The Third BookOf the Jeneis
¶THE ARGUMENT.—iEneas proceeds in his relation: he gives an account of the fleetwith which he sail'd, and the success of his first voyage to Thrace. From thence hedirects his course to Delos, and asks the oracle what place the gods had appointedfor his habitation. By a mistake of the oracle's answer, he settles in Crete; his household gods give him the true sense of the oracle, in a dream. He follows their advice,and makes the best of his way for Italy. He is cast on several shores, and meetswith very surprising adventures, till at length he lands on Sicily, where his fatherAnchises dies. This is the place which he was sailing from, when the tempest rose,and threw him upon the Carthaginian coast.W- HE N Heav'n had overturn'd the Trojan stateWhen Priam's throne, by too severe a fate;When ruin'd Troy became the Grecians' prey,And Ilium's lofty tow'rs in ashes lay;Warn'd by celestial omens, we retreat,To seek in foreign lands a happier seat.Near old Antandros, and at Ida's foot,The timber of the sacred groves we cut,And build our fleet; uncertain yet to findWhat place the gods for our repose assign'd.Friends daily flock; and scarce the kindly springBegan to clothe the ground, and birds to sing,When old Anchises summon'd all to sea:The crew my father and the Fates obey.With sighs and tears I leave my native shore,And empty fields, where Ilium stood before.My sire, my son, our less and greater gods,All sail at once, and cleave the briny floods."Against our coast appears a spacious land,Which once the fierce Lycurgus did command,(Thracia the name—the people bold in war;Vast are their fields, and tillage is their care,)A hospitable realm while Fate was kind,With Troy in friendship and religion join'd.I land; with luckless omens then adore[129]Their gods, and draw a line along the shore;I lay the deep foundations of a wall,And yEnos, nam'd from me, the city call.To Dionxan Venus vows are paid,And all the pow'rs that rising labors aid;A bull on Jove's imperial altar laid.Not far, a rising hillock stood in view;Sharp myrtles on the sides, and cornels grew.There, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes,And shade our altar with their leafy greens,I pull'd a plant—with horror I relateA prodigy so strange and full of fate.The rooted fibers rose, and from the woundBlack bloody drops distill'd upon the ground.Mute and amaz'd, my hair with terror stood;Fear shrunk my sinews, and congeal'd my blood.Mann'd once again, another plant I try:That other gush'd with the same sanguine dye.Then, fearing guilt for some offense unknown,With pray'rs and vows the Dryads I atone,With all the sisters of the woods, and mostThe God of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast,That they, or he, these omens would avert,Release our fears, and better signs impart.Clear'd, as I thought, and fully fix'd at lengthTo learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength:I bent my knees against the ground; once moreThe violated myrtle ran with gore.Scarce dare I tell the sequel: from the wombOf wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb,A groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew'dMy fright, and then these dreadful words ensued:'Why dost thou thus my buried body rend?O spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend!Spare to pollute thy pious hands with blood:The tears distil not from the wounded wood;But ev'ry drop this living tree containsIs kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins.O fly from this unhospitable shore,Warn'd by my fate; for I am Polydore![130]Here loads of lances, in my blood embrued,Again shoot upward, by my blood renew'd.'"My falt'ring tongue and shiv'ring limbs declareMy horror, and in brisdes rose my hair.When Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent,Old Priam, fearful of the war's event,This hapless Polydore to Thracia sent:Loaded with gold, he sent his darling, farFrom noise and tumults, and destructive war,Committed to the faithless tyrant's care;Who, when he saw the pow'r of Troy decline,Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join;Broke ev'ry bond of nature and of truth,And murder'd, for his wealth, the royal youth.0 sacred hunger of pernicious gold!What bands of faith can impious lucre hold?Now, when my soul had shaken off her fears,I call my father and the Trojan peers;Relate the prodigies of Heav'n, requireWhat he commands, and their advice desire.All vote to leave that execrable shore,Polluted with the blood of Polydore;But, ere we sail, his fun'ral rites prepare,Then, to his ghost, a tomb and altars rear.In mournful pomp the matrons walk the round,With baleful cypress and blue fillets crown'd,With eyes dejected, and with hair unbound.Then bowls of tepid milk and blood we pour,And thrice invoke the soul of Polydore."Now, when the raging storms no longer reign,But southern gales invite us to the main,We launch our vessels, with a prosp'rous wind,And leave the cities and the shores behind."An island in th' iEgacan main appears;Neptune and wat'ry Doris claim it theirs.It floated once, till Phoebus fix'd the sidesTo rooted earth, and now it braves the tides.Here, borne by friendly winds, we come ashore,With needful ease our weary limbs restore,And the Sun's temple and his town adore.[131]"Anius, the priest and king, with laurel crown'd.His hoary locks with purple fillets bound,Who saw my sire the Delian shore ascend,Came forth with eager haste to meet his friend;Invites him to his palace; and, in signOf ancient love, their plighted hands they join.Then to the temple of the god I went,And thus, before the shrine, my vows present:'Give, O Thymbraeus, give a resting placeTo the sad relics of the Trojan race;A seat secure, a region of their own,A lasting empire, and a happier town.Where shall we fix? where shall our labors end?Whom shall we follow, and what fate attend?Let not my pray'rs a doubtful answer find;But in dear auguries unveil thy mind.'Scarce had I said: he shook the holy ground,The laurels, and the lofty hills around;And from the tripos rush'd a bellowing sound.Prostrate we fell; confess'd the present god,Who gave this answer from his dark abode:'Undaunted youths, go, seek that mother earthFrom which your ancestors derive their birth.The soil that sent you forth, her ancient raceIn her old bosom shall again embrace.Thro' the wide world th' /Eneian house shall reign,And children's children shall the crown sustain.'Thus Phoebus did our future fates disclose:A mighty tumult, mix'd with joy, arose.
