BOOK IV.
Not so the queen: a deep wound drains
The healthful current of her veins:
Long since the unsuspected flame
Has fastened on her fevered frame:
Much dwells she on the chief divine,
Much on the glories of his line:
Each look is pictured in her breast,
Each word: nor passion lets her rest.
Soon as Aurora, tricked anew,
Had drawn from heaven the veil of dew,
Behold her thus her care impart
To the fond sister of her heart:
'What portents, Anna, sister dear,
Possess ray troubled dreams!
What strange unwonted guest is here!
How hero-like he seems!
How bold his port! how fair his face!
'Tis no vain tale, his heavenly race.
Fear proves a base-born soul: but he—
What perils his from war and sea!
Were not my purpose fixed as fate
With none in wedlock's band to mate,
Since my first passion falsely played
And left me by grim death betrayed—
Were bed and bridal aught but pain,
Perchance I had been weak again.
Dear Anna! aye, I will confess,
Since that wild moment of distress
When poor Sychæus foully bled,
And brother's crime a home made red,
He, he alone has touched my heart,
And made my faltering purpose start.
E'en in these ashen embers cold
I feel the spark I felt of old.
But first for me may Earth unseal
The horrors of her womb,
Or Jove with awful thunderpeal
Dismiss me into gloom,
The gloom of Orcus' dim twilight,
Or deeper still, primeval night,
Ere wound I thee, my woman's fame,
Or disallow thy sacred claim.
My heart to him on whom 'twas set
Has passed: and let him hold it yet,
And keep it in his tomb.'
She said, and speaking bathed her breast
With tears that would not be repressed.
Then Anna 'Sweeter than the day
To your fond sister's eye!
And will you pine your youth away
In loveless fantasy,
Nor wedded joy, nor children know,
As constancy were prized below?
Grant that no noble suitor yet
Has made your widowed heart forget,
In Libya now, as erst at Tyre:
Iarbas, and the rest who reign
In haughty Afric sued in vain:
But would you quench a welcome fire?
Bethink you further, whose the ground
That hems your infant city round.
Here lie Gætulian cantons rude,
A race untamed in battle-feud,
The Nomad, reinless as his steed,
And tribes that churlish Syrtes breed:
There regions parched and summer-dried,
And Barca's people, prowling wide.
Why talk of menaces from Tyre,
The mutterings of fraternal ire?
'Twas heaven and Juno's grace that bore,
I ween, these Trojans to our shore.
How glorious then my sister's towers,
How vast her empire's rising powers,
Linked to so grand a fate!
With Teucrian armies at its side,
To what a pinnacle of pride
Will mount the Punic state!
Pray you to heaven: that favour gained,
Give hospitality its sweep,
And hold him still by pleas detained,
While fierce Orion rules the deep,
While shattered vessels fear the wind,
While skies are sullen and unkind.'
With words like these her sister piled
Fresh fuel on the flame,
Bade doubt be hopeful, and beguiled
The fears of woman's fame.
First they implore the powers divine,
And ask for peace from shrine to shrine.
Choice sheep of two years' age are slain,
As ceremonial rules ordain,
To Ceres, law's eternal spring,
To Phœbus, and Lyæus king,
But chief to Juno, who presides
Supreme o'er bridegrooms and o'er brides.
In radiant beauty Dido stands,
A brimming goblet in her hands,
And pours it, studious of the rite,
Between the horns of heifer white,
Or with the Gods in view moves slow
Where tributary altars glow,
With rich oblations crowns the feast,
Then gazes on the slaughtered beast,
And in the heart's yet quivering strings
Spells out the lore of hidden things.
Alas! but seers are blind to day:
Can vows, can sacrifice allay
A frantic lover's smart?
The very marrow of her frame
Is turning all the while to flame,
The wound is at her heart.
Unhappy Dido! all ablaze
In frenzy through the town she strays:
E'en as a deer whom from afar
A swain in desultory war,
Where Cretan woods are thick,
Has pierced, as 'mid the trees she lies,
And all unknowing of his prize
Has left the dart to stick:
She wanders lawn and forest o'er,
While the fell shaft still drinks her gore.
Now through the city of her pride
She walks, Æneas at her side,
Displays the stores of Sidon's trade,
And stately homes already made:
Begins, but stops she knows not why,
And lets the imperfect utterance die.
Now, as the sunlight wears away,
She seeks the feast of yesterday,
Enquires once more of Troy's eclipse,
And hangs once more upon his lips.
Then, when the guests have gone their ways
And the dim moon withdraws her rays,
And setting stars to slumber call,
Alone she mourns in that lone hall,
Clasps the dear couch where late he lay,
Beholds him, hears him far away;
Or keeps Ascanius on her knees,
And in the son the father sees,
Might she but steal one peaceful hour
From love's ungovernable power.
