whom I lov'd on
earth, I worship
in the grave."
She said: the tears
ran gushing
from her eyes,
And stopp'd her speech.
Her sister
thus replies:
"O dearer than the vital
air I breathe,
Will you to grief your
blooming
years bequeath,
Condemn'd to waste in woes
your
lonely life,
Without the joys of mother
or of
wife?
Think you these tears,
this pompous
train of woe,
Are known or valued by the
ghosts
below?
I grant that, while your
sorrows
yet were green,
It well became a woman,
and a queen,
The vows of Tyrian princes
to neglect,
To scorn Hyarbas, and his
love reject,
With all the Libyan lords
of mighty
name;
But will you fight against
a pleasing
flame!
This little spot of land,
which
Heav'n bestows,
On ev'ry side is hemm'd
with warlike
foes;
Gaetulian cities here are
spread
around,
And fierce Numidians there
your
frontiers bound;
Here lies a barren waste
of thirsty
land,
And there the Syrtes raise
the moving
sand;
Barcaean troops besiege
the narrow
shore,
And from the sea Pygmalion
threatens
more.
Propitious Heav'n, and
gracious
Juno, lead
This wand'ring navy to
your needful
aid:
How will your empire
spread, your
city rise,
From such a union, and
with such
allies?
Implore the favor of the
pow'rs
above,
And leave the conduct of
the rest
to love.
Continue still your
hospitable way,
And still invent occasions
of their
stay,
Till storms and winter
winds shall
cease to threat,
And planks and oars repair
their
shatter'd fleet."
These words, which
from a
friend and sister came,
With ease resolv'd the
scruples
of her fame,
And added fury to the
kindled flame.
Inspir'd with hope, the
project
they pursue;
On ev'ry altar sacrifice
renew:
A chosen ewe of two years
old they
pay
To Ceres, Bacchus, and the
God of
Day;
Preferring Juno's pow'r,
for Juno
ties
The nuptial knot and makes
the marriage
joys.
The beauteous queen before
her altar
stands,
And holds the golden
goblet in her
hands.
A milk-white heifer she
with flow'rs
adorns,
And pours the ruddy wine
betwixt
her horns;
And, while the priests
with pray'r
the gods invoke,
She feeds their altars
with Sabaean
smoke,
With hourly care the
sacrifice renews,
And anxiously the panting
entrails
views.
What priestly rites, alas!
what
pious art,
What vows avail to cure a
bleeding
heart!
A gentle fire she feeds
within her
veins,
Where the soft god secure
in silence
reigns.
Sick with desire,
and seeking
him she loves,
From street to street the
raving
Dido roves.
So when the watchful
shepherd, from
the blind,
Wounds with a random shaft
the careless
hind,
Distracted with her pain
she flies
the woods,
Bounds o'er the lawn, and
seeks
the silent floods,
With fruitless care; for
still the
fatal dart
Sticks in her side, and
rankles
in her heart.
And now she leads the
Trojan chief
along
The lofty walls, amidst
the busy
throng;
Displays her Tyrian
wealth, and
rising town,
Which love, without his
labor, makes
his own.
This pomp she shows, to
tempt her
wand'ring guest;
Her falt'ring tongue
forbids to
speak the rest.
When day declines, and
feasts renew
the night,
Still on his face she
feeds her
famish'd sight;
She longs again to hear
the prince
relate
His own adventures and the
Trojan
fate.
He tells it o'er and o'er;
but still
in vain,
For still she begs to hear
it once
again.
The hearer on the
speaker's mouth
depends,
And thus the tragic story
never
ends.
Then, when they
part, when
Phoebe's paler light
Withdraws, and falling
stars to
sleep invite,
She last remains, when
ev'ry guest
is gone,
Sits on the bed he
press'd, and
sighs alone;
Absent, her absent hero
sees and
hears;
Or in her bosom young
Ascanius bears,
And seeks the father's
image in
the child,
If love by likeness might
be so
beguil'd.
Meantime the rising
tow'rs
are at a stand;
No labors exercise the
youthful
band,
Nor use of arts, nor toils
of arms
they know;
The mole is left
unfinish'd to the
foe;
The mounds, the works, the
walls,
neglected lie,
Short of their promis'd
heighth,
that seem'd to threat the sky,
But when imperial
Juno, from
above,
Saw Dido fetter'd in the
chains
of love,
Hot with the venom which
her veins
inflam'd,
And by no sense of shame
to be reclaim'd,
With soothing words to
Venus she
begun:
"High praises, endless
honors, you
have won,
And mighty trophies, with
your worthy
son!
Two gods a silly woman
have undone!
Nor am I ignorant, you
both suspect
This rising city, which my
hands
erect:
But shall celestial
discord never
cease?
'T is better ended in a
lasting
peace.
You stand possess'd of all
your
soul desir'd:
Poor Dido with consuming
love is
fir'd.
Your Trojan with my Tyrian
let us
join;
So Dido shall be yours,
AEneas mine:
One common kingdom, one
united line.
Eliza shall a Dardan lord
obey,
And lofty Carthage for a
dow'r convey."
Then Venus, who her hidden
fraud
descried,
Which would the scepter of
the world
misguide
To Libyan shores, thus
artfully
replied:
"Who, but a fool, would
wars with
Juno choose,
And such alliance and such
gifts
refuse,
If Fortune with our joint
desires
comply?
The doubt is all from Jove
and destiny;
Lest he forbid, with
absolute command,
To mix the people in one
common
land--
Or will the Trojan and the
Tyrian
line
In lasting leagues and
sure succession
join?
But you, the partner of
his bed
and throne,
May move his mind; my
wishes are
your own."
"Mine," said
imperial Juno,
"be the care;
Time urges, now, to
perfect this
affair:
Attend my counsel, and the
secret
share.