¶"All are concern'd to know what place the godAssign'd, and where determin'd our abode.My father, long revolving in his mindThe race and lineage of the Trojan kind,Thus answer'd their demands: 'Ye princes, hearYour pleasing fortune, and dispel your fear.The fruitful isle of Crete, well known to fame,Sacred of old to Jove's imperial name,In the mid ocean lies, with large command,And on its plains a hundred cities stand.Another Ida rises there, and we[132]From thence derive our Trojan ancestry.From thence, as 'tis divulg'd by certain fame,To the Rhcetean shores old Teucrus came;There fix'd, and there the seat of empire chose,Ere Ilium and the Trojan tow'rs arose.In humble vales they built their soft abodes,Till Cybele, the mother of the gods,With tinkling cymbals charm'd th' Idzan woods,She secret rites and ceremonies taught,And to the yoke the savage lions brought.Let us the land which Heav'n appoints, explore;Appease the winds, and seek the Gnossian shore.If Jove assists the passage of our fleet,The third propitious dawn discovers Crete.'Thus having said, the sacrifices, laidOn smoking altars, to the gods he paid:A bull, to Neptune an oblation due,Another bull to bright Apollo slew;A milk-white ewe, the western winds to please,And one coal-black, to calm the stormy seas.Ere this, a flying rumor had been spreadThat fierce Idomeneus from Crete was fled,Expell'd and exil'd; that the coast was freeFrom foreign or domestic enemy."We leave the Delian ports, and put to sea;By Naxos, fam'd for vintage, make our way;Then green Donysa pass; and sail in sightOf Paros' isle, with marble quarries white.We pass the scatter'd isles of Cyclades,That, scarce distinguish'd, seem to stud the seas.The shouts of sailors double near the shores;They stretch their canvas, and they ply their oars.'All hands aloft! for Crete! for Crete!' they cry,And swiftly thro' the foamy billows fly.Full on the promis'd land at length we bore,With joy descending on the Cretan shore.With eager haste a rising town I frame,Which from the Trojan Pergamus I name:The name itself was grateful; I exhortTo found their houses, and erect a fort.[133]Our ships are haul'd upon the yellow strand;The youth begin to till the labor'd land;And I, myself, new marriages promote,Give laws, and dwellings I divide by lot;When rising vapors choke the wholesome air,And blasts of noisome winds corrupt the year;The trees devouring caterpillars burn;Parch'd was the grass, and blighted was the corn:Nor 'scape the beasts; for Sirius, from on high,With pestilential heat infects the sky:My men—some fall, the rest in fevers fry.Again my father bids me seek the shoreOf sacred Delos, and the god implore,To learn what end of woes we might expect,And to what clime our weary course direct." 'Twas night, when ev'ry creature, void of cares,The common gift of balmy slumber shares:The statues of my gods (for such they seem'd),Those gods whom I from flaming Troy redeem'd,Before me stood, majestically bright,Full in the beams of Phoebe's ent'ring light.Then thus they spoke, and eas'd my troubled mind:'What from the Delian god thou go'st to find,He tells thee here, and sends us to relate.Those pow'rs are we, companions of thy fate,Who from the burning town by thee were brought,Thy fortune follow'd, and thy safety wrought.Thro' seas and lands as we thy steps attend,So shall our care thy glorious race befriend.An ample realm for thee thy fates ordain,A town that o'er the conquer'd world shall reign.Thou, mighty walls for mighty nations build;Nor let thy weary mind to labors yield:But change thy seat; for not the Delian god,Nor we, have giv'n thee Crete for our abode.A land there is, Hesperia call'd of old,(The soil is fruitful, and the natives bold—Th' CEnotrians held it once,) by later fameNow call'd Italia, from the leader's name.Iasius there and Dardanus were born;[134]From thence we came, and thither must return.Rise, and thy sire with these glad tidings greet.Search Italy; for Jove denies thee Crete.'"Astonish'd at their voices and their sight,(Nor were they dreams, but visions of the night;I saw, I knew their faces, and descried,In perfect view, their hair with fillets tied;)I started from my couch; a clammy sweatOn all my limbs and shiv'ring body sate.To heav'n I lift my hands with pious haste,And sacred incense in the flames I cast.Thus to the gods their perfect honors done,More cheerful, to my good old sire I run,And tell the pleasing news. In little spaceHe found his error of the double race;Not, as before he deem'd, deriv'd from Crete;No more deluded by the doubtful seat:Then said: 'O son, turmoil'd in Trojan fatelSuch things as these Cassandra did relate.This day revives within my mind what sheForetold of Troy renew'd in Italy,And Latian lands; but who could then have thoughtThat Phrygian gods to Latium should be brought,Or who believ'd what mad Cassandra taught?Now let us go where Phoebus leads the way.'"He said; and we with glad consent obey,Forsake the seat, and, leaving few behind,We spread our sails before the willing wind.Now from the sight of land our galleys move,With only seas around and skies above;When o'er our heads descends a burst of rain,And night with sable clouds