No more the growing towers arise,
No more in martial exercise
The youth engage, make strong the fort,
Or shape the basin to a port:
The works all slack and aimless lie,
Grim bastions, looming from on high,
And monster cranes that mate the sky.
Whom when imperial Juno saw
With passion so possessed
Too tyrannous for shame to awe,
She Venus' ear addressed:
'A glorious triumph you enjoy:
Vast spoil must be to share
'Twixt Venus and her conquering boy:
Two gods have cunning to destroy
A single earthly fair.
Nor has it 'scaped me that you dread
This town that lifts so proud a head:
Let Carthage open as she will
Her homes, your heart mistrusts her still.
But must suspicion never cease?
Or why so fierce a fight?
What if we make a lasting peace,
And marriage treaties plight?
See, you have gained your heart's desire:
Lost Dido's blood is turned to fire.
Then rule we race and race as one,
With equal plenitude of power:
Tour Phrygian yoke she e'en shall don,
And bring her Tyrians as her dower.'
Then Venus—for the drift she saw
Of her too gracious host,
Who fain would Latium's empire draw
To Libya's favoured coast—
Thus answered: 'Who would say you no,
And choose you not for friend but foe,
Could he but feel, your pleasure done,
The wished-for consequence were won?
But ah! I stand in doubt of fate:
Would Jupiter desire
To merge in one promiscuous state
The sons of Troy and Tyre,
Let nations thus their lives unite,
And common federation plight?
His consort you: you best may move
His heart with urgency of love.
Advance: I follow where you lead.'
Heaven's empress made return:
'That task be mine: now, how to speed
Our nearer purpose, grant your heed,
And briefly you shall learn.
Æneas and the unhappy queen
Are bound to hunt in woodland green,
Soon as to-morrow's sun displays
His orb, and lights the world with rays.
Then, when the hunter-train beset
The forest walks with dog and net,
A furious tempest I will send,
And all the heaven with thunder rend.
The rest shall scatter far and wide,
Well pleased in thickest night to hide,
While Dido and the Trojan king
Chance to the self-same cave shall bring:
And there myself, your will once known,
Will make her his, and his alone.
Thus shall they wed.' Love's queen assents:
Smiles at the fraud, but not prevents.
The morn meantime from ocean rose:
Forth from the gates with daybreak goes
The silvan regiment:
Thin nets are there, and spears of steel,
And there Massylian riders wheel,
And dogs of keenest scent.
Before the chamber of her state
Long time the Punic nobles wait
The appearing of the queen:
With gold and purple housings fit
Stands her proud steed, and champs the bit
His foaming jaws between.
At length with long attendant train
She comes: her scarf of Tyrian grain,
With broidered border decked:
Of gold her quiver: knots of gold
Confine her hair: her vesture's fold
By golden clasp is checked.
The Trojans and Iulus gay
In glad procession take their way.
Æneas, comeliest of the throng,
Joins their proud ranks, and steps along.
As when from Lycia's wintry airs
To Delos' isle Apollo fares;
There Agathyrsian, Dryop, Crete,
In dances round his altar meet:
He on the heights of Cynthus moves,
And binds his hair's loose flow
With cincture of the leaf he loves:
Behind him sounds his bow:
So firm Æneas' graceful tread,
So bright the glories round his head.
Now to the mountain-slopes they come,
And tangled woods, the silvan's home;
See! startled from the craggy brow,
Wild goats run hurrying down below:
There, yet more timid, bands of deer
Scour the wide plains in full career,
And turn their backs on wood and height,
While dust-clouds gather o'er their flight.
But young Ascanius on his steed
With boyish ardour glows,
And now in ecstacy of speed
He passes these, now those:
For him too peaceful and too tame
The pleasure of the hunted game:
He longs to see the foaming boar,
Or hear the tawny lion's roar.
Meantime, loud thunder-peals resound,
And hail and rain the sky confound:
And Tyrian chiefs and sons of Troy,
And Venus' care, the princely boy,
Seek each his shelter, winged with dread,
While torrents from the hills run red.
Driven haply to the same retreat
The Dardan chief and Dido meet.
Then Earth, the venerable dame,
And Juno give the sign:
Heaven lightens with attesting flame,
And bids its torches shine,
And from the summit of the peak
The nymphs shrill out the nuptial shriek.
That day she first began to die:
That day first taught her to defy
The public tongue, the public eye.
No secret love is Dido's aim:
She calls it marriage now; such name
She chooses to conceal her shame.
Now through the towns of Libya's sons
Her progress Fame begins,
Fame than who never plague that runs
Its way more swiftly wins:
Her very motion lends her power:
She flies and waxes every hour.