When next the Sun his
rising light
displays,
And gilds the world below
with purple
rays,
The queen, AEneas, and the
Tyrian
court
Shall to the shady woods,
for sylvan
game, resort.
There, while the huntsmen
pitch
their toils around,
And cheerful horns from
side to
side resound,
A pitchy cloud shall cover
all the
plain
With hail, and thunder,
and tempestuous
rain;
The fearful train shall
take their
speedy flight,
Dispers'd, and all
involv'd in gloomy
night;
One cave a grateful
shelter shall
afford
To the fair princess and
the Trojan
lord.
I will myself the bridal
bed prepare,
If you, to bless the
nuptials, will
be there:
So shall their loves be
crown'd
with due delights,
And Hymen shall be present
at the
rites."
The Queen of Love
consents, and
closely smiles
At her vain project, and
discover'd
wiles.
The rosy morn was
risen from
the main,
And horns and hounds awake
the princely
train:
They issue early thro' the
city
gate,
Where the more wakeful
huntsmen
ready wait,
With nets, and toils, and
darts,
beside the force
Of Spartan dogs, and swift
Massylian
horse.
The Tyrian peers and
officers of
state
For the slow queen in
antechambers
wait;
Her lofty courser, in the
court
below,
Who his majestic rider
seems to
know,
Proud of his purple
trappings, paws
the ground,
And champs the golden bit,
and spreads
the foam around.
The queen at length
appears; on
either hand
The brawny guards in
martial order
stand.
A flow'r'd simar with
golden fringe
she wore,
And at her back a golden
quiver
bore;
Her flowing hair a golden
caul restrains,
A golden clasp the Tyrian
robe sustains.
Then young Ascanius, with
a sprightly
grace,
Leads on the Trojan youth
to view
the chase.
But far above the rest in
beauty
shines
The great AEneas, when the
troop
he joins;
Like fair Apollo, when he
leaves
the frost
Of wint'ry Xanthus, and
the Lycian
coast,
When to his native Delos
he resorts,
Ordains the dances, and
renews the
sports;
Where painted Scythians,
mix'd with
Cretan bands,
Before the joyful altars
join their
hands:
Himself, on Cynthus
walking, sees
below
The merry madness of the
sacred
show.
Green wreaths of bays his
length
of hair inclose;
A golden fillet binds his
awful
brows;
His quiver sounds: not
less the
prince is seen
In manly presence, or in
lofty mien.
Now had they
reach'd the
hills, and storm'd the seat
Of salvage beasts, in
dens, their
last retreat.
The cry pursues the
mountain goats:
they bound
From rock to rock, and
keep the
craggy ground;
Quite otherwise the stags,
a trembling
train,
In herds unsingled, scour
the dusty
plain,
And a long chase in open
view maintain.
The glad Ascanius, as his
courser
guides,
Spurs thro' the vale, and
these
and those outrides.
His horse's flanks and
sides are
forc'd to feel
The clanking lash, and
goring of
the steel.
Impatiently he views the
feeble
prey,
Wishing some nobler beast
to cross
his way,
And rather would the tusky
boar
attend,
Or see the tawny lion
downward bend.
Meantime, the
gath'ring clouds
obscure the skies:
From pole to pole the
forky lightning
flies;
The rattling thunders
roll; and
Juno pours
A wintry deluge down, and
sounding
show'rs.
The company, dispers'd, to
converts
ride,
And seek the homely cots,
or mountain's
hollow side.
The rapid rains,
descending from
the hills,
To rolling torrents raise
the creeping
rills.
The queen and prince, as
love or
fortune guides,
One common cavern in her
bosom hides.
Then first the trembling
earth the
signal gave,
And flashing fires
enlighten all
the cave;
Hell from below, and Juno
from above,
And howling nymphs, were
conscious
of their love.
From this ill-omen'd hour
in time
arose
Debate and death, and all
succeeding
woes.
The queen, whom
sense of
honor could not move,
No longer made a secret of
her love,
But call'd it marriage, by
that
specious name
To veil the crime and
sanctify the
shame.
The loud report
thro' Libyan
cities goes.
Fame, the great ill, from
small
beginnings grows:
Swift from the first; and
ev'ry
moment brings
New vigor to her flights,
new pinions
to her wings.
Soon grows the pigmy to
gigantic
size;
Her feet on earth, her
forehead
in the skies.
Inrag'd against the gods,
revengeful
Earth
Produc'd her last of the
Titanian
birth.
Swift is her walk, more
swift her
winged haste:
A monstrous phantom,
horrible and
vast.
As many plumes as raise
her lofty
flight,
So many piercing eyes
inlarge her
sight;
Millions of opening mouths
to Fame
belong,
And ev'ry mouth is
furnish'd with
a tongue,
And round with list'ning
ears the
flying plague is hung.
She fills the peaceful
universe
with cries;
No slumbers ever close her
wakeful
eyes;
By day, from lofty tow'rs
her head
she shews,
And spreads thro'
trembling crowds
disastrous news;
With court informers
haunts, and
royal spies;
Things done relates, not
done she
feigns, and mingles truth with lies.
Talk is her business, and
her chief
delight
To tell of prodigies and
cause affright.
She fills the people's
ears with
Dido's name,
Who, lost to honor and the
sense
of shame,
Admits into her throne and
nuptial
bed
A wand'ring guest, who
from his
country fled:
Whole days with him she
passes in
delights,
And wastes in luxury long
winter
nights,
Forgetful of her fame and
royal
trust,
Dissolv'd in ease,
abandon'd to
her lust.
The goddess widely
spreads
the loud report,
And flies at length to
King Hyarba's
court.
When first possess'd with
this unwelcome
news
Whom did he not of men and
gods
accuse?
This prince, from ravish'd
Garamantis
born,
A hundred temples did with
spoils
adorn,
In Ammon's honor, his
celestial
sire;
A hundred altars fed with
wakeful
fire;
And, thro' his vast
dominions, priests
ordain'd,
Whose watchful care these
holy rites
maintain'd.