involves the main;The ruffling winds the foamy billows raise;The scatter'd fleet is forc'd to sev'ral ways;The face of heav'n is ravish'd from our eyes,And in redoubled peals the roaring thunder flies.Cast from our course, we wander in the dark.No stars to guide, no point of land to mark.Ev'n Palinurus no distinction foundBetwixt the night and day; such darkness reign'd around[135]Three starless nights the doubtful navy strays,Without distinction, and three sunless days;The fourth renews the light, and, from our shrouds,We view a rising land, like distant clouds;The mountain-tops confirm the pleasing sight,And curling smoke ascending from their height.The canvas falls; their oars the sailors ply;From the rude strokes the whirling waters fly.At length I land upon the Strophades,Safe from the danger of the stormy seas.Those isles are compass'd by th' Ionian main,The dire abode where the foul Harpies reign,Forc'd by the winged warriors to repairTo their old homes, and leave their cosdy fare.Monsters more fierce offended Heav'n ne'er sentFrom hell's abyss, for human punishment:With virgin faces, but with wombs obscene,Foul paunches, and with ordure still unclean;With claws for hands, and looks for ever lean."We landed at the port, and soon beheldFat herds of oxen graze the flow'ry field,And wanton goats without a keeper stray'd.With weapons we the welcome prey invade,Then call the gods for partners of our feast,And Jove himself, the chief invited guest.We spread the tables on the greensward ground;We feed with hunger, and the bowls go round;When from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry,And datt'ring wings, the hungry Harpies fly;They snatch the meat, defiling all they find,And, parting, leave a loathsome stench behind,Close by a hollow rock, again we sit,New dress the dinner, and the beds refit,Secure from sight, beneath a pleasing shade,Where tufted trees a native arbor made.Again the holy fires on altars burn;And once again the rav'nous birds return,Or from the dark recesses where they lie,Or from another quarter of the sky;With filthy claws their odious meal repeat,[136]And mix their loathsome ordures with their meat.I bid my friends for vengeance then prepare,And with the hellish nation wage the war.They, as commanded, for the fight provide,And in the grass their glitt'ring weapons hide;Then, when along the crooked shore we hearTheir datt'ring wings, and saw the foes appear,Misenus sounds a charge: we take th' alarm,And our strong hands with swords and bucklers arm.In this new kind of combat all employTheir utmost force, the monsters to destroy.In vain—the fated skin is proof to wounds;And from their plumes the shining sword rebounds.At length rebuff'd, they leave their mangled prey,And their stretch'd pinions to the skies display.Yet one remain'd—the messenger of Fate:High on a craggy cliff Celaeno sate,And thus her dismal errand did relate:'What! not contented with our oxen slain,Dare you with Heav'n an impious war maintain,And drive the Harpies from their native reign?Heed therefore what I say; and keep in mindWhat Jove decrees, what Phoebus has design'd,And I, the Furies' queen, from both relate—You seek th' Italian shores, foredoom'd by fate:T h ' Italian shores are granted you to find,And a safe passage to the port assign'd.But know, that ere your promis'd walls you build,My curses shall severely be fulfill'd.Fierce famine is your lot for this misdeed,Reduc'd to grind the plates on which you feed.'She said, and to the neighb'ring forest flew.Our courage fails us, and our fears renew.Hopeless to win by war, to pray'rs we fall,And on th' offended Harpies humbly call,And whether gods or birds obscene they were,Our vows for pardon and for peace prefer.But old Anchises, ofFring sacrifice,And lifting up to heav'n his hands and eyes,Ador'd the greater gods: 'Avert,' said he,[137]'These omens; render vain this prophecy,And from th' impending curse a pious people free!'"Thus having said, he bids us put to sea;We loose from shore our haulsers, and obey,And soon with swelling sails pursue the wat'ry way.Amidst our course, Zacynthian woods appear;And next by rocky Neritos we steer:We fly from Ithaca's detested shore,And curse the land which dire Ulysses bore.At length Leucate's cloudy top appears,And the Sun's temple, which the sailor fears.Resolv'd to breathe a while from labor past,Our crooked anchors from the prow we cast,And joyful to the little city haste.Here, safe beyond our hopes, our vows we payTo Jove, the guide and patron of our way.The customs of our country we pursue,And Trojan games on Actian shores renew.Our youth their naked limbs besmear with oil,And exercise the wrastlers' noble toil;Pleas'd to have sail'd so long before the wind,And left so many Grecian towns behind.The sun had now fulfill'd his annual course,And Boreas on the seas display'd his force:I fix'd upon the temple's lofty doorThe brazen shield which vanquish'd Abas bore;The verse beneath my name and action speaks:'These arms /Eneas took from conqu'ring Greeks.*Then I command to weigh; the seamen plyTheir sweeping oars; the smoking billows fly.The sight of high Phzacia soon we lost,And skimm'd along Epirus' rocky coast.