At first she shrinks, and cowers for dread:
Ere long she soars on high:
Upon the ground she plants her tread,
Her forehead in the sky.
Wroth with Olympus, parent Earth
Brought forth the monster to the light,
Last daughter of the giant birth,
With feet and rapid wings for flight.
Huge, terrible, gigantic Fame!
For every plume that clothes her frame
An eye beneath the feather peeps,
A tongue rings loud, an ear upleaps.
Hurtling 'twixt earth and heaven she flies
By night, nor bows to sleep her eyes:
Perched on a roof or tower by day
She fills great cities with dismay;
How oft soe'er the truth she tell,
She loves a falsehood all too well.
Such now from town to town she flew
With rumours mixed of false and true:
Tells of Æneas come to land,
Whom Dido graces with her hand:
Now, lost to shame, the enamoured pair
The winter in soft dalliance wear,
Nor turn their passion-blinded eyes
On kingdoms[errata 1] rising or to rise.
Such viperous seed, where'er she goes,
On tongue and lip the goddess sows:
Then seeks Iarbas, stirs his ire,
And fans resentment into fire.
He, born a son of Ammon's race,
From Graramantian Nymph's embrace,
Had raised within his wide domains
To parent Jove a hundred fanes:
There hallowed to his mighty sire
For ever lives the vigil fire;
Fresh victim-blood makes rich the ground,
And with gay wreaths the doors are crowned.
And he, 'tis said, with fierce disdain,
The rumour maddening in his brain,
'Mid altars charged with princely gifts
To Jove in prayer his hands uplifts:
'Great Sire, to whom beneath my reign
The Moors reclined on purple grain
Lenæan offerings pour,
Behold'st thou this? or when the spheres
Thou shak'st, are ours but empty fears?
Do lightnings cleave the skies in vain,
And thunders idly roar?
A dame, who, on my frontier thrown,
Bought leave to build a puny town,
To whom ourselves, as lords, allow
A strip of barren coast to plough,
Has spurned our proffered hand, and ta'en
Æneas o'er her realm to reign.
And now this Paris, with his band
Of gallants, like himself, unmanned,
His essenced hair in Lydian wise
With turban bound, enjoys the prize:
We kneel in temples known as thine,
And nurse a fame we dream divine.'
Thus at the altar as he prayed
The Father heard his prayer,
And, turning, Carthage town surveyed,
And that besotted pair:
Then summons Mercury to fulfil
The charge of his almighty will:
'Go forth, my son, command the gales,
And spread for flight thy feathery sails;
Haste to the Dardan chief who waits
In Carthage, heedless of the fates
That grant him other crowns, and bear
My mandate through the bounding air.
No recreant his fair mother swore
Our eyes should see in him she bore
Twice from the grasp of doom:
No—but a chief of force to sway
Italia, charged with battle fray,
With empire in its womb,
The pride of Teucer's blood maintain,
And bow all nations to his reign.
If zeal no more his soul inflame
To labour for his own fair fame,
Yet can the sire behold his child
Of Rome's imperial hills beguiled?
What prospect lures him, day by day
Thus 'mid a hostile race to stay,
Blind to the hopes by fate decreed,
Lavinium's realm, Ausonia's seed?
No, let him sail: that word in one
Says all: be thus our errand done.'
The god his father's bidding plies:
And first around his feet he ties
His golden wings, that take the breeze
And waft him high o'er earth or seas:
Then grasps his rod, that calls to light
Pale ghosts, or plunges them in night,
Induces sleep or bids it fly,
And opes again the dead man's eye.
That rod in hand, he drives the gales,
Or cleaves his way through misty veils.
Now the tall peak and sides he spies
Of Atlas, who supports the skies,
Of Atlas, o'er whose pine-crowned head
An awful haze of clouds is spread,
While wintry blast and driving sleet
For ever on his temples beat:
The snow-drift robes his shoulders bleak:
The torrent courses down his cheek,
And points, as winds its waters warp,
His beard with ice-flakes, keen and sharp.
Poised on his wings, here Hermes stood;
Then stooped him headlong to the flood,
E'en as a bird that skims the tide,
Low coasts and fishy rocks beside.
So 'twixt the earth and heaven he sails,
So parts the sand-beach from the gales,
As from his mother's sire he fares,
Cyllene's God, through Libyan airs.
Soon as his feet, as winged for flight,
On Carthaginian ground alight,
He sees Æneas full in view
Planning fresh towers and dwellings new:
His sword-hilt gleamed with jasper-stone:
A scarf was o'er his shoulders thrown
Of Tyrian purple: Dido's loom
Had streaked with gold its glowing bloom.