The gates and columns were
with
garlands crown'd,
And blood of victim beasts
enrich'd
the ground.
He, when he heard a
fugitive
could move
The Tyrian princess, who
disdain'd
his love,
His breast with fury
burn'd, his
eyes with fire,
Mad with despair,
impatient with
desire;
Then on the sacred altars
pouring
wine,
He thus with pray'rs
implor'd his
sire divine:
"Great Jove! propitious to
the Moorish
race,
Who feast on painted beds,
with
off'rings grace
Thy temples, and adore thy
pow'r
divine
With blood of victims, and
with
sparkling wine,
Seest thou not this? or do
we fear
in vain
Thy boasted thunder, and
thy thoughtless
reign?
Do thy broad hands the
forky lightnings
lance?
Thine are the bolts, or
the blind
work of chance?
A wand'ring woman builds,
within
our state,
A little town, bought at
an easy
rate;
She pays me homage, and my
grants
allow
A narrow space of Libyan
lands to
plow;
Yet, scorning me, by
passion blindly
led,
Admits a banish'd Trojan
to her
bed!
And now this other Paris,
with his
train
Of conquer'd cowards, must
in Afric
reign!
(Whom, what they are,
their looks
and garb confess,
Their locks with oil
perfum'd, their
Lydian dress.)
He takes the spoil, enjoys
the princely
dame;
And I, rejected I, adore
an empty
name."
His vows, in
haughty terms,
he thus preferr'd,
And held his altar's
horns. The
mighty Thund'rer heard;
Then cast his eyes on
Carthage,
where he found
The lustful pair in
lawless pleasure
drown'd,
Lost in their loves,
insensible
of shame,
And both forgetful of
their better
fame.
He calls Cyllenius, and
the god
attends,
By whom his menacing
command he
sends:
"Go, mount the western
winds, and
cleave the sky;
Then, with a swift
descent, to Carthage
fly:
There find the Trojan
chief, who
wastes his days
In slothful riot and
inglorious
ease,
Nor minds the future city,
giv'n
by fate.
To him this message from
my mouth
relate:
'Not so fair Venus hop'd,
when twice
she won
Thy life with pray'rs, nor
promis'd
such a son.
Hers was a hero, destin'd
to command
A martial race, and rule
the Latian
land,
Who should his ancient
line from
Teucer draw,
And on the conquer'd world
impose
the law.'
If glory cannot move a
mind so mean,
Nor future praise from
fading pleasure
wean,
Yet why should he defraud
his son
of fame,
And grudge the Romans
their immortal
name!
What are his vain designs!
what
hopes he more
From his long ling'ring on
a hostile
shore,
Regardless to redeem his
honor lost,
And for his race to gain
th' Ausonian
coast!
Bid him with speed the
Tyrian court
forsake;
With this command the
slumb'ring
warrior wake."
Hermes obeys; with
golden
pinions binds
His flying feet, and
mounts the
western winds:
And, whether o'er the seas
or earth
he flies,
With rapid force they bear
him down
the skies.
But first he grasps within
his awful
hand
The mark of sov'reign
pow'r, his
magic wand;
With this he draws the
ghosts from
hollow graves;
With this he drives them
down the
Stygian waves;
With this he seals in
sleep the
wakeful sight,
And eyes, tho' clos'd in
death,
restores to light.
Thus arm'd, the god begins
his airy
race,
And drives the racking
clouds along
the liquid space;
Now sees the tops of
Atlas, as he
flies,
Whose brawny back supports
the starry
skies;
Atlas, whose head, with
piny forests
crown'd,
Is beaten by the winds,
with foggy
vapors bound.
Snows hide his shoulders;
from beneath
his chin
The founts of rolling
streams their
race begin;
A beard of ice on his
large breast
depends.
Here, pois'd upon his
wings, the
god descends:
Then, rested thus, he from
the tow'ring
height
Plung'd downward, with
precipitated
flight,
Lights on the seas, and
skims along
the flood.
As waterfowl, who seek
their fishy
food,
Less, and yet less, to
distant prospect
show;
By turns they dance aloft,
and dive
below:
Like these, the steerage
of his
wings he plies,
And near the surface of
the water
flies,
Till, having pass'd the
seas, and
cross'd the sands,
He clos'd his wings, and
stoop'd
on Libyan lands:
Where shepherds once were
hous'd
in homely sheds,
Now tow'rs within the
clouds advance
their heads.
Arriving there, he found
the Trojan
prince
New ramparts raising for
the town's
defense.
A purple scarf, with gold
embroider'd
o'er,
(Queen Dido's gift,) about
his waist
he wore;
A sword, with glitt'ring
gems diversified,
For ornament, not use,
hung idly
by his side.
Then thus, with
winged words,
the god began,
Resuming his own shape:
"Degenerate
man,
Thou woman's property,
what mak'st
thou here,
These foreign walls and
Tyrian tow'rs
to rear,
Forgetful of thy own?
All-pow'rful
Jove,
Who sways the world below
and heav'n
above,
Has sent me down with this
severe
command:
What means thy ling'ring
in the
Libyan land?
If glory cannot move a
mind so mean,
Nor future praise from
flitting
pleasure wean,
Regard the fortunes of thy
rising
heir:
The promis'd crown let
young Ascanius
wear,
To whom th' Ausonian
scepter, and
the state
Of Rome's imperial name is
ow'd
by fate."
So spoke the god; and,
speaking,
took his flight,
Involv'd in clouds, and
vanish'd
out of sight.
The pious prince
was seiz'd
with sudden fear;
Mute was his tongue, and
upright
stood his hair.
Revolving in his mind the
stern
command,
He longs to fly, and
loathes the
charming land.
