| |
| BUT anxious cares already seiz’d the queen: | |
| She fed within her veins a flame unseen; | |
| The hero’s valor, acts, and birth inspire | |
| Her soul with love, and fan the secret fire. | |
| His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart, | 5 |
| Improve the passion, and increase the smart. | |
| Now, when the purple morn had chas’d away | |
| The dewy shadows, and restor’d the day, | |
| Her sister first with early care she sought, | |
| And thus in mournful accents eas’d her thought: | 10 |
| “My dearest Anna, what new dreams affright | |
| My lab’ring soul! what visions of the night | |
| Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast | |
| With strange ideas of our Trojan guest! | |
| His worth, his actions, and majestic air, | 15 |
| 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! | 20 |
| Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke, | |
| That, were I not resolv’d against the yoke | |
| Of hapless marriage, never to be curst | |
| With second love, so fatal was my first, | |
| To this one error I might yield again; | 25 |
| For, since Sichæus was untimely slain, | |
| This only man is able to subvert | |
| The fix’d foundations of my stubborn heart. | |
| And, to confess my frailty, to my shame, | |
| Somewhat I find within, if not the same, | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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, | 40 |
| 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? | 45 |
| 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, | 50 |
| 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; | 55 |
| Gætulian 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; | |
| Barcæan troops besiege the narrow shore, | 60 |
| And from the sea Pygmalion threatens more. | |
| Propitious Heav’n, and gracious Juno, lead | |
| This wand’ring navy to your needful aid: | |
| How will your empire spread, your city rise, | |
| From such a union, and with such allies? | 65 |
| 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, | 70 |
| 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; | 75 |
| On ev’ry altar sacrifice renew: | |
| A chosen ewe of two years old they pay | |
| To Ceres, Bacchus, and the God of Day; | |
| Preferring Juno’s pow’r, for Juno ties | |
| The nuptial knot and makes the marriage joys. | 80 |
| 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, | 85 |
| She feeds their altars with Sabæan 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! | 90 |
| 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, | 95 |
| Wounds with a random shaft the careless hind, | |
| Distracted with her pain she flies the woods, | |
| Bounds o’er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods, | |
| With fruitless care; for still the fatal dart | |
| Sticks in her side, and rankles in her heart. | 100 |
| And now she leads the Trojan chief along | |
| The lofty walls, amidst the busy throng; | |
| Displays her Tyrian wealth, and rising town, | |
| Which love, without his labor, makes his own. | |
| This pomp she shows, to tempt her wand’ring guest; | 105 |
| Her falt’ring tongue forbids to speak the rest. | |
| When day declines, and feasts renew the night, | |
| Still on his face she feeds her famish’d sight; | |
| She longs again to hear the prince relate | |
| His own adventures and the Trojan fate. | 110 |
| 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 Phœbe’s paler light | 115 |
| Withdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite, | |
| She last remains, when ev’ry guest is gone, | |
| Sits on the bed he press’d, and sighs alone; | |
| Absent, her absent hero sees and hears; | |
| Or in her bosom young Ascanius bears, | 120 |
| 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; | 125 |
| The mole is left unfinish’d to the foe; | |
| The mounds, the works, the walls, neglected lie, | |
| Short of their promis’d heighth, that seem’d to threat the sky, | |
| But when imperial Juno, from above, | |
| Saw Dido fetter’d in the chains of love, | 130 |
| Hot with the venom which her veins inflam’d, | |
| And by no sense of shame to be reclaim’d, | |
| With soothing words to Venus she begun: | |
| “High praises, endless honors, you have won, | |
| And mighty trophies, with your worthy son! | 135 |
| Two gods a silly woman have undone! | |
| Nor am I ignorant, you both suspect | |
| This rising city, which my hands erect: | |