The god begins:—'And here you stay,
Content the obsequious lord to play
And beautify your lady's town,
Indifferent to your own renown!
He, he, the Sire, enthroned on high,
Whose nod strikes awe through earth and sky,
He sends me down, and bids me bear
His mandate through the bounding air.
What make you here? what cherished scheme
Tempts you in Libyan land to dream?
If zeal no more your soul inflame
To labour for your own fair fame,
Let young Ascanius claim your care:
Regard the promise of your heir,
To whom, by warranty of fate,
The Italian crown, the Roman state,
Of right are owing.' Hermes said,
And e'en in speaking passed and fled:
One moment beamed on mortal eyes,
Then mingled with the ambient skies.
Æneas heard, aghast, amazed,
His speech tongue-tied, his hair upraised.
Appalled by Heaven's austere command,
He yearns to leave the dear, dear land.
But how to fly? or how accost
The queen, by eddying passion tost?
How charm the ravings of distress?
What choice to make, when hundreds press?
So by conflicting cares distraught,
This way and that he whirls his thought,
Till in the tumult of his breast
One counsel dominates the rest.
Sergestus and Serestus tried
He calls with Mnestheus to his side:
Bids them unmarked their barks equip,
And muster all the crews to ship,
Armed as for fight, yet veil from view
The spring that moves designs so new:
Himself, as chance may serve, the while,
Since Dido, innocent of guile,
Still dreams her happy dream, nor thinks
That aught can break those golden links,
Will watch the hour, and strive to soothe
When time is ripe and access smooth.
Well-pleased, they give their eager heed
And act his will with duteous speed.
But Dido soon—can aught beguile
Love's watchful eye?—perceived his wile:
She feels each stirring of the air,
And e'en in safety dreads a snare.
Once more fell Fame reports the news
Of barks equipped and mustering crews.
She raves in impotence of soul,
Storms through the town, and spurns control:
So when the clanging shrine is stirred,
And Bacchus! Bacchus! is the word,
The Thyiad starts from sleep, and flies
Where through the night Cithæron cries.
Soon on Æneas, unaddressed,
She pours the frenzy of her breast:
'What? would the wretch his crime conceal,
And, like a thief, from Carthage steal?
Nor present love, nor hand once plight,
Nor dying Dido stays your flight?
Nay, you would sail 'neath winter's sky,
And through the rush, of tempests fly,
Ah cruel! Sure, if lands unknown
Were not to seek, were Troy your own,
E'en for that Troy, your ancient home,
You ne'er would cross yon angry foam.
From me you fly! Ah! let me crave,
By these poor tears, that hand you gave—
Since, parting with my woman's pride,
My madness leaves me nought beside—
By that our wedlock, by the rite
Which, but begun, could yet unite,
If e'er my kindness held you bound,
If e'er in me your joy you found,
Look on this falling house, and still,
If prayer can touch you, change your will.
For you I angered Libyan hordes,
Woke jealous hate in Nomad lords,
Lost Tyrian hearts: for you, the same,
I trampled on my own good name,
That wifely honour, which alone
Had placed me on a starry throne.
Think, think to whom you make bequest
Of dying Dido, gentle guest!
Since fate but that cold name allows
To him whom once I called my spouse.
Why should I live to see my town
By my fierce brother battered down,
Or e'en myself a captive led
To Moor Iarbas' bridal bed?
Ah! had I, ere you chose to rove,
Ta'en from your arms some pledge of love,
Some child Æneas to recall
Your face, and gambol in my hall,
The sire had cheered me in the son,
Nor had I seemed so all undone.'
She ended. He by Jove's behest
His eyes unblenching held,
And prisoned deep within his breast
The grief that upward swelled:
Then briefly spoke: 'Your favours count,
I question not the vast amount;
While memory lasts and pulses beat,
The thought of Dido shall be sweet.
Now hear my plea, fair queen, in brief;
I hoped not, trust me, like a thief,
By stealth to quit your coast:
I never lit the marriage flame,
Nor gloried in a husband's name:
The covenant to which I came
Spoke but of guest and host.
Would Fate indulge me at my will,
My lot to mould, my cares to still,
Old Troy should claim my chiefest pains
To wake to life its dear remains,
And Priam's hall and Priam's tower
Should nurse the vanquished into power.
But now Grynean prophecies
On Latium bid me fix my eyes;
For Latium Lycia's lots declare:
There is my heart, my home is there.
If, Tyrian born, you linger here,
And find a Libyan city dear,
Why grudge to Troy her Latian home?
We too have realms beyond the foam.
My sire, Anchises, oft as night
Invests the world, and stars are bright,
Warns me in sleep with wrathful frown,
And scares me on my couch of down.