¶"Then to Chaonia's port our course we bend,And, landed, to Buthrotus' heights ascend.Here wondrous things were loudly blaz'd by fame:How Helenus reviv'd the Trojan name.And reign'd in Greece; that Priam's captive sonSucceeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne;And fair Andromache, restor'd by fate,Once more was happy in a Trojan mate.[138]I leave my galleys riding in the port,And long to see the new Dardanian court.By chance, the mournful queen, before the gate,Then solemniz'd her former husband's fate.Green altars, rais'd of turf, with gifts she crown'd,And sacred priests in order stand around,And thrice the name of hapless Hector sound.The grove itself resembles Ida's wood;And Simoi's seem'd the well-dissembled flood.But when at nearer distance she beheldMy shining armor and my Trojan shield,Astonish'd at the sight, the vital heatForsakes her limbs; her veins no longer beat:She faints, she falls, and scarce recov'ring strength,Thus, with a falt'ring tongue, she speaks at length:" 'Are you alive, O goddess-born?' she said,'Or if a ghost, then where is Hector's shade?'At this, she cast a loud and frightful cry.With broken words I made this brief reply:'All of me that remains appears in sight:I live, if living be to loathe the light.No phantom; but I drag a wretched life.My fate resembling that of Hector's wife.What have you suffer'd since you lost your lord?By what strange blessing are you now restor'd?Still are your Hector's? or is Hector fled.And his remembrance lost in Pyrrhus' bed?'With eyes dejected, in a lowly tone,After a modest pause she thus begun:" 'O only happy maid of Priam's race.Whom death deliver'd from the foes' embrace!Commanded on Achilles' tomb to die,Not forc'd, like us, to hard captivity,Or in a haughty master's arms to lie.In Grecian ships unhappy we were borne.Endur'd the victor's lust, sustain'd the scorn:Thus I submitted to the lawless prideOf Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride.Cloy'd with possession, he forsook my bed.And Helen's lovely daughter sought to wed;[139]Then me to Trojan Helenus resign'd,And his two slaves in equal marriage join'd;Till young Orestes, pierc'd with deep despair,And longing to redeem the promis'd fair,Before Apollo's altar slew the ravisher.By Pyrrhus' death the kingdom we regain'd:At least one half with Helenus remain'd.Our part, from Chaon, he Chaonia calls,And names from Pergamus his rising walls.But you, what fates have landed on our coast?What gods have sent you, or what storms have toss'd?Does young Ascanius life and health enjoy,Sav'd from the ruins of unhappy Troy?O tell me how his mother's loss he bears,What hopes are promis'd from his blooming years,How much of Hector in his face appears?'She spoke; and mix'd her speech with mournful cries,And fruitless tears came trickling from her eyes."At length her lord descends upon the plain,In pomp, attended with a num'rous train;Receives his friends, and to the city leads,And tears of joy amidst his welcome sheds.Proceeding on, another Troy I see,Or, in less compass, Troy's epitome.A riv'let by the name of Xanthus ran,And I embrace the Scxan gate again.My friends in porticoes were entertain'd,And feasts and pleasures thro' the city reign'd.The tables fill'd the spacious hall around,And golden bowls with sparkling wine were crown'd.Two days we pass'd in mirth, till friendly gales,Blown from the south, supplied our swelling sails.Then to the royal seer I thus began:'O thou, who know'st, beyond the reach of man,The laws of heav'n, and what the stars decree;Whom Phcebus taught unerring prophecy,From his own tripod, and his holy tree;Skill'd in the wing'd inhabitants of air,What auspices their notes and flights declare:O say—for all religious rites portend[140]A happy voyage, and a prosp'rous end;And ev'ry power and omen of the skyDirect my course for destin'd Italy;But only dire Celxno, from the gods,A dismal famine fatally forebodes—O say what dangers I am first to shun,What toils to vanquish, and what course to run.'"The prophet first with sacrifice adoresThe greater gods; their pardon then implores;Unbinds the fillet from his holy head;To Phoebus, next, my trembling steps he led,Full of religious doubts and awful dread.Then, with his god possess'd, before the shrine,These words proceeded from his mouth divine:'O goddess-born, (for Heav'n's appointed will,With greater auspices of good than ill,Foreshows thy voyage, and thy course directs;Thy fates conspire, and Jove himself protects,)Of many things some few I shall explain,Teach thee to shun the dangers of the main,And how at length the promis'd shore to gain.The rest the fates from Helcnus conceal,And Juno's angry pow'r forbids to tell.First, then, that happy shore, that seems so nigh,Will far from your deluded wishes fly;Long tracts of seas divide your hopes from Italy:For you must cruise along Sicilian shores,And stem the currents with your struggling oars;Then round th' Italian coast your navy steer;And, after this, to Circe's island veer;And, last, before your new foundations rise,Must pass the Stygian lake, and view the nether skies.Now mark the signs of future ease and rest,And bear them safely treasur'd in thy breast.When, in the shady shelter of a wood,And near the margin of a gentle flood,Thou shalt behold a sow upon the ground,With thirty sucking young encompass'd round;The dam and offspring white as falling snow—These on thy city shall their name bestow,[141]And there shall end thy labors and thy woe.Nor let the threaten'd famine fright thy mind,For Phoebus will assist, and Fate the way will find.Let not thy course to that ill coast be bent,Which fronts from far th' Epirian continent:Those parts are all by Grecian foes possess'd;The salvage Locrians here the shores infest;There fierce Idomeneus his city builds,And guards with arms the Salentinian fields;And on the mountain's brow Petilia stands,Which Philoctetes with his troops commands.Ev'n when thy fleet is landed on the shore,And priests with holy vows the gods adore,Then with a purple veil involve your eyes,Lest hostile faces blast the sacrifice.These rites and customs to the rest commend,That to your pious race they may descend." 'When, parted hence, the wind, that ready waitsFor Sicily, shall bear you to the straitsWhere proud Pelorus opes a wider way,Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea:Veer starboard sea and land. Th' Italian shoreAnd fair Sicilia's coast were one, beforeAn earthquake caus'd the flaw: the roaring tidesThe passage broke that land from land divides;And where the lands retir'd, the rushing ocean rides.Distinguish'd by the straits, on either hand,Now rising cities in long order stand,And fruitful fields: so much can time invadeThe mold'ring work that beauteous Nature made.Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:Charybdis roaring on the left presides,And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;Then spouts them from below: with fury driv'n,The waves mount up and wash the face of heav'n.But Scylla from her den, with open jaws,The sinking vessel in her eddy draws,Then dashes on the rocks. A human face,And virgin bosom, hides her tail's disgrace:Her parts obscene below the waves descend,[142]With dogs inclos'd, and in a dolphin end.'Tis safer, then, to bear aloof to sea,And coast Pachynus, tho' with more delay,Than once to view misshapen Scylla near,And the loud yell of wat'ry wolves to hear." 'Besides, if faith to Helenus be due,And if prophetic Phcebus tell me true,Do not this precept of your friend forget,Which therefore more than once I must repeat:Above the rest, great Juno's name adore;Pay vows to Juno; Juno's aid implore.Let gifts be to the mighty queen design'd,And mollify with pray'rs her haughty mind.Thus, at the length, your passage shall be free,And you shall safe descend on Italy.Arriv'd at Cumac, when you view the floodOf black Avernus, and the sounding wood,The mad prophetic Sibyl you shall find,Dark in a cave, and on a rock reclin'd.She sings the fates, and, in her frantic fits,The notes and names, inscrib'd, to leaves commits.What she commits to leaves, in order laid,Before the cavern's entrance are display'd:Unmov'd they lie; but, if a blast of windWithout, or vapors issue from behind,The leaves are borne aloft in liquid air,And she resumes no more her museful care,Nor gathers from the rocks her scatter'd verse,Nor sets in order what the winds disperse.Thus, many not succeeding, most upbraidThe madness of the visionary maid,And with loud curses leave the mystic shade.