| But shall celestial discord never cease? | |
| ’T is better ended in a lasting peace. | 140 |
| 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, Æneas mine: | |
| One common kingdom, one united line. | 145 |
| Eliza shall a Dardan lord obey, | |
| And lofty Carthage for a dow’r convey.” | |
| Then Venus, who her hidden fraud descried, | |
| Which would the scepter of the world misguide | |
| To Libyan shores, thus artfully replied: | 150 |
| “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, | 155 |
| To mix the people in one common land— | |
| Or will the Trojan and the Tyrian line | |
| In lasting leagues and sure succession join? | |
| But you, the partner of his bed and throne, | |
| May move his mind; my wishes are your own.” | 160 |
| “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, | 165 |
| The queen, Æneas, and the Tyrian court | |
| Shall to the shady woods, for sylvan game, resort. | |
| There, while the huntsmen pitch their toils around, | |
| And cheerful horns from side to side resound, | |
| A pitchy cloud shall cover all the plain | 170 |
| With hail, and thunder, and tempestuous rain; | |
| The fearful train shall take their speedy flight, | |
| Dispers’d, and all involv’d in gloomy night; | |
| One cave a grateful shelter shall afford | |
| To the fair princess and the Trojan lord. | 175 |
| I will myself the bridal bed prepare, | |
| If you, to bless the nuptials, will be there: | |
| So shall their loves be crown’d with due delights, | |
| And Hymen shall be present at the rites.” | |
| The Queen of Love consents, and closely smiles | 180 |
| At her vain project, and discover’d wiles. | |
| The rosy morn was risen from the main, | |
| And horns and hounds awake the princely train: | |
| They issue early thro’ the city gate, | |
| Where the more wakeful huntsmen ready wait, | 185 |
| With nets, and toils, and darts, beside the force | |
| Of Spartan dogs, and swift Massylian horse. | |
| The Tyrian peers and officers of state | |
| For the slow queen in antechambers wait; | |
| Her lofty courser, in the court below, | 190 |
| Who his majestic rider seems to know, | |
| Proud of his purple trappings, paws the ground, | |
| And champs the golden bit, and spreads the foam around. | |
| The queen at length appears; on either hand | |
| The brawny guards in martial order stand. | 195 |
| 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, | 200 |
| Leads on the Trojan youth to view the chase. | |
| But far above the rest in beauty shines | |
| The great Æneas, when the troop he joins; | |
| Like fair Apollo, when he leaves the frost | |
| Of wint’ry Xanthus, and the Lycian coast, | 205 |
| When to his native Delos he resorts, | |
| Ordains the dances, and renews the sports; | |
| Where painted Scythians, mix’d with Cretan bands, | |
| Before the joyful altars join their hands: | |
| Himself, on Cynthus walking, sees below | 210 |
| The merry madness of the sacred show. | |
| Green wreaths of bays his length of hair inclose; | |
| A golden fillet binds his awful brows; | |
| His quiver sounds: not less the prince is seen | |
| In manly presence, or in lofty mien. | 215 |
| Now had they reach’d the hills, and storm’d the seat | |
| Of salvage beasts, in dens, their last retreat. | |
| The cry pursues the mountain goats: they bound | |
| From rock to rock, and keep the craggy ground; | |
| Quite otherwise the stags, a trembling train, | 220 |
| 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 | 225 |
| The clanking lash, and goring of the steel. | |
| Impatiently he views the feeble prey, | |
| Wishing some nobler beast to cross his way, | |
| And rather would the tusky boar attend, | |
| Or see the tawny lion downward bend. | 230 |
| Meantime, the gath’ring clouds obscure the skies: | |
| From pole to pole the forky lightning flies; | |
| The rattling thunders roll; and Juno pours | |
| A wintry deluge down, and sounding show’rs. | |
| The company, dispers’d, to converts ride, | 235 |
| 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. | 240 |
| Then first the trembling earth the signal gave, | |
| And flashing fires enlighten all the cave; | |
| Hell from below, and Juno from above, | |
| And howling nymphs, were conscious of their love. | |
| From this ill-omen’d hour in time arose | 245 |
| Debate and death, and all succeeding woes. | |
| The queen, whom sense of honor could not move, | |
| No longer made a secret of her love, | |
| But call’d it marriage, by that specious name | |
| To veil the crime and sanctify the shame. | 250 |
| The loud report thro’ Libyan cities goes. | |
| Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows: | |
| Swift from the first; and ev’ry moment brings | |
| New vigor to her flights, new pinions to her wings. | |
| Soon grows the pigmy to gigantic size; | 255 |
| Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies. | |
| Inrag’d against the gods, revengeful Earth | |
| Produc’d her last of the Titanian birth. | |
| Swift is her walk, more swift her winged haste: | |
| A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast. | 260 |
| 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. | 265 |
| 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; | 270 |
| Things done relates, not done she feigns, and mingles truth with lies. | |
| Talk is her business, and her chief delight | |
| To tell of prodigies and cause affright. | |
| She fills the people’s ears with Dido’s name, | |
| Who, lost to honor and the sense of shame, | 275 |
| Admits into her throne and nuptial bed | |
| A wand’ring guest, who from his country fled: | |
| Whole days with him she passes in delights, | |
| And wastes in luxury long winter nights, | |
| Forgetful of her fame and royal trust, | 280 |
| Dissolv’d in ease, abandon’d to her lust. | |
| The goddess widely spreads the loud report, | |
| And flies at length to King Hyarba’s court. | |
| When first possess’d with this unwelcome news | |
| Whom did he not of men and gods accuse? | 285 |
| 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, | 290 |
| Whose watchful care these holy rites maintain’d. | |
| The gates and columns were with garlands crown’d, | |
| And blood of victim beasts enrich’d the ground. | |
| He, when he heard a fugitive could move | |
| The Tyrian princess, who disdain’d his love, | 295 |
| 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, | 300 |
| Who feast on painted beds, with off’rings grace | |
| Thy temples, and adore thy pow’r divine | |
| With blood of victims, and with sparkling wine, | |
| Seest thou not this? or do we fear in vain | |
| Thy boasted thunder, and thy thoughtless reign? | 305 |
| Do thy broad hands the forky lightnings lance? | |
| Thine are the bolts, or the blind work of chance? | |
| A wand’ring woman builds, within our state, | |
| A little town, bought at an easy rate; | |
| She pays me homage, and my grants allow | 310 |
| A narrow space of Libyan lands to plow; | |
| Yet, scorning me, by passion blindly led, | |
| Admits a banish’d Trojan to her bed! | |
| And now this other Paris, with his train | |
| Of conquer’d cowards, must in Afric reign! | 315 |
| (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, | 320 |
| And held his altar’s horns. The mighty Thund’rer heard; | |
| Then cast his eyes on Carthage, where he found | |
| The lustful pair in lawless pleasure drown’d, | |
| Lost in their loves, insensible of shame, | |
| And both forgetful of their better fame. | 325 |
| He calls Cyllenius, and the god attends, | |
| By whom his menacing command he sends: | |
| “Go, mount the western winds, and cleave the sky; | |
| Then, with a swift descent, to Carthage fly: | |
| There find the Trojan chief, who wastes his days | 330 |
| In slothful riot and inglorious ease, | |
| Nor minds the future city, giv’n by fate. | |
| To him this message from my mouth relate: | |
| ‘Not so fair Venus hop’d, when twice she won | |
| Thy life with pray’rs, nor promis’d such a son. | 335 |
| Hers was a hero, destin’d to command | |
| A martial race, and rule the Latian land, | |
| Who should his ancient line from Teucer draw, | |
| And on the conquer’d world impose the law.’ | |
| If glory cannot move a mind so mean, | 340 |
| Nor future praise from fading pleasure wean, | |
| Yet why should he defraud his son of fame, | |
| And grudge the Romans their immortal name! | |
| What are his vain designs! what hopes he more | |
| From his long ling’ring on a hostile shore, | 345 |
| Regardless to redeem his honor lost, | |
| And for his race to gain th’ Ausonian coast! | |
| Bid him with speed the Tyrian court forsake; | |
| With this command the slumb’ring warrior wake.” | |
| Hermes obeys; with golden pinions binds | 350 |
| His flying feet, and mounts the western winds: | |
| And, whether o’er the seas or earth he flies, | |
| With rapid force they bear him down the skies. | |
| But first he grasps within his awful hand | |
| The mark of sov’reign pow’r, his magic wand; | 355 |
| 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, | 360 |
| And drives the racking clouds along the liquid space; | |
| Now sees the tops of Atlas, as he flies, | |
| Whose brawny back supports the starry skies; | |
| Atlas, whose head, with piny forests crown’d, | |
| Is beaten by the winds, with foggy vapors bound. | 365 |
| Snows hide his shoulders; from beneath his chin | |
| The founts of rolling streams their race begin; | |
| A beard of ice on his large breast depends. | |
| Here, pois’d upon his wings, the god descends: | |
| Then, rested thus, he from the tow’ring height | 370 |
| Plung’d downward, with precipitated flight, | |
| Lights on the seas, and skims along the flood. | |
| As waterfowl, who seek their fishy food, | |
| Less, and yet less, to distant prospect show; | |
| By turns they dance aloft, and dive below: | 375 |
| 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, | 380 |
| Now tow’rs within the clouds advance their heads. | |
| Arriving there, he found the Trojan prince | |
| New ramparts raising for the town’s defense. | |
| A purple scarf, with gold embroider’d o’er, | |
| (Queen Dido’s gift,) about his waist he wore; | 385 |
| 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, | 390 |
| 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? | 395 |
| If glory cannot move a mind so mean, | |
| Nor future praise from flitting pleasure wean, | |
| Regard the fortunes of thy rising heir: | |
| The promis’d crown let young Ascanius wear, | |
| To whom th’ Ausonian scepter, and the state | 400 |
| Of Rome’s imperial name is ow’d by fate.” | |
| So spoke the god; and, speaking, took his flight, | |
| Involv’d in clouds, and vanish’d out of sight. | |
| The pious prince was seiz’d with sudden fear; | |
| Mute was his tongue, and upright stood his hair. | 405 |
| Revolving in his mind the stern command, | |
| He longs to fly, and loathes the charming land. | |
| What should he say? or how should he begin? | |
| What course, alas! remains to steer between | |
| Th’ offended lover and the pow’rful queen? | 410 |
| This way and that he turns his anxious mind, | |
| And all expedients tries, and none can find. | |
| Fix’d on the deed, but doubtful of the means, | |
| After long thought, to this advice he leans: | |
| Three chiefs he calls, commands them to repair | 415 |
| The fleet, and ship their men with silent care; | |
| Some plausible pretense he bids them find, | |
| To color what in secret he design’d. | |
| Himself, meantime, the softest hours would choose, | |
| Before the love-sick lady heard the news; | 420 |
| And move her tender mind, by slow degrees, | |
| To suffer what the sov’reign pow’r decrees: | |
| Jove will inspire him, when, and what to say. | |
| They hear with pleasure, and with haste obey. | |
| But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise: | 425 |
| (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. | 430 |
| Nor impious Fame was wanting to report | |
| The ships repair’d, the Trojans’ thick resort, | |
| And purpose to forsake the Tyrian court. | |
| Frantic with fear, impatient of the wound, | |
| And impotent of mind, she roves the city round. | 435 |
| 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: | 440 |
| “Base and ungrateful! could you hope to fly, | |
| And undiscover’d scape a lover’s eye? | |
| Nor could my kindness your compassion move, | |
| Nor plighted vows, nor dearer bands of love? | |
| Or is the death of a despairing queen | 445 |
| Not worth preventing, tho’ too well foreseen? | |
| Ev’n when the wintry winds command your stay, | |
| You dare the tempests, and defy the sea. | |
| False as you are, suppose you were not bound | |
| To lands unknown, and foreign coasts to sound; | 450 |
| Were Troy restor’d, and Priam’s happy reign, | |
| Now durst you tempt, for Troy, the raging main? | |
| See whom you fly! am I the foe you shun? | |
| Now, by those holy vows, so late begun, | |
| By this right hand, (since I have nothing more | 455 |
| To challenge, but the faith you gave before;) | |
| I beg you by these tears too truly shed, | |
| By the new pleasures of our nuptial bed; | |
| If ever Dido, when you most were kind, | |
| Were pleasing in your eyes, or touch’d your mind; | 460 |
| By these my pray’rs, if pray’rs may yet have place, | |
| Pity the fortunes of a falling race. | |
| For you I have provok’d a tyrant’s hate, | |
| Incens’d the Libyan and the Tyrian state; | |
| For you alone I suffer in my fame, | 465 |
| 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, | 470 |
| Or till Hyarba shall in triumph lead | |
| A queen that proudly scorn’d his proffer’d bed? | |
| Had you deferr’d, at least, your hasty flight, | |
| And left behind some pledge of our delight, | |
| Some babe to bless the mother’s mournful sight, | 475 |
| Some young Æneas, to supply your place, | |
| Whose features might express his father’s face; | |
| I should not then complain to live bereft | |
| Of all my husband, or be wholly left.” | |
| Here paus’d the queen. Unmov’d he holds his eyes, | 480 |
| By Jove’s command; nor suffer’d love to rise, | |
| Tho’ heaving in his heart; and thus at length replies: | |
| “Fair queen, you never can enough repeat | |
| Your boundless favors, or I own my debt; | |
| Nor can my mind forget Eliza’s name, | 485 |
| While vital breath inspires this mortal frame. | |
| This only let me speak in my defense: | |
| I never hop’d a secret flight from hence, | |
| Much less pretended to the lawful claim | |
| Of sacred nuptials, or a husband’s name. | 490 |
| 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. | 495 |
| 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, | 500 |
| With walls and tow’rs a Libyan town adorn, | |
| Why may not we—like you, a foreign race— | |
| Like you, seek shelter in a foreign place? | |
| As often as the night obscures the skies | |
| With humid shades, or twinkling stars arise, | 505 |
| Anchises’ angry ghost in dreams appears, | |
| Chides my delay, and fills my soul with fears; | |
| And young Ascanius justly may complain | |
| Of his defrauded fate and destin’d reign. | |
| Ev’n now the herald of the gods appear’d: | 510 |
| Waking I saw him, and his message heard. | |
| From Jove he came commission’d, heav’nly bright | |
| With radiant beams, and manifest to sight | |
| (The sender and the sent I both attest): | |
| These walls he enter’d, and those words express’d. | 515 |
| 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, | 520 |
| 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! | 525 |
| 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. | 530 |
| Of man’s injustice why should I complain? | |
| The gods, and Jove himself, behold in vain | |
| Triumphant treason; yet no thunder flies, | |
| Nor Juno views my wrongs with equal eyes; | |
| Faithless is earth, and faithless are the skies! | 535 |
| Justice is fled, and Truth is now no more! | |
| I sav’d the shipwrack’d exile on my shore; | |
| With needful food his hungry Trojans fed; | |
| I took the traitor to my throne and bed: | |
| Fool that I was—’t is little to repeat | 540 |
| The rest—I stor’d and rigg’d his ruin’d fleet. | |
| I rave, I rave! A god’s command he pleads, | |
| And makes Heav’n accessary to his deeds. | |
| Now Lycian lots, and now the Delian god, | |
| Now Hermes is employ’d from Jove’s abode, | 545 |
| To warn him hence; as if the peaceful state | |
| Of heav’nly pow’rs were touch’d with human fate! | |
| But go! thy flight no longer I detain— | |
| Go seek thy promis’d kingdom thro’ the main! | |
| Yet, if the heav’ns will hear my pious vow, | 550 |
| The faithless waves, not half so false as thou, | |
| Or secret sands, shall sepulchers afford | |
| To thy proud vessels, and their perjur’d lord. | |
| Then shalt thou call on injur’d Dido’s name: | |
| Dido shall come in a black sulph’ry flame, | 555 |
| 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, | 560 |
| And Fame shall spread the pleasing news below.” | |
| Abruptly here she stops; then turns away | |
| Her loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day. | |
| Amaz’d he stood, revolving in his mind | |
| What speech to frame, and what excuse to find. | 565 |
| Her fearful maids their fainting mistress led, | |
| And softly laid her on her iv’ry bed. | |
| But good Æneas, tho’ he much desir’d | |
| To give that pity which her grief requir’d; | |
| Tho’ much he mourn’d, and labor’d with his love, | 570 |
| Resolv’d at length, obeys the will of Jove; | |
| Reviews his forces: they with early care | |
| Unmoor their vessels, and for sea prepare. | |
| The fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride, | |
| And well-calk’d galleys in the harbor ride. | 575 |
| Then oaks for oars they fell’d; or, as they stood, | |
| Of its green arms despoil’d the growing wood, | |
| Studious of flight. The beach is cover’d o’er | |
| With Trojan bands, that blacken all the shore: | |
| On ev’ry side are seen, descending down, | 580 |
| Thick swarms of soldiers, loaden from the town. | |
| Thus, in battalia, march embodied ants, | |
| Fearful of winter, and of future wants, | |
| T’ invade the corn, and to their cells convey | |
| The plunder’d forage of their yellow prey. | 585 |
| 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. | 590 |
| What pangs the tender breast of Dido tore, | |
| When, from the tow’r, she saw the cover’d shore, | |
| And heard the shouts of sailors from afar, | |
| Mix’d with the murmurs of the wat’ry war! | |
| All-pow’rful Love! what changes canst thou cause | 595 |
| In human hearts, subjected to thy laws! | |
| Once more her haughty soul the tyrant bends: | |
| To pray’rs and mean submissions she descends. | |
| No female arts or aids she left untried, | |
| Nor counsels unexplor’d, before she died. | 600 |
| “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, | 605 |
| My tender soul had been forewarn’d to bear. | |
| But do not you my last request deny; | |
| With yon perfidious man your int’rest try, | |
| And bring me news, if I must live or die. | |
| You are his fav’rite; you alone can find | 610 |
| The dark recesses of his inmost mind: | |
| In all his trusted secrets you have part, | |
| And know the soft approaches to his heart. | |
| Haste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe; | |
| Tell him, I did not with the Grecians go, | 615 |
| 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! | 620 |
| Can he this last, this only pray’r deny! | |
| Let him at least his dang’rous flight delay, | |
| Wait better winds, and hope a calmer sea. | |
| The nuptials he disclaims I urge no more: | |
| Let him pursue the promis’d Latian shore. | 625 |
| A short delay is all I ask him now; | |
| A pause of grief, an interval from woe, | |
| Till my soft soul be temper’d to sustain | |
| Accustom’d sorrows, and inur’d to pain. | |
| If you in pity grant this one request, | 630 |
| 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. | 635 |
| 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, | 640 |
| 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; | 645 |
| 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. | 650 |
| 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, | 655 |
| 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. | 660 |
| This dire presage, to her alone reveal’d, | |
| From all, and ev’n her sister, she conceal’d. | |
| A marble temple stood within the grove, | |
| Sacred to death, and to her murther’d love; | |
| That honor’d chapel she had hung around | 665 |
| With snowy fleeces, and with garlands crown’d: | |
| Oft, when she visited this lonely dome, | |
| Strange voices issued from her husband’s tomb; | |
| She thought she heard him summon her away, | |
| Invite her to his grave, and chide her stay. | 670 |
| Hourly ’t is heard, when with a boding note | |
| The solitary screech owl strains her throat, | |
| And, on a chimney’s top, or turret’s height, | |
| With songs obscene disturbs the silence of the night. | |
| Besides, old prophecies augment her fears; | 675 |
| And stern Æneas 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: | 680 |
| Like Pentheus, when, distracted with his fear, | |
| He saw two suns, and double Thebes, appear; | |
| Or mad Orestes, when his mother’s ghost | |
| Full in his face infernal torches toss’d, | |
| And shook her snaky locks: he shuns the sight, | 685 |
| 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, | 690 |
| 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. | 695 |
| 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; | 700 |
| ’T was she supplied the wakeful dragon’s fare. | |
| She poppy seeds in honey taught to steep, | |
| Reclaim’d his rage, and sooth’d him into sleep. | |
| She watch’d the golden fruit; her charms unbind | |
| The chains of love, or fix them on the mind: | 705 |
| 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, | 710 |
| 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. | 715 |
| 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; | 720 |
| A mortal paleness in her face appears: | |
| Yet the mistrustless Anna could not find | |
| The secret fun’ral in these rites design’d; | |
| Nor thought so dire a rage possess’d her mind. | |
| Unknowing of a train conceal’d so well, | 725 |
| She fear’d no worse than when Sichæus 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. | 730 |
| 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. | 735 |
| 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, | 740 |
| And three Dianas: next, she sprinkles round | |
| With feign’d Avernian drops the hallow’d ground; | |
| Culls hoary simples, found by Phœbe’s light, | |
| With brazen sickles reap’d at noon of night; | |
| Then mixes baleful juices in the bowl, | 745 |
| And cuts the forehead of a newborn foal, | |
| Robbing the mother’s love. The destin’d queen | |
| Observes, assisting at the rites obscene; | |
| A leaven’d cake in her devoted hands | |
| She holds, and next the highest altar stands: | 750 |
| 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, | 755 |
| Who minds, or who revenges, injur’d love. | |
| ’T was dead of night, when weary bodies close | |
| Their eyes in balmy sleep and soft repose: | |
| The winds no longer whisper thro’ the woods, | |
| Nor murm’ring tides disturb the gentle floods. | 760 |
| 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, | 765 |
| 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. | 770 |
| 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, | 775 |
| And take my turn, to court and be denied? | |
| Shall I with this ungrateful Trojan go, | |
| Forsake an empire, and attend a foe? | |
| Himself I refug’d, and his train reliev’d— | |
| ’T is true—but am I sure to be receiv’d? | 780 |
| Can gratitude in Trojan souls have place! | |
| Laomedon still lives in all his race! | |
| Then, shall I seek alone the churlish crew, | |
| Or with my fleet their flying sails pursue? | |
| What force have I but those whom scarce before | 785 |
| I drew reluctant from their native shore? | |
| Will they again embark at my desire, | |
| Once more sustain the seas, and quit their second Tyre? | |
| Rather with steel thy guilty breast invade, | |
| And take the fortune thou thyself hast made. | 790 |
| 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, | 795 |
| 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. | 800 |
| 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: | 805 |
| “Sleep’st thou, O goddess-born! and canst thou drown | |
| Thy needful cares, so near a hostile town, | |
| Beset with foes; nor hear’st the western gales | |
| Invite thy passage, and inspire thy sails? | |
| She harbors in her heart a furious hate, | 810 |
| 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. | 815 |
| Prevent her rage, while night obscures the skies, | |
| And sail before the purple morn arise. | |
| Who knows what hazards thy delay may bring? | |
| Woman ’s a various and a changeful thing.” | |
| Thus Hermes in the dream; then took his flight | 820 |
| Aloft in air unseen, and mix’d with night. | |
| Twice warn’d by the celestial messenger, | |
| The pious prince arose with hasty fear; | |
| Then rous’d his drowsy train without delay: | |
| “Haste to your banks; your crooked anchors weigh, | 825 |
| And spread your flying sails, and stand to sea. | |
| A god commands: he stood before my sight, | |
| And urg’d us once again to speedy flight. | |
| O sacred pow’r, what pow’r soe’er thou art, | |
| To thy blest orders I resign my heart. | 830 |
| 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: | 835 |
| 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, | 840 |
| 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, | 845 |
| 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? | 850 |
| Haste, haul my galleys out! pursue the foe! | |
| Bring flaming brands! set sail, and swiftly row! | |
| What have I said? where am I? Fury turns | |
| My brain; and my distemper’d bosom burns. | |
| Then, when I gave my person and my throne, | 855 |
| This hate, this rage, had been more timely shown. | |
| See now the promis’d faith, the vaunted name, | |
| The pious man, who, rushing thro’ the flame, | |
| Preserv’d his gods, and to the Phrygian shore | |
| The burthen of his feeble father bore! | 860 |
| I should have torn him piecemeal; strow’d in floods | |
| His scatter’d limbs, or left expos’d in woods; | |
| Destroy’d his friends and son; and, from the fire, | |
| Have set the reeking boy before the sire. | |
| Events are doubtful, which on battles wait: | 865 |
| 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, | 870 |
| 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, | 875 |
| 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, | 880 |
| His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose: | |
| Oppress’d with numbers in th’ unequal field, | |
| His men discourag’d, and himself expell’d, | |
| Let him for succor sue from place to place, | |
| Torn from his subjects, and his son’s embrace. | 885 |
| 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; | 890 |
| 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, | 895 |
| 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, | 900 |
| Rise some avenger of our Libyan blood, | |
| With fire and sword pursue the perjur’d brood; | |
| Our arms, our seas, our shores, oppos’d to theirs; | |
| And the same hate descend on all our heirs!” | |
| This said, within her anxious mind she weighs | 905 |
| The means of cutting short her odious days. | |
| Then to Sichæus’ nurse she briefly said | |
| (For, when she left her country, hers was dead): | |
| “Go, Barce, call my sister. Let her care | |
| The solemn rites of sacrifice prepare; | 910 |
| The sheep, and all th’ atoning off’rings, bring, | |
| Sprinkling her body from the crystal spring | |
| With living drops; then let her come, and thou | |
| With sacred fillets bind thy hoary brow. | |
| Thus will I pay my vows to Stygian Jove, | 915 |
| 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. | 920 |
| 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, | 925 |
| 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). | 930 |
| 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: | 935 |
| “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, | 940 |
| Pygmalion punish’d, and my lord appeas’d. | |
| What could my fortune have afforded more, | |
| Had the false Trojan never touch’d my shore!” | |
| Then kiss’d the couch; and, “Must I die,” she said, | |
| “And unreveng’d? ’T is doubly to be dead! | 945 |
| Yet ev’n this death with pleasure I receive: | |
| On any terms, ’t is better than to live. | |
| These flames, from far, may the false Trojan view; | |
| These boding omens his base flight pursue!” | |
| She said, and struck; deep enter’d in her side | 950 |
| The piercing steel, with reeking purple dyed: | |
| Clogg’d in the wound the cruel weapon stands; | |
| The spouting blood came streaming on her hands. | |
| Her sad attendants saw the deadly stroke, | |
| And with loud cries the sounding palace shook. | 955 |
| Distracted, from the fatal sight they fled, | |
| And thro’ the town the dismal rumor spread. | |
| First from the frighted court the yell began; | |
| Redoubled, thence from house to house it ran: | |
| The groans of men, with shrieks, laments, and cries | 960 |
| Of mixing women, mount the vaulted skies. | |
| Not less the clamor, than if—ancient Tyre, | |
| Or the new Carthage, set by foes on fire— | |
| The rolling ruin, with their lov’d abodes, | |
| Involv’d the blazing temples of their gods. | 965 |
| 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; | 970 |
| These fires, this fun’ral pile, these altars rear’d? | |
| Was all this train of plots contriv’d,” said she, | |
| “All only to deceive unhappy me? | |
| Which is the worst? Didst thou in death pretend | |
| To scorn thy sister, or delude thy friend? | 975 |
| 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, | 980 |
| Thy town, thy senate, and thy colony! | |
| Bring water; bathe the wound; while I in death | |
| Lay close my lips to hers, and catch the flying breath.” | |
| This said, she mounts the pile with eager haste, | |
| And in her arms the gasping queen embrac’d; | 985 |
| 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, | 990 |
| But, having found it, sicken’d at the sight, | |
| And clos’d her lids at last in endless night. | |
| Then Juno, grieving that she should sustain | |
| A death so ling’ring, and so full of pain, | |
| Sent Iris down, to free her from the strife | 995 |
| Of lab’ring nature, and dissolve her life. | |
| For since she died, not doom’d by Heav’n’s decree, | |
| Or her own crime, but human casualty, | |
| And rage of love, that plung’d her in despair, | |
| The Sisters had not cut the topmost hair, | 1000 |
| 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, | 1005 |
| 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. | |
| |