Yet louder pleads the injury done
Each moment to my darling son,
Defrauded of Hesperia's reign,
And barred from, lands the fates ordain.
Now too the messenger divine—
I swear it by your life and mine—
Comes down from Jove himself, to bear
Heaven's mandate through the bounding air.
I saw him pass the walls, and heard
E'en with these ears his warning word.
Then vex no more yourself and me:
'Tis Heaven, not I, that calls to sea.'
Thus, as he spoke, long time askance
She marked him with quick-darting glance,
Swept o'er his frame her silent eyes:
Then, blazing out in fury, cries:
'No goddess bore you, traitorous man:
No Dardanus your race began:
No—'twas from Caucasus you sprung,
And tigers nursed you with their young.
Why longer wear the mask, as though
I waited for some heavier blow?
Heaved he one sigh at tears of mine?
Moved he those hard impassive eyne?
Did one kind drop of pity fall
At thought of her who gave him all?
What first, what last? Now, now I know
Queen Juno's self has turned my foe:
Not e'en Saturnian Jove is just:
No faith on earth, in heaven no trust.
A shipwrecked wanderer up and down,
I made him share my home, my crown:
His shattered fleet, his needy crew
From fire and famine's jaws I drew.
Ah, Furies whirl me! now divine
Apollo, now the Lycian shrine,
Now heaven's own herald comes, to bear
His grisly mandate through the air!
Aye, Gods above ply tasks like these:
Such cares disturb their life of ease.—
I loathe your person, scorn your pleas.
Go, seek your kingdom o'er the foam,
Hunt with the winds your Latian home.
Yet, yet I trust, if Heaven do right,
That fate shall find you 'mid your flight,
Wrecked on some rock remote from shore
And calling Dido o'er and o'er:
Dido shall fasten on her prey
In sulphurous fires, though far away:
And when her life and limbs divide
Her ghost shall never quit your side:
Yes, blood for blood! your cry of woe,
Base wretch, shall reach me down below.'
Her speech half done, she breaks away,
And, sickening, shuns the light of day,
And tears her from his gaze,
While he, with thousand things to say,
Still falters and delays:
Her servants lift the sinking fair,
And to her marble chamber bear.
But good Æneas, though he fain
Would follow and console her pain,
With many a groan, his mighty breast
Shaken all o'er with love suppressed,
Bows ne'ertheless to Heaven's command
And swiftly hies him to the strand.
Roused by the night, the Trojan train
Haul down their navy to the main:
Some launch the vessels, some careen:
Rough oars they bring, still leafy green,
And timber shapeless as it grew,
In zeal to fly, the eager crew:
You see them hurry to the shore
And forth from all the city pour:
E'en as when ants industrious toil
Some mighty heap of corn to spoil,
And mindful of the cold to come
Convey their new-won booty home:
There moves the column long and black,
And threads the grass with one thin track:
Some labouring with their shoulders strong
Heave huge and heavy grains along:
Some force the stragglers into file:
The pathway seethes and glows the while.
What felt you, Dido, in that hour?
What groans escaped you then,
Beholding from your lofty tower
The coast alive with men,
And all the port before your eyes
One tumult of conflicting cries?
Curst love! what lengths of tyrant scorn
Wreak'st not on those of woman born?
Once more affection's tear must start,
Once more must prayers essay their art;
Once more that high and haughty soul
Must suppliant stoop to love's control,
Lest aught of aid untried remain,
And Dido rush on death in vain.
'See, Anna, how their crews collect;
O'er all the shore they crowd:
The sails are spread; the stems are decked
With festal garlands proud.
Enough; my heart foresaw this ill,
And, sister, I shall bear it still.
Yet once, but once your succour lend:
'Twas you the wretch would make his friend,
To you his secret thoughts confide:
You only know his softer side.
Go now, my sister, suppliant go,
And thus accost our haughty foe;
Not I with Greece at Aulis joined
To sweep his Trojans from mankind;
I sent no fleet to Ilium's coast,
Nor vexed Anchises' buried ghost;
Why should he change his ears to stone,
And close their portals on my moan?
One boon I sue for—let him bide
Till fair the breeze and smooth the tide.
Not now I ask him to restore
The ancient marriage he forswore,
Resign his lovely Latian town,
Or abdicate Italians crown.
My prayer is for a transient grace,
To give this madness breathing-space,
Till fortune's discipline shall school
My vanquished heart to grieve by rule.
Vouchsafe this aid, the last I crave,
And take requital from my grave.'
So pleads she: and her woful prayers
Again, again her sister bears:
He stands immovable by tears,
Nor tenderest words with pity hears.
Fate bars the way: a hand above
His gentle ears makes deaf to love.