¶" 'Think it not loss of time a while to stay,Tho' thy companions chide thy long delay;Tho' summon'd to the seas, tho' pleasing galesInvite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails:But beg the sacred priestess to relateWith willing words, and not to write thy fate.The fierce Italian people she will show,And all thy wars, and all thy future woe,[143]And what thou mayst avoid, and what must undergo.She shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind,And teach thee how the happy shores to find.This is what Heav'n allows me to relate:Now part in peace; pursue thy better fate,And raise, by strength of arms, the Trojan state.'"This when the priest with friendly voice declar'd,He gave me license, and rich gifts prepar'd:Bounteous of treasure, he supplied my wantWith heavy gold, and polish'd elephant;Then Dodonacan caldrons put on board,And ev'ry ship with sums of silver stor'd.A trusty coat of mail to me he sent,Thrice chain'd with gold, for use and ornament;The helm of Pyrrhus added to the rest,That flourish'd with a plume and waving crest.Nor was my sire forgotten, nor my friends;And large recruits he to my navy sends:Men, horses, captains, arms, and warlike stores;Supplies new pilots, and new sweeping oars.Meantime, my sire commands to hoist our sails,Lest we should lose the first auspicious gales."The prophet bless'd the parting crew, and last,With words like these, his ancient friend embrac'd:'Old happy man, the care of gods above,Whom heav'nly Venus honor'd with her love,And twice preserv'd thy life, when Troy was lost,Behold from far the wish'd Ausonian coast:There land; but take a larger compass round,For that before is all forbidden ground.The shore that Phoebus has design'd for you,At farther distance lies, conceal'd from view.Go happy hence, and seek your new abodes,Blest in a son, and favor'd by the gods:For I with useless words prolong your stay,When southern gales have summon'd you away.'"Nor less the queen our parting thence deplor'd,Nor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord.A noble present to my son she brought,A robe with flow'rs on golden tissue wrought,[144]A Phrygian vest; and loads with gifts besideOf precious texture, and of Asian pride.'Accept,' she said, 'these monuments of love,Which in my youth with happier hands I wove:Regard these trifles for the giver's sake;'Tis the last present Hector's wife can make.Thou call'st my lost Astyanax to mind;In thee his features and his form I find:His eyes so sparkled with a lively flame;Such were his motions; such was all his frame;And ah! had Heav'n so pleas'd, his years had been the"With tears I took my last adieu, and said:'Your fortune, happy pair, already made,Leaves you no farther wish. My diff'rent state,Avoiding one, incurs another fate.To you a quiet seat the gods allow:You have no shores to search, no seas to plow,Nor fields of flying Italy to chase:(Deluding visions, and a vain embrace!)You see another Simo'is, and enjoyThe labor of your hands, another Troy,With better auspice than her ancient tow'rs,And less obnoxious to the Grecian pow'rs.If e'er the gods, whom I with vows adore,Conduct my steps to Tiber's happy shore;If ever I ascend the Latian throne,And build a city I may call my own;As both of us our birth from Troy derive,So let our kindred lines in concord live,And both in acts of equal friendship strive.Our fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same:The double Troy shall differ but in name;That what we now begin may never end,But long to late posterity descend.'
¶"Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore;The shortest passage to th' Italian shore.Now had the sun withdrawn his radiant light,And hills were hid in dusky shades of night:We land, and, on the bosom of the ground,A safe retreat and a bare lodging found.