What should he say? or how
should
he begin?
What course, alas! remains
to steer
between
Th' offended lover and the
pow'rful
queen?
This way and that he turns
his anxious
mind,
And all expedients tries,
and none
can find.
Fix'd on the deed, but
doubtful
of the means,
After long thought, to
this advice
he leans:
Three chiefs he calls,
commands
them to repair
The fleet, and ship their
men with
silent care;
Some plausible pretense he
bids
them find,
To color what in secret he
design'd.
Himself, meantime, the
softest hours
would choose,
Before the love-sick lady
heard
the news;
And move her tender mind,
by slow
degrees,
To suffer what the
sov'reign pow'r
decrees:
Jove will inspire him,
when, and
what to say.
They hear with pleasure,
and with
haste obey.
But soon the queen
perceives
the thin disguise:
(What arts can blind a
jealous woman's
eyes!)
She was the first to find
the secret
fraud,
Before the fatal news was
blaz'd
abroad.
Love the first motions of
the lover
hears,
Quick to presage, and ev'n
in safety
fears.
Nor impious Fame was
wanting to
report
The ships repair'd, the
Trojans'
thick resort,
And purpose to forsake the
Tyrian
court.
Frantic with fear,
impatient of
the wound,
And impotent of mind, she
roves
the city round.
Less wild the Bacchanalian
dames
appear,
When, from afar, their
nightly god
they hear,
And howl about the hills,
and shake
the wreathy spear
At length she finds the
dear perfidious
man;
Prevents his form'd
excuse, and
thus began:
"Base and ungrateful!
could you
hope to fly,
And undiscover'd scape a
lover's
eye?
Nor could my kindness your
compassion
move,
Nor plighted vows, nor
dearer bands
of love?
Or is the death of a
despairing
queen
Not worth preventing, tho'
too well
foreseen?
Ev'n when the wintry winds
command
your stay,
You dare the tempests, and
defy
the sea.
False as you are, suppose
you were
not bound
To lands unknown, and
foreign coasts
to sound;
Were Troy restor'd, and
Priam's
happy reign,
Now durst you tempt, for
Troy, the
raging main?
See whom you fly! am I the
foe you
shun?
Now, by those holy vows,
so late
begun,
By this right hand, (since
I have
nothing more
To challenge, but the
faith you
gave before;)
I beg you by these tears
too truly
shed,
By the new pleasures of
our nuptial
bed;
If ever Dido, when you
most were
kind,
Were pleasing in your
eyes, or touch'd
your mind;
By these my pray'rs, if
pray'rs
may yet have place,
Pity the fortunes of a
falling race.
For you I have provok'd a
tyrant's
hate,
Incens'd the Libyan and
the Tyrian
state;
For you alone I suffer in
my fame,
Bereft of honor, and
expos'd to
shame.
Whom have I now to trust,
ungrateful
guest?
(That only name remains of
all the
rest!)
What have I left? or
whither can
I fly?
Must I attend Pygmalion's
cruelty,
Or till Hyarba shall in
triumph
lead
A queen that proudly
scorn'd his
proffer'd bed?
Had you deferr'd, at
least, your
hasty flight,
And left behind some
pledge of our
delight,
Some babe to bless the
mother's
mournful sight,
Some young AEneas, to
supply your
place,
Whose features might
express his
father's face;
I should not then complain
to live
bereft
Of all my husband, or be
wholly
left."
Here paus'd the
queen. Unmov'd
he holds his eyes,
By Jove's command; nor
suffer'd
love to rise,
Tho' heaving in his heart;
and thus
at length replies:
"Fair queen, you never can
enough
repeat
Your boundless favors, or
I own
my debt;
Nor can my mind forget
Eliza's name,
While vital breath
inspires this
mortal frame.
This only let me speak in
my defense:
I never hop'd a secret
flight from
hence,
Much less pretended to the
lawful
claim
Of sacred nuptials, or a
husband's
name.
For, if indulgent Heav'n
would leave
me free,
And not submit my life to
fate's
decree,
My choice would lead me to
the Trojan
shore,
Those relics to review,
their dust
adore,
And Priam's ruin'd palace
to restore.
But now the Delphian
oracle commands,
And fate invites me to the
Latian
lands.
That is the promis'd place
to which
I steer,
And all my vows are
terminated there.
If you, a Tyrian, and a
stranger
born,
With walls and tow'rs a
Libyan town
adorn,
Why may not we--like you,
a foreign
race--
Like you, seek shelter in
a foreign
place?
As often as the night
obscures the
skies
With humid shades, or
twinkling
stars arise,
Anchises' angry ghost in
dreams
appears,
Chides my delay, and fills
my soul
with fears;
And young Ascanius justly
may complain
Of his defrauded fate and
destin'd
reign.
Ev'n now the herald of the
gods
appear'd:
Waking I saw him, and his
message
heard.
From Jove he came
commission'd,
heav'nly bright
With radiant beams, and
manifest
to sight
(The sender and the sent I
both
attest):
These walls he enter'd,
and those
words express'd.
Fair queen, oppose not
what the
gods command;
Forc'd by my fate, I leave
your
happy land."
Thus while he
spoke, already
she began,
With sparkling eyes, to
view the
guilty man;
From head to foot survey'd
his person
o'er,
Nor longer these
outrageous threats
forebore:
"False as thou art, and,
more than
false, forsworn!
Not sprung from noble
blood, nor
goddess-born,
But hewn from harden'd
entrails
of a rock!
And rough Hyrcanian tigers
gave
thee suck!
Why should I fawn? what
have I worse
to fear?
Did he once look, or lent
a list'ning
ear,
Sigh'd when I sobb'd, or
shed one
kindly tear?--
All symptoms of a base
ungrateful
mind,
So foul, that, which is
worse, 'tis
hard to find.
Of man's injustice why
should I
complain?