As some strong oak, the mountain's pride,
Fierce Alpine blasts on either side
Are striving to o'erthrow:
It creaks and strains beneath the shock,
And from the weather-beaten stock
Thick leaves the ground bestrow:
Yet firm it stands; high as its crown
Towers up to heaven, so deep goes down
Its root to worlds below:
So in this storm of prayers the chief
Thrills through and through with manly grief:
Unchanged his heart's resolves remain,
And falling tears are idle rain.
Then, maddened by her destiny,
Unhappy Dido prays to die:
'Tis weary to look up and see
The overarching sky.
It chanced, to fortify her heart
And steel her purpose to depart,
Before the altar as she stands
She sees a blackness gather o'er
The chalice mantling in her hands,
And wine—O horror!—turns to gore.
Not e'en into her sister's ear
She dared to breathe that tale of fear.
Beside, within her courts a fane
There stood, of marble's purest grain,
Where oft she wont[errata 2] to render vows:—
The chapel of her ancient spouse,
Wreathed with white wool and sacred boughs:
Thence, when the dark was over all,
There came a sighing and a call,
As in the dead man's tone:
And midnight's solitary bird,
Death-boding, from the roof was heard
To make its long, long moan.
And prophecies of bygone seers
Ring terror in her wildered ears.
Æneas with unpitying face
Still hounds her in a nightly chase:
And still companionless she seems
To tread the wilderness of dreams,
And vainly still her Tyrians seek
Through desert-regions, ah, how bleak!
Like frantic Pentheus when he sees
The dragon-eyed Eumenides,
And two red suns appear to rise,
And Thebes looks double to his eyes:
Or as the Atridan matricide
Runs frenzied o'er the scene,
What time with snakes and torches plied
He flees the murdered queen,
While at the threshold of the gate
The sister-fiends expectant wait.
So when, resolved on death, she pressed
That thought of frenzy to her breast,
The time and manner she decides:
Then in her look the purpose hides,
And, calling hope into her cheeks,
Her sorrowing sister thus bespeaks:
'My Anna, I have found a way
(Rejoice o'er Dido's love!)
My spell upon his sense to lay,
Or his from mine remove.
On ocean's marge, where suns descend,
A spot there lies, the Ethiops' end,
Where Atlas on his shoulders rears
The starry fabric of the spheres.
Men show me there, in that far place,
A priestess of Massylian race,
Who kept the Hesperian temple's pale,
And gave the dragon his regale,
Guarding the tree's immortal boughs
With honey-dew and poppy drowse.
Her charms can cure what souls she please,
Rob other hearts of healthful ease,
Turn rivers backward to their source,
And make the stars forget their course,
And call up ghosts from night:
The ground shall bellow 'neath your feet:
The mountain-ash shall quit its seat,
And travel down the height;
By heaven I swear, and your dear life,
Unwillingly these arms I wield,
And take, to meet the coming strife,
Enchantment's sword and shield.
You in the inner court prepare
A lofty pile 'neath open air:
There duly be the armour placed
Left by the traitor in his haste,
The doffed apparel of our foe,
The bridal bed that wrought my woe:
Whate'er was his is doomed to fire:
So magic bids, and I desire.'
She paused: a paleness as of death
Her ghastly features dyes:
Yet Anna dreams not that beneath
These rites a funeral lies:
The frenzy-pitch of love and pride
She knows not—dreams not worse may tide
Than in the hour Sychæus died:
So on her bidding hies.
And now within, beneath the sky,
The pile was rising, heaped on high
With oak and pinewood tree:
The queen enwreathes it round, and weaves
Long chaplets of funereal leaves:
There lays, devoted to the fire,
The sword forgot, the doffed attire,
And chief, the traitor's effigy,
Well knowing what should be.
The blazing altars stand around:
The priestess, with her hair unbound,
Three hundred gods proclaims,
Grim Erebus and Chaos old,
And Hecat-Dian, power threefold,
Three faces and three names.
Around the lustral stream she flings,
Drawn, so she feigns, from Stygian springs:
And poison-plants by moonlight shorn
She fetches, not unsought:
And love's mysterious token, torn
From forehead of a foal new-born,
Ere by the mother caught.
Before the altars Dido stands
With ritual cake and stainless hands,
One foot unshod, unchecked by bands
Her vesture's ample flow:
There calls on heaven, or ere she die,
And on the starry host on high
That fate's deep counsels know:
And makes her passionate appeal
To gods, if gods there be, that feel
For ill-matched lover's woe.