The Third Book of the £neis
¶Close by the shore we lay; the sailors keepTheir watches, and the rest securely sleep.The night, proceeding on with silent pace,Stood in her noon, and view'd with equal faceHer steepy rise and her declining race.Then wakeful Palinurus rose, to spyThe face of heav'n, and the nocturnal sky;And listen'd ev'ry breath of air to try;Observes the stars, and notes their sliding course,The Pleiads, Hyads, and their wat'ry force;And both the Bears is careful to behold,And bright Orion, arm'd with burnish'd gold.Then, when he saw no threat'ning tempest nigh,But a sure promise of a settled sky,He gave the sign to weigh; we break our sleep,Forsake the pleasing shore, and plow the deep."And now the rising morn with rosy lightAdorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight;When we from far, like bluish mists, descryThe hills, and then the plains, of Italy.Achates first pronounc'd the joyful sound;Then, 'Italy!' the cheerful crew rebound.My sire Anchises crown'd a cup with wine,And, off'ring, thus implor'd the pow'rs divine:'Ye gods, presiding over lands and seas,And you who raging winds and waves appease,Breathe on our swelling sails a prosp'rous wind,And smooth our passage to the port assign'd!'The gentle gales their flagging force renew,And now the happy harbor is in view.Minerva's temple then salutes our sight,Plac'd, as a landmark, on the mountain's height.We furl our sails, and turn the prows to shore;The curling waters round the galleys roar.The land lies open to the raging east,Then, bending like a bow, with rocks compress'd,Shuts out the storms; the winds and waves complAnd vent their malice on the cliffs in vain.The port lies hid within; on either sideTwo tow'ring rocks the narrow mouth divide.[146]The temple, which aloft we view'd before,To distance flies, and seems to shun the shore.Scarce landed, the first omens I beheldWere four white steeds that cropp'd the flow'ry field.'War, war is threaten'd from this foreign ground,'My father cried, 'where warlike steeds are found.Yet, since reclaim'd to chariots they submit,And bend to stubborn yokes, and champ the bit,Peace may succeed to war.' Our way we bendTo Pallas, and the sacred hill ascend;There prostrate to the fierce virago pray,Whose temple was the landmark of our way.Each with a Phrygian mantle veil'd his head,And all commands of Helenus obey'd,And pious rites to Grecian Juno paid.These dues perform'd, we stretch our sails, and standTo sea, forsaking that suspected land."From hence Tarentum's bay appears in view,For Hercules renown'd, if fame be true.Just opposite, Lacinian Juno stands;Caulonian tow'rs, and Scylaczan strands,For shipwrecks fear'd. Mount /Etna thence we spy,Known by the smoky flames which cloud the sky.Far off we hear the waves with surly soundInvade the rocks, the rocks their groans rebound.The billows break upon the sounding strand,And roll the rising tide, impure with sand.Then thus Anchises, in experience old:' Tis that Charybdis which the seer foretold,And those the promis'd rocks! Bear off to sea!'With haste the frighted mariners obey.First Palinurus to the larboard veer'd;Then all the fleet by his example steer'd.To heav'n aloft on ridgy waves we ride,Then down to hell descend, when they divide;And thrice our galleys knock'd the stony ground,And thrice the hollow rocks return'd the sound,And thrice we saw the stars, that stood with dews around.The flagging winds forsook us, with the sun;And, wearied, on Cydopian shores we run.[147]The port capacious, and secure from wind,Is to the foot of thund'ring /Etna join'd.By turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high;By turns hot embers from her entrails fly,And flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky.Oft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown,And, shiver'd by the force, come piecemeal down.Oft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow,Fed from the fiery springs that boil below.Enceladus, they say, transfix'd by Jove,With blasted limbs came tumbling from above;And, where he fell, th' avenging father drewThis flaming hill, and on his body threw.As often as he turns his weary sides,He shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides.In shady woods we pass the tedious night,Where bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright,Of which no cause is offer'd to the sight;For not one star was kindled in the sky,Nor could the moon her borrow'd light supply;For misty clouds involv'd the firmament,The stars were muffled, and the moon was pent."Scarce had the rising sun the day reveal'd,Scarce had his heat the pearly dews dispell'd,When from the woods there bolts, before our sight,Somewhat betwixt a mortal and a sprite,So thin, so ghastly meager, and so wan,So bare of flesh, he scarce resembled man.This thing, all tatter'd, seem'd from far t' imploreOur pious aid, and pointed to the shore.We look behind, then view his shaggy beard;His clothes were tagg'd with thorns, and filth his limbsbesmear'd;The rest, in mien, in habit, and in face,Appear'd a Greek, and such indeed he was.He cast on us, from far, a frightful view,Whom soon for Trojans and for foes he knew;Stood still, and paus'd; then all at once beganTo stretch his limbs, and trembled as he ran.Soon as approach'd, upon his knees he falls,[148]And thus with tears and sighs for pity calls:'Now, by the pow'rs above, and what we shareFrom Nature's common gift, this vital air,0 Trojans, take me hence! I beg no more;But bear me far from this unhappy shore.'Tis true, I am a Greek, and farther own,Among your foes besieg'd th' imperial town.For such demerits if my death be due,No more for this abandon'd life I sue;This only favor let my tears obtain,To throw me headlong in the rapid main:Since nothing more than death my crime demands,I die content, to die by human hands.'He said, and on his knees my knees embrac'd:I bade him boldly tell his fortune past,His present state, his lineage, and his name,Th' occasion of his fears, and whence he came.The good Anchises rais'd him with his hand;Who, thus encourag'd, answer'd our demand:'From Ithaca, my native soil, I cameTo Troy; and Achzmenides my name.Me my poor father with Ulysses sent;( O had I stay'd, with poverty content!)But, fearful for themselves, my countrymenLeft me forsaken in the Cyclops' den.The cave, tho' large, was dark; the dismal floorWas pav'd with mangled limbs and putrid gore.Our monstrous host, of more than human size,Erects his head, and stares within the skies;Bellowing his voice, and horrid is his hue.Ye gods, remove this plague from mortal view!The joints of slaughter'd wretches are his food;And for his wine he quaffs the streaming blood.These eyes beheld, when with his spacious handHe seiz'd two captives of our Grecian band;Stretch'd on his back, he dash'd against the stonesTheir broken bodies, and their crackling bones:With spouting blood the purple pavement swims,While the dire glutton grinds the trembling limbs." 