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 Phœbus’ 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 Sichæus, 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 Gætulia’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 trow,
“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 love 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, lord 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 steel,
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
Æneas, to make show of Sidon’s gold,
And what her realm can boast; full oft her voice
Essays to speak and trembling 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 longer 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 victory,
“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 love-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 Æneas, 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
Æneas, 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
“Æneas 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
Lit them the bridal; bed along 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 Cœus 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 Æneas having come,
Dido, the lovely widow, looked 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, look 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
“Æneas 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 low 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
Æneas 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 long in lap of Libyan land?
“If the proud guerdon of thy destined way
“Move not thy heart, if all the arduous toil
“To thine own honor speak not, look 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.

Æneas 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 Mænad roused
By the wild rout of Bacchus, when are heard
The third year’s orgies, and the midnight scream
To cold Cithæron calls the frenzied crew.
Finding Æneas, 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 Gætulian 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 Æneas at his play,
“Whose face should be the memory of thine own—
“I were not so forsaken, lost, 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 long 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 toil 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 lost 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 bring me news
“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 Æneas 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.
Æneas, 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: loud 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 Æneas 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 o’er 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 love, or set me free.
“On Ocean’s bound and next the setting sun
“Lies the last Æthiop 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 palace-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 Sichæus died,
But hied her forth the errand to fulfil.

Soon as the funeral pyre was builded high
In a sequestered garden, looming 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 Æneas;—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 marge 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,—by 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 Sichæus’ grave.” Such loud lament
Burst from her breaking heart with doleful sound.
Meanwhile Æneas on his lofty ship,
Having made ready all, and fixed his mind
To launch away upon brief slumber 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.
Æneas, 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 lying 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 Jove’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 love! 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, Sichæus’ 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: loud 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, lofty 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.