'Tis night: earth's tired ones taste the balm,
The precious balm of sleep,
And in the forest there is calm,
And on the savage deep:
The stars are in their middle flight:
The fields are hushed: each bird or beast
That dwells beside the silver lake
Or haunts the tangles of the brake
In placid slumber lies, released
From trouble by the touch of night:
All but the hapless queen: to rest
She yields not, nor with eye or breast
The gentle night receives:
Her cares redouble blow on blow:
Love storms, and tossing to and fro,
With billowy passion heaves.
And thus she breathes the thoughts that roll
Tumultuous through her lonely soul:
'What shall I do? make proof once more
Of those who sought my love before,
In suppliance to the Nomads turned,
Whose proffered hand so oft I spurned?
Or shall I tread the Trojan deck,
A menial slave at each one's beck?
As though of gratitude they reck,
Or think of favours done!
Nay, though I wished, what haughty lord
Would take a humbled queen on board?
And know you not, ah wretch forlorn,
The treachery of the seed forsworn
Of false Laomedon?
Then shall I join the shouting crew
Alone, or with my Tyrians true
Attach me to their train,
And hurry those, whom scarce I tore
From Sidon's town, to tempt once more
The perils of the main?
No, die as you deserve, and heal
This anguish with the sharp sure steel.
'Twas you, my sister, first, who, swayed
By my weak tears, my peace betrayed
And gave me to the foe.
Ah! had I lived estranged from love,
Like some wild ranger of the grove,
Nor tampered with this woe,
Or kept at least the faith I vowed
To my Sychæus' funeral skroud!'
Such plainings burst from that lone heart:
Æneas, ready to depart,
Slept, in his vessel laid,
When Mercury in his dreams was seen
Returning with the self-same mien,
And this monition made,
(The voice, the hair, the blooming cheek,
The graceful limbs the god bespeak):
'What? with such perilous deed in hand,
Infatuate, can you sleep,
Nor see what dangers round you stand,
Nor hear the Zephyrs from the land
Blow fair upon the deep?
She, bent on death, fell crime conceives,
And with tempestuous passion heaves:
And fly you not the net she weaves,
While yet 'tis time for flight?
With vessels all the sea will swarm,
And all the coast with flame be warm,
And fiercely glare the blazing brand,
If, lingering on this Punic land,
You meet the morning light.
Away to sea! a woman's will
Is changeful and uncertain still.'
He said, and mixed with night.
The phantom broke Æneas' sleep:
From bed he springs with sudden leap,
And wakes his weary men:
'Quick, rouse you, gallants! catch the gale:
Sit to the oar, unfurl the sail!
A god, commissioned from on high,
Commands us cut our cords and fly:
Behold him yet again!
Yes, gracious Power! whate'er thy style,
We gladly follow and obey:
O cheer us with propitious smile,
And send fair stars to guide our way!'
He said: his flashing sword outflew,
And shears the mooring ropes in two.
From man to man the flame flies fast:
They scour, they scud: and now the last
Has parted from the shore:
You cannot see the main for ships:
With emulous stroke the oar-blade dips,
And sweeps the water o'er.
Now, rising from Tithonus' bed,
The Dawn on earth her freshness shed:
The queen from off her turret height
Perceives the first dim streak of light,
The fleet careering on its way.
And void and sailless shore and bay;
She smites her breast, all snowy fair,
And rends her golden length of hair:
'Great Jove! and shall he go?' she cries,
'And leave our realm a wanderer's mock?
Quick, snatch your arms and chase the prize,
And drag the vessels from the dock!
Fetch flames, bring darts, ply oars! yet why?
What words are these, or where am I?
Why rave I thus? Those impious deeds—
Poor Dido! now your torn heart bleeds.
Too late! it should have bled that day
When at his feet your sceptre lay.
Lo here, the chief of stainless word,
Who takes his household gods on board,
Whose shoulders safe from sword and fire
Conveyed his venerable sire!
O had I rent him limb from limb
And cast him o'er the waves to swim,
His friends, his own Ascanius killed,
And with the child the father filled!
Yet danger in the strife bad been:—
Who prates of danger here?
A death-devoted, desperate queen,
What foe had I to fear?
No, I had sown the flame broadcast,
Had fired the fleet from keel to mast,
Slain son and sire, stamped out the race,
And thrown at length with stedfast face
Myself upon the bier.
Eye of the world, majestic Sun,
Who see'st whate'er on earth is done,
Thou, Juno, too, interpreter
And witness of the heart's fond stir,
And Hecate, tremendous power,
In cross-ways howled at midnight hour,
Avenging fiends, and gods of death
Who breathe in dying Dido's breath,
Stoop your great powers to ills that plead
To heaven, and my petition heed.
If needs must be that wretch abhorred
Attain the port and float to land;
If such the fate of heaven's high lord,
And so the moveless pillars stand;
Scourged by a savage enemy,
An exile from his son's embrace,
So let him sue for aid, and see
His people slain before his face;
Nor, when to humbling peace at length
He stoops, be his or life or land,
But let him fall in manhood's strength
And welter tombless on the sand.