'Not unreveng'd Ulysses bore their fate,[149]Nor thoughtless of his own unhappy state;For, gorg'd with flesh, and drunk with human wineWhile fast asleep the giant lay supine,Snoring aloud, and belching from his mawHis indigested foam, and morsels raw;We pray; we cast the lots, and then surroundThe monstrous body, stretch'd along the ground:Each, as he could approach him, lends a handTo bore his eyeball with a flaming brand.Beneath his frowning forehead lay his eye;For only one did the vast frame supply—But that a globe so large, his front it fill'd,Like the sun's disk or like a Grecian shield.The stroke succeeds; and down the pupil bends:This vengeance follow'd for our slaughter'd friends.But haste, unhappy wretches, haste to fly!Your cables cut, and on your oars rely!Such, and so vast as Polypheme appears,A hundred more this hated island bears:Like him, in caves they shut their woolly sheep;Like him, their herds on tops of mountains keep;Like him, with mighty strides, they stalk from steep to steep,And now three moons their sharpen'd horns renew,Since thus, in woods and wilds, obscure from view,I drag my loathsome days with mortal fright,And in deserted caverns lodge by night;Oft from the rocks a dreadful prospect seeOf the huge Cyclops, like a walking tree:From far I hear his thund'ring voice resound,And trampling feet that shake the solid ground.Cornels and salvage berries of the wood,And roots and herbs, have been my meager food.While all around my longing eyes I cast,I saw your happy ships appear at last.On those I fix'd my hopes, to these I run;Tis all I ask, this cruel race to shun;What other death you please, yourselves bestow.*"Scarce had he said, when on the mountain's browWe saw the giant shepherd stalk beforeHis following flock, and leading to the shore:[150]A monstrous bulk, deform'd, depriv'd of sight;His staff a trunk of pine, to guide his steps aright.His pond'rous whisde from his neck descends;His woolly care their pensive lord attends;This only solace his hard fortune sends.Soon as he reach'd the shore and touch'd the waves,From his bor'd eye the gutt'ring blood he laves:He gnash'd his teeth, and groan'd; thro' seas he strides,And scarce the topmost billows touch'd his sides."Seiz'd with a sudden fear, we run to sea,The cables cut, and silent haste away;The well-deserving stranger entertain;Then, buckling to the work, our oars divide the main.The giant harken'd to the dashing sound:But, when our vessels out of reach he found,He strided onward, and in vain essay'dTh' Ionian deep, and durst no farther wade.With that he roar'd aloud: the dreadful cryShakes earth, and air, and seas; the billows flyBefore the bellowing noise to distant Italy.The neighb'ring /Etna trembling all around,The winding caverns echo to the sound.His brother Cyclops hear the yelling roar,And, rushing down the mountains, crowd the shore.We saw their stern distorted looks, from far,And one-eye'd glance, that vainly threaten'd war:A dreadful council, with their heads on high;(The misty clouds about their foreheads fly;)Not yielding to the tow'ring tree of Jove,Or tallest cypress of Diana's grove.New pangs of mortal fear our minds assail;We tug at ev'ry oar, and hoist up ev'ry sail,And take th' advantage of the friendly gale.Forewarn'd by Helenus, we strive to shunCharybdis' gulf, nor dare to Scylla run.An equal fate on either side appears:We, tacking to the left, are free from fears;For, from Pelorus' point, the North arose,And drove us back where swift Pantagias flows.His rocky mouth we pass, and make our way[151]By Thapsus and Megara's winding bay.This passage Achxmenides had shown,Tracing the course which he before had run."Right o'er against Plemmyrium's wat'ry strand,There lies an isle once call'd th' Ortygian land.Alpheiis, as old fame reports, has foundFrom Greece a secret passage under ground,By love to beauteous Arethusa led;And, mingling here, they roll in the same sacred bed.As Helenus enjoin'd, we next adoreDiana's name, protectress of the shore.With prosp'rous gales we pass the quiet soundsOf still Elorus, and his fruitful bounds.Then, doubling Cape Pachynus, we surveyThe rocky shore extended to the sea.The town of Camarine from far we see,And fenny lake, undrain'd by fate's decree.In sight of the Geloan fields we pass,And the large walls, where mighty Gela was;Then Agragas, with lofty summits crown'd,Long for the race of warlike steeds renown'd.We pass'd Selinus, and the palmy land,And widely shun the Lilybaean strand,Unsafe, for secret rocks and moving sand.At length on shore the weary fleet arriv'd,Which Drepanum's unhappy port receiv'd.Here, after endless labors, often toss'dBy raging storms, and driv'n on ev'ry coast,My dear, dear father, spent with age, I lost:Ease of my cares, and solace of my pain,Sav'd thro' a thousand toils, but sav'd in vain.The prophet, who my future woes reveal'd,Yet this, the greatest and the worst, conceal'd;And dire Celacno, whose foreboding skillDcnounc'd all else, was silent of this ill.This my last labor was. Some friendly godFrom thence convey'd us to your blest abode."
¶Thus, to the list'ning queen, the royal guestHis wand'ring course and all his toils express'd;And here concluding, he retir'd to rest.
The Fourth BookOF THE iENEIS
¶THE ARGUMENT.—Dido discovers to her sister her passion for /Eneas, and herthoughts of marrying him. She prepares a hunting match for his entertainment.Juno, by Vcnus's consent, raises a storm, which separates the hunters, and drives/Eneas and Dido into the same cave, where their marriage is suppos'd to be completed.Jupiter dispatches Mercury to /Eneas, to warn him from Carthage. /Eneas secretlyprepares for his voyage. Dido finds out his design, and, to put a stop to it, makesuse of her own and her sister's entreaties, and discovers all the variety of passionsthat are incident to a neglected lover. When nothing would prevail upon him, shecontrives her own death, with which this book concludes.
¶U T anxious cares already seiz'd the queen:BShe fed within her veins a flame unseen;' The hero's valor, acts, and birth inspireHer 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 awayThe 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 affrightMy lab'ring soul! what visions of the nightDisturb my quiet, and distract my breastWith 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 yokeOf hapless marriage, never to be curstWith second love, so fatal was my first,To this one error I might yield again;
¶»53[153]For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain,This only man is able to subvertThe 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;Gztulian 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;Barczan troops besiege the narrow shore,And from the sea Pygmalion threatens more.Propitious Heav'n, and gracious Juno, leadThis wand'ring navy to your needful aid:How will your empire spread, your city rise,From such a union, and with such allies?[154]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 payTo Ceres, Bacchus, and the God of Day;Preferring Juno's pow'r, for Juno tiesThe 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 Sabzan 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 dartSticks in her side, and rankles in her heart.And now she leads the Trojan chief alongThe 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;[155]Her falt'ring tongue forbids to speak the restWhen day declines, and feasts renew the night,Still on his face she feeds her famish'd sight;She longs again to hear the prince relateHis 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 lightWithdraws, 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'dheighth.that seem'd to threat theBut when imperial Juno, from above,Saw Dido fetter'd in the chains of love,Hot with the venom which her veins innam'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 suspectThis rising city, which my hands erect:But shall celestial discord never cease?Tis 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, ./Eneas mine:One common kingdom, one united line.[156]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 misguideTo 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 lineIn 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, /Eneas, and the Tyrian courtShall 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 plainWith 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 affordTo 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 smilesAt 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,[157]With nets, and toils, and darts, beside the forceOf Spartan dogs, and swift Massylian horse.The Tyrian peers and officers of stateFor 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 handThe 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 shinesThe great tineas, when the troop he joins;Like fair Apollo, when he leaves the frostOf 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 belowThe 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 seenIn manly presence, or in lofty mien.Now had they reach'd the hills, and storm'd the seatOf salvage beasts, in dens, their last retreat.The cry pursues the mountain goats: they boundFrom 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[158]The clanking lash, and goring of the steel.Impatiendy 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 ratding thunders roll; and Juno poursA 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 loveFrom this ill-omen'd hour in time aroseDebate and death, and all succeeding woes.The queen, whom sense of honoi- could not move,No longer made a secret of her love,But call'd it marriage, by that specious nameTo 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 bringsNew 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 EarthProduc'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.[159]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 minglestruth with lies.Talk is her business, and her chief delightTo 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 bedA 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 newsWhom 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 moveThe 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 graceThy temples, and adore thy pow'r divineWith blood of victims, and with sparkling wine,Seest thou not this? or do we fear in vain[160]Thy boasted thunder, and thy thoughdess 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 allowA 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 trainOf 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 heardThen cast his eyes on Carthage, where he foundThe 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 daysIn 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 wonThy life with pray'rs, nor promis'd such a son.Hers was a hero, destin'd to commandA 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[161]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 bindsHis 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 handThe 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 Adas, 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 chinThe 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 heightPlung'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 princeNew ramparts raising for the town's defense.A purple scarf, with gold embroider'd o'er,[162](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 stateOf 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 betweenTh' 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 repairThe 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.[163]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 reportThe 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 queenNot 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 boundTo 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 moreTo 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;[164]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 leadA 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 /Eneas, to supply your place,Whose features might express his father's face;I should not then complain to live bereftOf 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 repeatYour 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 claimOf 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
THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE iENEIS
¶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 complainOf 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 brightWith 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 vainTriumphant 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—'tis little to repeatThe 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,[166]Now Hermes is employ'd from Jove's abode,To warn him hence; as if the peaceful stateOf 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 affordTo 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."Abrupdy here she stops; then turns awayHer loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day.Amaz'd he stood, revolving in his mindWhat 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 /Eneas, tho' he much desir'dTo 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 careUnmoor their vessels, and for sea prepare.The fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride,And wellolk'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'erWith 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 Fourth Book of the £neis
¶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 causeIn 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 findThe 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:[168]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 sustainAccustom'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;[169]That honor'd chapel she had hung aroundWith 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 'tis heard, when with a boding noteThe 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 /Eneas 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 ghostFull 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[170]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 findThe 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 Sichxus 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 roundWith 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;[171]Then mixes baleful juices in the bowl,And cuts the forehead of a newborn foal,Robbing the mother's love. The destin'd queenObserves, assisting at the rites obscene;A leaven'd cake in her devoted handsShe 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.'Twas dead of night, when weary bodies closeTheir eyes in balmy sleep and soft repose:The winds no longer whisper thro' the woods,Nor murm'ring tides disturb the gende 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—Tis 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?[172]What force have I but those whom scarce beforeI 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 drownThy needful cares, so near a hostile town,Beset with foes; nor hear'st the western galesInvite 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 flightAloft 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:[173]"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.0 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 rowlWhat have I said? where am I? Fury turnsMy 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 shoreThe burthen of his feeble father bore!I should have torn him piecemeal; strow'd in floodsHis 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.[174]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 expcll'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!"[175]This said, within her anxious mind she weighsThe means of cutting short her odious days.Then to Sichams' nurse she briefly said(For, when she left her country, hers was dead):"Go, Barce, call my sister. Let her careThe solemn rites of sacrifice prepare;The sheep, and all th' atoning off'rings, bring,Sprinkling her body from the crystal springWith living drops; then let her come, and thouWith 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,[176]"And unreveng'd? 'Tis doubly to be dead!Yet ev'n this death with pleasure I receive:On any terms, 'tis 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 sideThe 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 criesOf 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 pretendTo 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 deathLay close my lips to hers, and catch the flying breath."This said, she mounts the pile with eager haste,[177]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 sustainA death so ling'ring, and so full of pain,Sent Iris down, to free her from the strifeOf 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.