The gods, and Jove
himself, behold
in vain
Triumphant treason; yet no
thunder
flies,
Nor Juno views my wrongs
with equal
eyes;
Faithless is earth, and
faithless
are the skies!
Justice is fled, and Truth
is now
no more!
I sav'd the shipwrack'd
exile on
my shore;
With needful food his
hungry Trojans
fed;
I took the traitor to my
throne
and bed:
Fool that I was--'t is
little to
repeat
The rest--I stor'd and
rigg'd his
ruin'd fleet.
I rave, I rave! A god's
command
he pleads,
And makes Heav'n accessary
to his
deeds.
Now Lycian lots, and now
the Delian
god,
Now Hermes is employ'd
from Jove's
abode,
To warn him hence; as if
the peaceful
state
Of heav'nly pow'rs were
touch'd
with human fate!
But go! thy flight no
longer I detain--
Go seek thy promis'd
kingdom thro'
the main!
Yet, if the heav'ns will
hear my
pious vow,
The faithless waves, not
half so
false as thou,
Or secret sands, shall
sepulchers
afford
To thy proud vessels, and
their
perjur'd lord.
Then shalt thou call on
injur'd
Dido's name:
Dido shall come in a black
sulph'ry
flame,
When death has once
dissolv'd her
mortal frame;
Shall smile to see the
traitor vainly
weep:
Her angry ghost, arising
from the
deep,
Shall haunt thee waking,
and disturb
thy sleep.
At least my shade thy
punishment
shall know,
And Fame shall spread the
pleasing
news below."
Abruptly here she
stops;
then turns away
Her loathing eyes, and
shuns the
sight of day.
Amaz'd he stood, revolving
in his
mind
What speech to frame, and
what excuse
to find.
Her fearful maids their
fainting
mistress led,
And softly laid her on her
iv'ry
bed.
But good AEneas,
tho' he
much desir'd
To give that pity which
her grief
requir'd;
Tho' much he mourn'd, and
labor'd
with his love,
Resolv'd at length, obeys
the will
of Jove;
Reviews his forces: they
with early
care
Unmoor their vessels, and
for sea
prepare.
The fleet is soon afloat,
in all
its pride,
And well-calk'd galleys in
the harbor
ride.
Then oaks for oars they
fell'd;
or, as they stood,
Of its green arms
despoil'd the
growing wood,
Studious of flight. The
beach is
cover'd o'er
With Trojan bands, that
blacken
all the shore:
On ev'ry side are seen,
descending
down,
Thick swarms of soldiers,
loaden
from the town.
Thus, in battalia, march
embodied
ants,
Fearful of winter, and of
future
wants,
T' invade the corn, and to
their
cells convey
The plunder'd forage of
their yellow
prey.
The sable troops, along
the narrow
tracks,
Scarce bear the weighty
burthen
on their backs:
Some set their shoulders
to the
pond'rous grain;
Some guard the spoil; some
lash
the lagging train;
All ply their sev'ral
tasks, and
equal toil sustain.
What pangs the
tender breast
of Dido tore,
When, from the tow'r, she
saw the
cover'd shore,
And heard the shouts of
sailors
from afar,
Mix'd with the murmurs of
the wat'ry
war!
All-pow'rful Love! what
changes
canst thou cause
In human hearts, subjected
to thy
laws!
Once more her haughty soul
the tyrant
bends:
To pray'rs and mean
submissions
she descends.
No female arts or aids she
left
untried,
Nor counsels unexplor'd,
before
she died.
"Look, Anna! look! the
Trojans crowd
to sea;
They spread their canvas,
and their
anchors weigh.
The shouting crew their
ships with
garlands bind,
Invoke the sea gods, and
invite
the wind.
Could I have thought this
threat'ning
blow so near,
My tender soul had been
forewarn'd
to bear.
But do not you my last
request deny;
With yon perfidious man
your int'rest
try,
And bring me news, if I
must live
or die.
You are his fav'rite; you
alone
can find
The dark recesses of his
inmost
mind:
In all his trusted secrets
you have
part,
And know the soft
approaches to
his heart.
Haste then, and humbly
seek my haughty
foe;
Tell him, I did not with
the Grecians
go,
Nor did my fleet against
his friends
employ,
Nor swore the ruin of
unhappy Troy,
Nor mov'd with hands
profane his
father's dust:
Why should he then reject
a suit
so just!
Whom does he shun, and
whither would
he fly!
Can he this last, this
only pray'r
deny!
Let him at least his
dang'rous flight
delay,
Wait better winds, and
hope a calmer
sea.
The nuptials he disclaims
I urge
no more:
Let him pursue the
promis'd Latian
shore.
A short delay is all I ask
him now;
A pause of grief, an
interval from
woe,
Till my soft soul be
temper'd to
sustain
Accustom'd sorrows, and
inur'd to
pain.
If you in pity grant this
one request,
My death shall glut the
hatred of
his breast."
This mournful message
pious Anna
bears,
And seconds with her own
her sister's
tears:
But all her arts are still
employ'd
in vain;
Again she comes, and is
refus'd
again.
His harden'd heart nor
pray'rs nor
threat'nings move;
Fate, and the god, had
stopp'd his
ears to love.
As, when the winds
their
airy quarrel try,
Justling from ev'ry
quarter of the
sky,
This way and that the
mountain oak
they bend,
His boughs they shatter,
and his
branches rend;
With leaves and falling
mast they
spread the ground;
The hollow valleys echo to
the sound:
Unmov'd, the royal plant
their fury
mocks,
Or, shaken, clings more
closely
to the rocks;
Far as he shoots his
tow'ring head
on high,
So deep in earth his fix'd
foundations
lie.
No less a storm the Trojan
hero
bears;
Thick messages and loud
complaints
he hears,
And bandied words, still
beating
on his ears.
Sighs, groans, and tears
proclaim
his inward pains;
But the firm purpose of
his heart
remains.
The wretched queen,
pursued
by cruel fate,
Begins at length the light
of heav'n
to hate,
And loathes to live. Then
dire portents
she sees,
To hasten on the death her
soul
decrees:
Strange to relate! for
when, before
the shrine,
She pours in sacrifice the
purple
wine,
The purple wine is turn'd
to putrid
blood,
And the white offer'd milk
converts
to mud.
This dire presage, to her
alone
reveal'd,
From all, and ev'n her
sister, she
conceal'd.
A marble temple stood
within the
grove,
Sacred to death, and to
her murther'd
love;
That honor'd chapel she
had hung
around
With snowy fleeces, and
with garlands
crown'd:
Oft, when she visited this
lonely
dome,
Strange voices issued from
her husband's
tomb;
She thought she heard him
summon
her away,
Invite her to his grave,
and chide
her stay.
Hourly 't is heard, when
with a
boding note
The solitary screech owl
strains
her throat,
And, on a chimney's top,
or turret's
height,
With songs obscene
disturbs the
silence of the night.
Besides, old prophecies
augment
her fears;
And stern AEneas in her
dreams appears,
Disdainful as by day: she
seems,
alone,
To wander in her sleep,
thro' ways
unknown,
Guideless and dark; or, in
a desart
plain,
To seek her subjects, and
to seek
in vain:
Like Pentheus, when,
distracted
with his fear,
He saw two suns, and
double Thebes,
appear;
Or mad Orestes, when his
mother's
ghost
Full in his face infernal
torches
toss'd,
And shook her snaky locks:
he shuns
the sight,
Flies o'er the stage,
surpris'd
with mortal fright;
The Furies guard the door
and intercept
his flight.
Now, sinking
underneath a
load of grief,
From death alone she seeks
her last
relief;
The time and means
resolv'd within
her breast,
She to her mournful sister
thus
address'd
(Dissembling hope, her
cloudy front
she clears,
And a false vigor in her
eyes appears):
"Rejoice!" she said.
"Instructed
from above,
My lover I shall gain, or
lose my
love.
Nigh rising Atlas, next
the falling
sun,
Long tracts of Ethiopian
climates
run:
There a Massylian
priestess I have
found,
Honor'd for age, for magic
arts
renown'd:
Th' Hesperian temple was
her trusted
care;
'T was she supplied the
wakeful
dragon's fare.
She poppy seeds in honey
taught
to steep,
Reclaim'd his rage, and
sooth'd
him into sleep.
She watch'd the golden
fruit; her
charms unbind
The chains of love, or fix
them
on the mind:
She stops the torrents,
leaves the
channel dry,
Repels the stars, and
backward bears
the sky.
The yawning earth
rebellows to her
call,
Pale ghosts ascend, and
mountain
ashes fall.
Witness, ye gods, and thou
my better
part,
How loth I am to try this
impious
art!
Within the secret court,
with silent
care,
Erect a lofty pile,
expos'd in air:
Hang on the topmost part
the Trojan
vest,
Spoils, arms, and
presents, of my
faithless guest.
Next, under these, the
bridal bed
be plac'd,
Where I my ruin in his
arms embrac'd:
All relics of the wretch
are doom'd
to fire;
For so the priestess and
her charms
require."
Thus far she said,
and farther
speech forbears;
A mortal paleness in her
face appears:
Yet the mistrustless Anna
could
not find
The secret fun'ral in
these rites
design'd;
Nor thought so dire a rage
possess'd
her mind.
Unknowing of a train
conceal'd so
well,
She fear'd no worse than
when Sichaeus
fell;
Therefore obeys. The fatal
pile
they rear,
Within the secret court,
expos'd
in air.
The cloven holms and pines
are heap'd
on high,
And garlands on the hollow
spaces
lie.
Sad cypress, vervain, yew,
compose
the wreath,
And ev'ry baleful green
denoting
death.
The queen, determin'd to
the fatal
deed,
The spoils and sword he
left, in
order spread,
And the man's image on the
nuptial
bed.
And now (the sacred
altars
plac'd around)
The priestess enters, with
her hair
unbound,
And thrice invokes the
pow'rs below
the ground.
Night, Erebus, and Chaos
she proclaims,
And threefold Hecate, with
her hundred
names,
And three Dianas: next,
she sprinkles
round
With feign'd Avernian
drops the
hallow'd ground;
Culls hoary simples, found
by Phoebe's
light,
With brazen sickles reap'd
at noon
of night;
Then mixes baleful juices
in the
bowl,
And cuts the forehead of a
newborn
foal,
Robbing the mother's love.
The destin'd
queen
Observes, assisting at the
rites
obscene;
A leaven'd cake in her
devoted hands
She holds, and next the
highest
altar stands:
One tender foot was shod,
her other
bare;
Girt was her gather'd
gown, and
loose her hair.
Thus dress'd, she
summon'd, with
her dying breath,
The heav'ns and planets
conscious
of her death,
And ev'ry pow'r, if any
rules above,
Who minds, or who
revenges, injur'd
love.
'T was dead of
night, when
weary bodies close
Their eyes in balmy sleep
and soft
repose:
The winds no longer
whisper thro'
the woods,
Nor murm'ring tides
disturb the
gentle floods.
The stars in silent order
mov'd
around;
And Peace, with downy
wings, was
brooding on the ground.
The flocks and herds, and
party-color'd
fowl,
Which haunt the woods, or
swim the
weedy pool,
Stretch'd on the quiet
earth, securely
lay,
Forgetting the past labors
of the
day.
All else of nature's
common gift
partake:
Unhappy Dido was alone
awake.
Nor sleep nor ease the
furious queen
can find;
Sleep fled her eyes, as
quiet fled
her mind.
Despair, and rage, and
love divide
her heart;
Despair and rage had some,
but love
the greater part.
Then thus she said
within
her secret mind:
"What shall I do? what
succor can
I find?
Become a suppliant to
Hyarba's pride,
And take my turn, to court
and be
denied?
Shall I with this
ungrateful Trojan
go,
Forsake an empire, and
attend a
foe?
Himself I refug'd, and his
train
reliev'd--
'T is true--but am I sure
to be
receiv'd?
Can gratitude in Trojan
souls have
place!
Laomedon still lives in
all his
race!
Then, shall I seek alone
the churlish
crew,
Or with my fleet their
flying sails
pursue?
What force have I but
those whom
scarce before
I drew reluctant from
their native
shore?
Will they again embark at
my desire,
Once more sustain the
seas, and
quit their second Tyre?
Rather with steel thy
guilty breast
invade,
And take the fortune thou
thyself
hast made.
Your pity, sister, first
seduc'd
my mind,
Or seconded too well what
I design'd.
These dear-bought
pleasures had
I never known,
Had I continued free, and
still
my own;
Avoiding love, I had not
found despair,
But shar'd with salvage
beasts the
common air.
Like them, a lonely life I
might
have led,
Not mourn'd the living,
nor disturb'd
the dead."
These thoughts she brooded
in her
anxious breast.
On board, the Trojan found
more
easy rest.
Resolv'd to sail, in sleep
he pass'd
the night;
And order'd all things for
his early
flight.
To whom once more
the winged
god appears;
His former youthful mien
and shape
he wears,
And with this new alarm
invades
his ears:
"Sleep'st thou, O
goddess-born!
and canst thou drown
Thy needful cares, so near
a hostile
town,
Beset with foes; nor
hear'st the
western gales
Invite thy passage, and
inspire
thy sails?
She harbors in her heart a
furious
hate,
And thou shalt find the
dire effects
too late;
Fix'd on revenge, and
obstinate
to die.
Haste swiftly hence, while
thou
hast pow'r to fly.
The sea with ships will
soon be
cover'd o'er,
And blazing firebrands
kindle all
the shore.
Prevent her rage, while
night obscures
the skies,
And sail before the purple
morn
arise.
Who knows what hazards thy
delay
may bring?
Woman 's a various and a
changeful
thing."
Thus Hermes in the dream;
then took
his flight
Aloft in air unseen, and
mix'd with
night.
Twice warn'd by the
celestial
messenger,
The pious prince arose
with hasty
fear;
Then rous'd his drowsy
train without
delay:
"Haste to your banks; your
crooked
anchors weigh,
And spread your flying
sails, and
stand to sea.
A god commands: he stood
before
my sight,
And urg'd us once again to
speedy
flight.
O sacred pow'r, what pow'r
soe'er
thou art,
To thy blest orders I
resign my
heart.
Lead thou the way; protect
thy Trojan
bands,
And prosper the design thy
will
commands."
He said: and, drawing
forth his
flaming sword,
His thund'ring arm divides
the many-twisted
cord.
An emulating zeal inspires
his train:
They run; they snatch;
they rush
into the main.
With headlong haste they
leave the
desert shores,
And brush the liquid seas
with lab'ring
oars.
Aurora now had left
her saffron
bed,
And beams of early light
the heav'ns
o'erspread,
When, from a tow'r, the
queen, with
wakeful eyes,
Saw day point upward from
the rosy
skies.
She look'd to seaward; but
the sea
was void,
And scarce in ken the
sailing ships
descried.
Stung with despite, and
furious
with despair,
She struck her trembling
breast,
and tore her hair.
"And shall th' ungrateful
traitor
go," she said,
"My land forsaken, and my
love betray'd?
Shall we not arm? not rush
from
ev'ry street,
To follow, sink, and burn
his perjur'd
fleet?
Haste, haul my galleys
out! pursue
the foe!
Bring flaming brands! set
sail,
and swiftly row!
What have I said? where am
I? Fury
turns
My brain; and my
distemper'd bosom
burns.
Then, when I gave my
person and
my throne,
This hate, this rage, had
been more
timely shown.
See now the promis'd
faith, the
vaunted name,
The pious man, who,
rushing thro'
the flame,
Preserv'd his gods, and to
the Phrygian
shore
The burthen of his feeble
father
bore!
I should have torn him
piecemeal;
strow'd in floods
His scatter'd limbs, or
left expos'd
in woods;
Destroy'd his friends and
son; and,
from the fire,
Have set the reeking boy
before
the sire.
Events are doubtful, which
on battles
wait:
Yet where's the doubt, to
souls
secure of fate?
My Tyrians, at their
injur'd queen's
command,
Had toss'd their fires
amid the
Trojan band;
At once extinguish'd all
the faithless
name;
And I myself, in vengeance
of my
shame,
Had fall'n upon the pile,
to mend
the fun'ral flame.
Thou Sun, who view'st at
once the
world below;
Thou Juno, guardian of the
nuptial
vow;
Thou Hecate hearken from
thy dark
abodes!
Ye Furies, fiends, and
violated
gods,
All pow'rs invok'd with
Dido's dying
breath,
Attend her curses and
avenge her
death!
If so the Fates ordain,
and Jove
commands,
Th' ungrateful wretch
should find
the Latian lands,
Yet let a race untam'd,
and haughty
foes,
His peaceful entrance with
dire
arms oppose:
Oppress'd with numbers in
th' unequal
field,
His men discourag'd, and
himself
expell'd,
Let him for succor sue
from place
to place,
Torn from his subjects,
and his
son's embrace.
First, let him see his
friends in
battle slain,
And their untimely fate
lament in
vain;
And when, at length, the
cruel war
shall cease,
On hard conditions may he
buy his
peace:
Nor let him then enjoy
supreme command;
But fall, untimely, by
some hostile
hand,
And lie unburied on the
barren sand!
These are my pray'rs, and
this my
dying will;
And you, my Tyrians, ev'ry
curse
fulfil.
Perpetual hate and mortal
wars proclaim,
Against the prince, the
people,
and the name.
These grateful off'rings
on my grave
bestow;
Nor league, nor love, the
hostile
nations know!
Now, and from hence, in
ev'ry future
age,
When rage excites your
arms, and
strength supplies the rage,
Rise some avenger of our
Libyan
blood,
With fire and sword pursue
the perjur'd
brood;
Our arms, our seas, our
shores,
oppos'd to theirs;
And the same hate descend
on all
our heirs!"
This said, within
her anxious
mind she weighs
The means of cutting short
her odious
days.
Then to Sichaeus' nurse
she briefly
said
(For, when she left her
country,
hers was dead):
"Go, Barce, call my
sister. Let
her care
The solemn rites of
sacrifice prepare;
The sheep, and all th'
atoning off'rings,
bring,
Sprinkling her body from
the crystal
spring
With living drops; then
let her
come, and thou
With sacred fillets bind
thy hoary
brow.
Thus will I pay my vows to
Stygian
Jove,
And end the cares of my
disastrous
love;
Then cast the Trojan image
on the
fire,
And, as that burns, my
passions
shall expire."
The nurse moves
onward, with
officious care,
And all the speed her aged
limbs
can bear.
But furious Dido, with
dark thoughts
involv'd,
Shook at the mighty
mischief she
resolv'd.
With livid spots
distinguish'd was
her face;
Red were her rolling eyes,
and discompos'd
her pace;
Ghastly she gaz'd, with
pain she
drew her breath,
And nature shiver'd at
approaching
death.
Then swiftly to the
fatal
place she pass'd,
And mounts the fun'ral
pile with
furious haste;
Unsheathes the sword the
Trojan
left behind
(Not for so dire an
enterprise design'd).
But when she view'd the
garments
loosely spread,
Which once he wore, and
saw the
conscious bed,
She paus'd, and with a
sigh the
robes embrac'd;
Then on the couch her
trembling
body cast,
Repress'd the ready tears,
and spoke
her last:
"Dear pledges of my love,
while
Heav'n so pleas'd,
Receive a soul, of mortal
anguish
eas'd:
My fatal course is
finish'd; and
I go,
A glorious name, among the
ghosts
below.
A lofty city by my hands
is rais'd,
Pygmalion punish'd, and my
lord
appeas'd.
What could my fortune have
afforded
more,
Had the false Trojan never
touch'd
my shore!"
Then kiss'd the couch;
and, "Must
I die," she said,
"And unreveng'd? 'T is
doubly to
be dead!
Yet ev'n this death with
pleasure
I receive:
On any terms, 't is better
than
to live.
These flames, from far,
may the
false Trojan view;
These boding omens his
base flight
pursue!"
She said, and
struck; deep
enter'd in her side
The piercing steel, with
reeking
purple dyed:
Clogg'd in the wound the
cruel weapon
stands;
The spouting blood came
streaming
on her hands.
Her sad attendants saw the
deadly
stroke,
And with loud cries the
sounding
palace shook.
Distracted, from the fatal
sight
they fled,
And thro' the town the
dismal rumor
spread.
First from the frighted
court the
yell began;
Redoubled, thence from
house to
house it ran:
The groans of men, with
shrieks,
laments, and cries
Of mixing women, mount the
vaulted
skies.
Not less the clamor, than
if--ancient
Tyre,
Or the new Carthage, set
by foes
on fire--
The rolling ruin, with
their lov'd
abodes,
Involv'd the blazing
temples of
their gods.
Her sister hears;
and, furious
with despair,
She beats her breast, and
rends
her yellow hair,
And, calling on Eliza's
name aloud,
Runs breathless to the
place, and
breaks the crowd.
"Was all that pomp of woe
for this
prepar'd;
These fires, this fun'ral
pile,
these altars rear'd?
Was all this train of
plots contriv'd,"
said she,
"All only to deceive
unhappy me?
Which is the worst? Didst
thou in
death pretend
To scorn thy sister, or
delude thy
friend?
Thy summon'd sister, and
thy friend,
had come;
One sword had serv'd us
both, one
common tomb:
Was I to raise the pile,
the pow'rs
invoke,
Not to be present at the
fatal stroke?
At once thou hast
destroy'd thyself
and me,
Thy town, thy senate, and
thy colony!
Bring water; bathe the
wound; while
I in death
Lay close my lips to hers,
and catch
the flying breath."
This said, she mounts the
pile with
eager haste,
And in her arms the
gasping queen
embrac'd;
Her temples chaf'd; and
her own
garments tore,
To stanch the streaming
blood, and
cleanse the gore.
Thrice Dido tried to raise
her drooping
head,
And, fainting thrice, fell
grov'ling
on the bed;
Thrice op'd her heavy
eyes, and
sought the light,
But, having found it,
sicken'd at
the sight,
And clos'd her lids at
last in endless
night.
Then Juno, grieving
that
she should sustain
A death so ling'ring, and
so full
of pain,
Sent Iris down, to free
her from
the strife
Of lab'ring nature, and
dissolve
her life.
For since she died, not
doom'd by
Heav'n's decree,
Or her own crime, but
human casualty,
And rage of love, that
plung'd her
in despair,
The Sisters had not cut
the topmost
hair,
Which Proserpine and they
can only
know;
Nor made her sacred to the
shades
below.
Downward the various
goddess took
her flight,
And drew a thousand colors
from
the light;
Then stood above the dying
lover's
head,
And said: "I thus devote
thee to
the dead.
This off'ring to th'
infernal gods
I bear."
Thus while she spoke, she
cut the
fatal hair:
The struggling soul was
loos'd,
and life dissolv'd in air.
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