Such malison to heaven I pour,
A last libation with my gore.
And, Tyrians, you through time to come
His seed with deathless hatred chase:
Be that your gift to Dido's tomb:
No love, no league 'twixt race and race.
Rise from my ashes, scourge of crime,
Born to pursue the Dardan horde
To-day, to-morrow, through all time,
Oft as our hands can wield the sword:
Fight shore with shore, fight sea with sea,
Fight all that are or e'er shall be!'
She ceased, and with her heart debates
How best to leave the life she hates.
Then to Sychæus' nurse she cried
(For hers erewhile at Tyre had died)
'Good nurse, my sister Anna bring:
O'er face and body bid her fling
Pure drops from lustral bough:
So sprinkled come, and at her side
The victims lead: you too provide
A fillet for your brow.
A sacrifice to Stygian Jove
I here perform, to ease my love,
And give to flame the fatal bed
Which pillowed once the Trojan's head.'
Thus she: the aged dame gives heed,
And, feebly hurrying, mends her speed.
Then, maddening over crime, the queen,
With bloodshot eyes, and sanguine streaks
Fresh painted on her quivering cheeks,
And wanning o'er with death foreseen,
Through inner portals wildly fares,
Scales the high pile with swift ascent,
Takes up the Dardan sword and bares,
Sad gift, for different uses meant.
She eyed the robes with wistful look,
And, pausing, thought awhile and wept:
Then pressed her to the couch, and spoke
Her last goodnight or ere she slept.
'Sweet relics of a time of love,
When fate and heaven were kind,
Receive my life-blood, and remove
These torments of the mind.
My life is lived, and I have played
The part that Fortune gave,
And now I pass, a queenly shade,
Majestic to the grave.
A glorious city I have built,
Have seen my walls ascend,
Chastised for blood of husband spilt
A brother, yet no friend.
Blest lot! yet lacked one blessing more,
That Troy had never touched my shore.'
Then, as she kissed the darling bed,
'To die! and unrevenged!' she said,
'Yet let me die: thus, thus I go
Exulting to the shades below.
Let the false Dardan feel the blaze
That burns me pouring on his gaze,
And bear along, to cheer his way,
The funeral presage of to-day.'
Thus as she speaks, the attendant train
Behold her writhing as in pain,
Her hands with slaughter sprinkled o'er,
And the fell weapon spouting gore.
Loud clamours thrill the lofty halls:
Fame shakes the town, confounds, appals:
Each house resounds with women's cries,
And funeral wails assault the skies:
E'en as one day should war o'erthrow
Proud Carthage or her parent Tyre,
And fire-flood stream with furious glow
O'er roof, and battlement, and spire.
Her sister hears, and, wild with fears,
All breathless through the throng she flies:
Rends cheek of rose, beats breast of snows,
And loud on dying Dido cries:
'Ah sister! was it this you meant,
And am I trapped by guile?
Was this the innocent intent
Of altar-fire and pile?
What first arraign when all is drear?
And might not Anna tarry near
Her Dido's dying bed?
You should have bid me share your doom:
One pang had borne us to the tomb,
One hour the twain had sped.
Nay, with these hands the pile I reared
And called the gods our father feared,
That you might lay you down to die,
And I be absent, heartless I!
See here, yourself and me foredone,
Town, people, princes, all in one!
Bring water from yon running wave:
These bleeding wounds I yet can lave,
And fondly catch whate'er of breath
Ts flickering on the lips of death.'
She spoke, and speaking mounts the stair,
Clasps to her breast the expiring fair,
Enfolds her in her robe, and dries
The purple that her bosom dyes.
The dull eyes ope, as drowsed by sleep,
Then close: the death-wound gurgles deep.
Thrice on her arm she raised her head,
Thrice sank exhausted on the bed,
Stared with blank gaze aloft, around
For light, and groaned as light she found.
Then Juno, pitying her long pain,
And all that agony of death,
Sent Iris down to part in twain
The clinging limbs and struggling breath.
For since she perished not by fate,
Nor fell by alien stroke deserved,
But rushed on death before her date,
By sudden spasm of frenzy nerved,
Not yet Proserpina had shred
The yellow ringlet from her head,
Nor stamped upon that pallid brow
The token of the powers below.
So down from Heaven fair Iris flies
On saffron wings impearled with dew,
That flash against the sunlit skies
Full many a varied hue;
Then stands at Dido's head, and cries:
'This lock to Dis I bear away
And free you from your load of clay:'
So shears the lock: the vital heats
Disperse, and breath in air retreats.
Corrigenda: