Dryden, Aeneid, Books I and IV

	BOOK I.
	ARGUMENT.
	The Trojans, after a seven years’ voyage, set sail for Italy, but are overtaken by a dreadful storm, which Æolus raises at Juno’s request. The tempest sinks one, and scatters the rest. Neptune drives off the Winds, and calms the sea. Æneas, with his own ship, and six more, arrives safe at an African port. Venus complains to Jupiter of her son’s misfortunes. Jupiter comforts her, and sends Mercury to procure him a kind reception among the Carthaginians. Æneas, going out to discover the country, meets his mother, in the shape of a huntress, who conveys him in a cloud to Carthage, where he sees his friends whom he thought lost, and receives a kind entertainment from the queen. Dido, by a device of Venus, begins to have a passion for him, and, after some discourse with him, desires the history of his adventures since the siege of Troy, which is the subject of the two following Books.

	And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,
	Expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore.
	Long labours, both by sea and land, he bore,
5	And in the doubtful war, before he won
	The Latian realm, and built the destined town;
	His banished gods restored to rites divine,
	And settled sure succession in his line,
	From whence the race of Alban fathers come,
10	And the long glories of majestic Rome.

	O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
	What goddess was provoked, and whence her hate;
	For what offence the queen of heaven began
	To persecute so brave, so just a man;
15	Involved his anxious life in endless cares,
	Exposed to wants, and hurried into wars!
	Can heavenly minds such high resentment show,
	Or exercise their spite in human woe?

	Against the Tiber’s mouth, but far away,
20	An ancient town was seated on the sea,
	A Tyrian colony; the people made
	Stout for the war, and studious of their trade:
	Carthage the name; beloved by Juno more
	Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore.
25	Here stood her chariot; here, if heaven were kind,
	The seat of awful empire she designed.
	Yet she had heard an ancient rumour fly,
	(Long cited by the people of the sky),
	That times to come should see the Trojan race
30	Her Carthage ruin, and her towers deface;
	Nor thus confined, the yoke of sovereign sway
	Should on the necks of all the nations lay.
	She pondered this, and feared it was in fate;
	Nor could forget the war she waged of late,
35	For conquering Greece against the Trojan state.
	Besides, long causes working in her mind,
	And secret seeds of envy, lay behind:
	Deep graven in her heart, the doom remained
	Of partial Paris, and her form disdained;
40	The grace bestowed on ravished Ganymed,
	Electra’s glories, and her injured bed.
	Each was a cause alone; and all combined
	To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.
	For this, far distant from the Latian coast,
45	She drove the remnants of the Trojan host:
	And seven long years the unhappy wandering train
	Were tossed by storms, and scattered through the main.
	Such time, such toil, required the Roman name,
	Such length of labour for so vast a frame.

50	Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars,
	Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores,
	Entering with cheerful shouts the watery reign,
	And ploughing frothy furrows in the main;
	When, labouring still with endless discontent,
55	The queen of heaven did thus her fury vent:

	“Then am I vanquished? must I yield?” said she:
	“And must the Trojans reign in Italy?
	So Fate will have it; and Jove adds his force;
	Nor can my power divert their happy course.
60	Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen,
	The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?
	She, for the fault of one offending foe,
	The bolts of Jove himself presumed to throw:
	With whirlwinds from beneath she tossed the ship,
65	And bare exposed the bosom of the deep:
	Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game,
	The wretch, yet hissing with her father’s flame,
	She strongly seized, and with a burning wound
	Transfixed, and, naked, on a rock she bound.
70	But I, who walk in awful state above,
	The majesty of heaven, the sister wife of Jove,
	For length of years my fruitless force employ
	Against the thin remains of ruined Troy!
	What nations now to Juno’s power will pray,
75	Or offerings on my slighted altars lay?”

	Thus raged the goddess; and, with fury fraught,
	The restless regions of the storms she sought,
	Where, in a spacious cave of living stone,
	The tyrant Æolus, from his airy throne,
80	With power imperial curbs the struggling winds,
	And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds.
	This way, and that, the impatient captives tend,
	And, pressing for release, the mountains rend.
	High in his hall the undaunted monarch stands,
85	And shakes his sceptre, and their rage commands;
	Which did he not, their unresisted sway
	Would sweep the world before them in their way;
	Earth, air, and seas, through empty space would roll,
	And heaven would fly before the driving soul.
90	In fear of this, the Father of the Gods
	Confined their fury to those dark abodes,
	And locked them safe within, oppressed with mountain loads;
	Imposed a king, with arbitrary sway,
	To loose their fetters, or their force allay;
95	To whom the suppliant queen her prayers addressed,
	And thus the tenor of her suit expressed: —
	“O Æolus! for to thee the king of heaven
	The power of tempests and of winds has given;
	Thy force alone their fury can restrain,
100	And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main —
	A race of wandering slaves, abhorred by me,
	With prosperous passage cut the Tuscan sea:
	To fruitful Italy their course they steer,
	And, for their vanquished gods, design new temples there.
105	Raise all thy winds; with night involve the skies;
	Sink or disperse my fatal enemies.
	Twice seven, the charming daughters of the main,
	Around my person wait, and bear my train:
	Succeed my wish, and second my design,
110	The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine,
	And make thee father of a happy line.”

	To this the god: — “’Tis yours, O queen! to will
	The work, which duty binds me to fulfil.
	These airy kingdoms, and this wide command,
115	Are all the presents of your bounteous hand:
	Yours is my sovereign’s grace; and, as your guest,
	I sit with gods at their celestial feast.
	Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue;
	Dispose of empire, which I hold from you.”

120	He said, and hurled against the mountain-side
	His quivering spear, and all the god applied.
	The raging winds rush through the hollow wound,
	And dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground;
	Then, settling on the sea, the surges sweep,
125	Raise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep.
	South, East, and West, with mixed confusion roar,
	And roll the foaming billows to the shore.
	The cables crack; the sailors’ fearful cries
	Ascend; and sable night involves the skies;
130	And heaven itself is ravished from their eyes.
	Loud peals of thunder from the poles ensue;
	Then flashing fires the transient light renew;
	The face of things a frightful image bears;
	And present death in various forms appears.
135	Struck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief,
	With lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief;
	And “Thrice and four times happy those,” he cried,
	“That under Ilian walls, before their parents, died!
	Tydides, bravest of the Grecian train!
140	Why could not I by that strong arm be slain,
	And lie by noble Hector on the plain,
	Or great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields,
	Where Simoïs rolls the bodies and the shields
	Of heroes, whose dismembered hands yet bear
145	The dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!”p>
	Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails,
	Fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails,
	And rent the sheets: the raging billows rise,
	And mount the tossing vessel to the skies:
150	Nor can the shivering oars sustain the blow;
	The galley gives her side, and turns her prow;
	While those astern, descending down the steep,
	Through gaping waves behold the boiling deep.
	Three ships were hurried by the Southern blast,
155	And on the secret shelves with fury cast.
	Those hidden rocks the Ausonian sailors knew:
	They called them Altars, when they rose in view,
	And showed their spacious backs above the flood.
	Three more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood,
160	Dashed on the shallows of the moving sand,
	And in mid ocean left them moored a-land.
	Orontes’ bark, that bore the Lycian crew,
	(A horrid sight!) even in the hero’s view,
	From stem to stern by waves was overborne:
165	The trembling pilot, from his rudder torn,
	Was headlong hurled: thrice round the ship was tossed,
	Then bulged at once, and in the deep was lost;
	And here and there above the waves were seen
	Arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men.
170	The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way,
	And sucked, through loosened planks, the rushing sea.
	Ilioneus was her chief: Aletes old,
	Achates faithful, Abas young and bold,
	Endured not less: their ships, with gaping seams,
175	Admit the deluge of the briny streams.

	Mean time imperial Neptune heard the sound
	Of raging billows breaking on the ground.
	Displeased, and fearing for his watery reign,
	He reared his awful head above the main,
180	Serene in majesty; then rolled his eyes
	Around the space of earth, and seas, and skies.
	He saw the Trojan fleet dispersed, distressed,
	By stormy winds and wintry heaven oppressed.
	Full well the god his sister’s envy knew,
185	And what her aims and what her arts pursue.
	He summoned Eurus and the Western blast,
	And first an angry glance on both he cast,
	Then thus rebuked — “Audacious winds! from whence
	This bold attempt, this rebel insolence?
190	Is it for you to ravage seas and land,
	Unauthorised by my supreme command?
	To raise such mountains on the troubled main?
	Whom I — but first ’tis fit the billows to restrain;
	And then you shall be taught obedience to my reign.
195	Hence! to your lord my royal mandate bear —
	The realms of ocean and the fields of air
	Are mine, not his. By fatal lot to me
	The liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea.
	His power to hollow caverns is confined:
200	There let him reign, the jailor of the wind,
	With hoarse commands his breathing subjects call,
	And boast and bluster in his empty hall.”
	He spoke — and, while he spoke, he smoothed the sea,
	Dispelled the darkness, and restored the day.
205	Cymothoë, Triton, and the sea-green train
	Of beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main,
	Clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands:
	The god himself with ready trident stands,
	And opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands;
210	Then heaves them off the shoals. — Where’er he guides
	His finny coursers, and in triumph rides,
	The waves unruffle, and the sea subsides.
	As, when in tumults rise the ignoble crowd,
	Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud;
215	And stones and brands in rattling volleys fly,
	And all the rustic arms that fury can supply:
	If then some grave and pious man appear,
	They hush their noise, and lend a listening ear:
	He soothes with sober words their angry mood,
220	And quenches their innate desire of blood:
	So, when the father of the flood appears,
	And o’er the seas his sovereign trident rears,
	Their fury falls: he skims the liquid plains,
	High on his chariot, and, with loosened reins,
225	Majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains.
	The weary Trojans ply their shattered oars
	To nearest land, and make the Libyan shores.

	Within a long recess there lies a bay:
	An island shades it from the rolling sea,
230	And forms a port secure for ships to ride:
	Broke by the jutting land, on either side,
	In double streams the briny waters glide,
	Betwixt two rows of rocks: a sylvan scene
	Appears above, and groves for ever green:
235	A grot is formed beneath, with mossy seats,
	To rest the Nereïds, and exclude the heats.
	Down through the crannies of the living walls,
	The crystal streams descend in murmuring falls.
	No hawsers need to bind the vessels here,
240	Nor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear.
	Seven ships within this happy harbour meet,
	The thin remainders of the scattered fleet.
	The Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes,
	Leap on the welcome land, and seek their wished repose.

245	First, good Achates, with repeated strokes
	Of clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes:
	Short flame succeeds: a bed of withered leaves
	The dying sparkles in their fall receives:
	Caught into life, in smoking fumes they rise,
250	And, fed with stronger food, invade the skies.
	The Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around
	The cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground.
	Some dry their corn, infected with the brine,
	Then grind with marbles, and prepare to dine.
255	Æneas climbs the mountain’s airy brow,
	And takes a prospect of the seas below,
	If Capys thence, or Antheus, he could spy,
	Or see the streamers of Caïcus fly.
	No vessels were in view: but, on the plain,
260	Three beamy stags command a lordly train
	Of branching heads: the more ignoble throng
	Attend their stately steps, and slowly graze along.
	He stood; and, while secure they fed below,
	He took the quiver and the trusty bow
265	Achates used to bear: the leaders first
	He laid along, and then the vulgar pierced:
	Nor ceased his arrows, till the shady plain
	Seven mighty bodies with their blood distain.
	For the seven ships he made an equal share,
270	And to the port returned, triumphant from the war.
	The jars of generous wine (Acestes’ gift,
	When his Trinacrian shores the navy left)
	He set abroach, and for the feast prepared,
	In equal portions with the venison shared.
275	Thus, while he dealt it round, the pious chief,
	With cheerful words, allayed the common grief: —
	“Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose,
	To future good, our past and present woes.
	With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;
280	The inhuman Cyclops, and his den defied.
	What greater ills hereafter can you bear?
	Resume your courage, and dismiss your care.
	An hour will come, with pleasure to relate
	Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.
285	Through various hazards and events, we move
	To Latium, and the realms foredoomed by Jove.
	Called to the seat (the promise of the skies)
	Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise,
	Endure the hardships of your present state;
290	Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate.”

	These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart;
	His outward smiles concealed his inward smart.
	The jolly crew, unmindful of the past,
	The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste.
295	Some strip the skin; some portion out the spoil;
	The limbs, yet trembling, in the cauldrons boil;
	Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil.
	Stretched on the grassy turf, at ease they dine,
	Restore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with wine.
300	Their hunger thus appeased, their care attends
	The doubtful fortune of their absent friends:
	Alternate hopes and fears their minds possess,
	Whether to deem them dead, or in distress.
	Above the rest, Æneas mourns the fate
305	Of brave Orontes, and the uncertain state
	Of Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus. —
	The day, but not their sorrows, ended thus;
	When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys
	Earth, air, and shores, and navigable seas:
310	At length on Libyan realms he fixed his eyes —
	Whom, pondering thus on human miseries,
	When Venus saw, she with a lowly look,
	Not free from tears, her heavenly sire bespoke: —
	“O king of gods and men! whose awful hand
315	Disperses thunder on the seas and land;
	Disposes all with absolute command;
	How could my pious son thy power incense?
	Or what, alas! is vanished Troy’s offence?
	Our hope of Italy not only lost,
320	On various seas by various tempests tossed,
	But shut from every shore, and barred from every coast.
	You promised once, a progeny divine,
	Of Romans, rising from the Trojan line,
	In after-times should hold the world in awe,
325	And to the land and ocean give the law.
	How is your doom reversed, which eased my care
	When Troy was ruined in that cruel war?
	Then fates to fates I could oppose: but now,
	When Fortune still pursues her former blow,
330	What can I hope? What worse can still succeed?
	What end of labours has your will decreed?
	Antenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts,
	Could pass secure, and pierce the Illyrian coasts,
	Where, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves,
335	And through nine channels disembogues his waves.
	At length he founded Padua’s happy seat,
	And gave his Trojans a secure retreat;
	There fixed their arms, and there renewed their name,
	And there in quiet rules, and crowned with fame.
340	But we, descended from your sacred line,
	Entitled to your heaven and rites divine,
	Are banished earth, and, for the wrath of one,
	Removed from Latium, and the promised throne.
	Are these our sceptres? these our due rewards?
345	And is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards?”p>
	To whom the Father of the immortal race,
	Smiling with that serene indulgent face,
	With which he drives the clouds and clears the skies,
	First gave a holy kiss; then thus replies: —
350	“Daughter, dismiss thy fears: to thy desire,
	The fates of thine are fixed, and stand entire.
	Thou shalt behold thy wished Lavinian walls;
	And, ripe for heaven, when fate Æneas calls,
	Then shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me:
355	No councils have reversed my firm decree.
	And, lest new fears disturb thy happy state,
	Know, I have searched the mystic rolls of Fate:
	Thy son (nor is the appointed season far)
	In Italy shall wage successful war,
360	Shall tame fierce nations in the bloody field,
	And sovereign laws impose, and cities build,
	Till, after every foe subdued, the sun
	Thrice through the signs his annual race shall run:
	This is his time prefixed. Ascanius then,
365	Now called Iülus, shall begin his reign.
	He thirty rolling years the crown shall wear,
	Then from Lavinium shall the seat transfer,
	And, with hard labour, Alba-longa build.
	The throne with his succession shall be filled,
370	Three hundred circuits more: then shall be seen
	Ilia the fair, a priestess and a queen,
	Who, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes,
	Shall at a birth two goodly boys disclose.
	The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain:
375	Then Romulus his grandsire’s throne shall gain,
	Of martial towers the founder shall become,
	The people Romans call, the city Rome.
	To them no bounds of empire I assign,
	Nor term of years to their immortal line.
380	Even haughty Juno, who, with endless broils,
	Earth, seas, and heaven, and Jove himself, turmoils,
	At length atoned, her friendly power shall join,
	To cherish and advance the Trojan line.
	The subject world shall Rome’s dominion own,
385	And, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown.
	An age is ripening in revolving fate,
	When Troy shall overturn the Grecian state,
	And sweet revenge her conquering sons shall call,
	To crush the people that conspired her fall.
390	Then Cæsar from the Julian stock shall rise,
	Whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies,
	Alone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils,
	Our heaven, the just reward of human toils,
	Securely shall repay with rites divine;
395	And incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine.
	Then dire debate, and impious war, shall cease,
	And the stern age be softened into peace:
	Then banished Faith shall once again return,
	And Vestal fires in hallowed temples burn;
400	And Remus with Quirinus shall sustain
	The righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain.
	Janus himself before his fane shall wait,
	And keep the dreadful issues of his gate,
	With bolts and iron bars: within remains
405	Imprisoned Fury, bound in brazen chains:
	High on a trophy raised, of useless arms,
	He sits, and threats the world with vain alarms.”

	He said, and sent Cyllenius with command
	To free the ports, and ope the Punic land
410	To Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate,
	The queen might force them from her town and state.
	Down from the steep of heaven Cyllenius flies,
	And cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies.
	Soon on the Libyan shore descends the god,
415	Performs his message, and displays his rod.
	The surly murmurs of the people cease;
	And, as the Fates required, they give the peace.
	The queen herself suspends the rigid laws,
	The Trojans pities, and protects their cause.

420	Mean time, in shades of night Æneas lies:
	Care seized his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes.
	But, when the sun restored the cheerful day,
	He rose, the coast and country to survey,
	Anxious and eager to discover more. —
425	It looked a wild uncultivated shore:
	But, whether humankind, or beasts alone,
	Possessed the new-found region, was unknown.
	Beneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides:
	Tall trees surround the mountain’s shady sides:
430	The bending brow above a safe retreat provides.
	Armed with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends,
	And true Achates on his steps attends.
	Lo! in the deep recesses of the wood,
	Before his eyes his goddess mother stood —
435	A huntress in her habit and her mien:
	Her dress a maid, her air confessed a queen.
	Bare were her knees, and knots her garments bind;
	Loose was her hair, and wantoned in the wind;
	Her hand sustained a bow; her quiver hung behind.
440	She seemed a virgin of the Spartan blood:
	With such array Harpalyce bestrode
	Her Thracian courser, and outstripped the rapid flood.
	“Ho! strangers! have you lately seen,” she said,
	“One of my sisters, like myself arrayed,
445	Who crossed the lawn, or in the forest strayed?
	A painted quiver at her back she bore;
	Varied with spots, a lynx’s hide she wore;
	And at full cry pursued the tusky boar.”

	Thus Venus: thus her son replied again: —
450	“None of your sisters have we heard or seen,
	O virgin! or what other name you bear
	Above that style: — O more than mortal fair!
	Your voice and mien celestial birth betray!
	If, as you seem, the sister of the day,
455	Or one at least of chaste Diana’s train,
	Let not an humble suppliant sue in vain;
	But tell a stranger, long in tempests tossed,
	What earth we tread, and who commands the coast?
	Then on your name shall wretched mortals call,
460	And offered victims at your altars fall.” —
	“I dare not,” she replied, “assume the name
	Of goddess, or celestial honours claim:
	For Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear,
	And purple buskins o’er their ankles wear.
465	Know, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are —
	A people rude in peace, and rough in war.
	The rising city, which from far you see,
	Is Carthage, and a Tyrian colony.
	Phoenician Dido rules the growing state,
470	Who fled from Tyre, to shun her brother’s hate.
	Great were her wrongs, her story full of fate;
	Which I will sum in short. Sichæus, known
	For wealth, and brother to the Punic throne,
	Possessed fair Dido’s bed; and either heart
475	At once was wounded with an equal dart.
	Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid;
	Pygmalion then the Tyrian sceptre swayed —
	One who contemned divine and human laws.
	Then strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause.
480	The monarch, blinded with desire of wealth,
	With steel invades his brother’s life by stealth;
	Before the sacred altar made him bleed,
	And long from her concealed the cruel deed.
	Some tale, some new pretence, he daily coined,
485	To soothe his sister, and delude her mind.
	At length, in dead of night, the ghost appears
	Of her unhappy lord: the spectre stares,
	And, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares.
	The cruel altars, and his fate, he tells,
490	And the dire secret of his house reveals,
	Then warns the widow, with her household gods,
	To seek a refuge in remote abodes.
	Last, to support her in so long a way,
	He shows her where his hidden treasure lay.
495	Admonished thus, and seized with mortal fright,
	The queen provides companions of her flight:
	They meet, and all combine to leave the state,
	Who hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate.
	They seize a fleet, which ready rigged they find;
500	Nor is Pygmalion’s treasure left behind.
	The vessels, heavy laden, put to sea
	With prosperous winds; a woman leads the way.
	I know not, if by stress of weather driven,
	Or was their fatal course disposed by heaven;
505	At last they landed, where from far your eyes
	May view the turrets of new Carthage rise;
	There bought a space of ground, which (Byrsa called,
	From the bull’s hide) they first inclosed, and walled.
	But whence are you? what country claims your birth?
510	What seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?”p>
	To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes,
	And deeply sighing, thus her son replies: —
	“Could you with patience hear, or I relate,
	O nymph! the tedious annals of our fate,
515	Through such a train of woes if I should run,
	The day would sooner than the tale be done.
	From ancient Troy, by force expelled, we came —
	If you by chance have heard the Trojan name.
	On various seas by various tempests tossed,
520	At length we landed on your Libyan coast.
	The good Æneas am I called — a name,
	While Fortune favoured, not unknown to fame.
	My household gods, companions of my woes,
	With pious care I rescued from our foes.
525	To fruitful Italy my course was bent;
	And from the king of heaven is my descent.
	With twice ten sail I crossed the Phrygian sea;
	Fate and my mother goddess led my way.
	Scarce seven, the thin remainders of my fleet,
530	From storms preserved, within your harbour meet.
	Myself distressed, an exile, and unknown,
	Debarred from Europe, and from Asia thrown,
	In Libyan deserts wander thus alone.”

	His tender parent could no longer bear,
535	But, interposing, sought to soothe his care.
	“Whoe’er you are — not unbeloved by heaven,
	Since on our friendly shore your ships are driven —
	Have courage: to the gods permit the rest,
	And to the queen expose your just request.
540	Now take this earnest of success, for more:
	Your scattered fleet is joined upon the shore;
	The winds are changed, your friends from danger free;
	Or I renounce my skill in augury.
	Twelve swans behold in beauteous order move,
545	And stoop with closing pinions from above;
	Whom late the bird of Jove had driven along,
	And through the clouds pursued the scattering throng:
	Now, all united in a goodly team,
	They skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream.
550	As they, with joy returning, clap their wings,
	And ride the circuit of the skies in rings;
	Not otherwise your ships, and every friend,
	Already hold the port, or with swift sails descend.
	No more advice is needful; but pursue
555	The path before you, and the town in view.”

	Thus having said, she turned, and made appear
	Her neck refulgent, and dishevelled hair,
	Which, flowing from her shoulders, reached the ground,
	And widely spread ambrosial scents around.
560	In length of train descends her sweeping gown;
	And, by her graceful walk, the queen of love is known.
	The prince pursued the parting deity
	With words like these: — “Ah! whither do you fly?
	Unkind and cruel! to deceive your son
565	In borrowed shapes, and his embrace to shun;
	Never to bless my sight, but thus unknown;
	And still to speak in accents not your own.”
	Against the goddess these complaints he made,
	But took the path, and her commands obeyed.
570	They march obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds,
	With mists, their persons, and involves in clouds,
	That, thus unseen, their passage none might stay,
	Or force to tell the causes of their way.
	This part performed, the goddess flies sublime,
575	To visit Paphos, and her native clime;
	Where garlands, ever green and ever fair,
	With vows are offered, and with solemn prayer:
	A hundred altars in her temple smoke;
	A thousand bleeding hearts her power invoke.

580	They climb the next ascent, and, looking down,
	Now at a nearer distance view the town.
	The prince with wonder sees the stately towers,
	(Which late were huts, and shepherds’ homely bowers,
	The gates and streets; and hears, from every part,
585	The noise and busy concourse of the mart.
	The toiling Tyrians on each other call,
	To ply their labour: some extend the wall;
	Some build the citadel; the brawny throng
	Or dig, or push unwieldy stones along.
590	Some for their dwellings choose a spot of ground,
	Which, first designed, with ditches they surround.
	Some laws ordain; and some attend the choice
	Of holy senates, and elect by voice.
	Here some design a mole, while others there
595	Lay deep foundations for a theatre,
	From marble quarries mighty columns hew,
	For ornaments of scenes, and future view.
	Such is their toil, and such their busy pains,
	As exercise the bees in flowery plains,
600	When winter past, and summer scarce begun,
	Invites them forth to labour in the sun;
	Some lead their youth abroad, while some condense
	Their liquid store, and some in cells dispense;
	Some at the gate stand ready to receive
605	The golden burden, and their friends relieve;
	All, with united force, combine to drive
	The lazy drones from the laborious hive.
	With envy stung, they view each other’s deeds;
	The fragrant work with diligence proceeds.
610	“Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!”
	Æneas said, and viewed, with lifted eyes,
	Their lofty towers: then entering at the gate,
	Concealed in clouds (prodigious to relate),
	He mixed, unmarked, among the busy throng,
615	Borne by the tide, and passed unseen along.
	Full in the centre of the town there stood,
	Thick set with trees, a venerable wood:
	The Tyrians, landing near this holy ground,
	And digging here, a prosperous omen found:
620	From under earth a courser’s head they drew,
	Their growth and future fortune to foreshew:
	This fated sign their foundress Juno gave,
	Of a soil fruitful, and a people brave.
	Sidonian Dido here with solemn state
625	Did Juno’s temple build, and consecrate,
	Enriched with gifts, and with a golden shrine;
	But more the goddess made the place divine.
	On brazen steps the marble threshold rose,
	And brazen plates the cedar beams inclose:
630	The rafters are with brazen coverings crowned;
	The lofty doors on brazen hinges sound.
	What first Æneas in this place beheld,
	Revived his courage, and his fear expelled.
	For — while, expecting there the queen, he raised
635	His wondering eyes, and round the temple gazed,
	Admired the fortune of the rising town,
	The striving artists, and their art’s renown —
	He saw, in order painted on the wall,
	Whatever did unhappy Troy befall —
640	The wars that fame around the world had blown,
	All to the life, and every leader known.
	There Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies,
	And fierce Achilles, who both kings defies.
	He stopped, and weeping said, — “O friend! even here
645	The monuments of Trojan woes appear!
	Our known disasters fill even foreign lands:
	See there, where old unhappy Priam stands!
	Even the mute walls relate the warrior’s fame,
	And Trojan griefs the Tyrians’ pity claim.”
650	He said (his tears a ready passage find),
	Devouring what he saw so well designed,
	And with an empty picture fed his mind:
	For there he saw the fainting Grecians yield,
	And here the trembling Trojans quit the field,
655	Pursued by fierce Achilles through the plain,
	On his high chariot driving o’er the slain.
	The tents of Rhesus next his grief renew,
	By their white sails betrayed to nightly view;
	And wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword
660	The sentries slew, nor spared their slumbering lord,
	Then took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food
	Of Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood.
	Elsewhere he saw where Troilus defied
	Achilles, and unequal combat tried;
665	Then, where the boy disarmed, with loosened reins,
	Was by his horses hurried o’er the plains,
	Hung by the neck and hair; and, dragged around,
	The hostile spear yet sticking in his wound,
	With tracks of blood inscribed the dusty ground.
670	Meantime the Trojan dames, oppressed with woe,
	To Pallas’ fane in long procession go,
	In hopes to reconcile their heavenly foe.
	They weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair,
	And rich embroidered vests for presents bear;
675	But the stern goddess stands unmoved with prayer.
	Thrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew
	The corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew.
	Here Priam sues; and there, for sums of gold,
	The lifeless body of his son is sold.
680	So sad an object, and so well expressed,
	Drew sighs and groans from the grieved hero’s breast,
	To see the figure of his lifeless friend,
	And his old sire his helpless hands extend.
	Himself he saw amidst the Grecian train,
685	Mixed in the bloody battle on the plain;
	And swarthy Memnon in his arms he knew,
	His pompous ensigns, and his Indian crew.
	Penthesilea there, with haughty grace,
	Leads to the wars an Amazonian race:
690	In their right hands a pointed dart they wield;
	The left, for ward, sustains the lunar shield.
	Athwart her breast a golden belt she throws,
	Amidst the press alone provokes a thousand foes,
	And dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose.

695	Thus while the Trojan prince employs his eyes,
	Fixed on the walls with wonder and surprise,
	The beauteous Dido, with a numerous train,
	And pomp of guards, ascends the sacred fane.
	Such on Eurotas’ banks, or Cynthus’ height,
700	Diana seems; and so she charms the sight,
	When in the dance the graceful goddess leads
	The choir of nymphs, and overtops their heads.
	Known by her quiver, and her lofty mien,
	She walks majestic, and she looks their queen:
705	Latona sees her shine above the rest,
	And feeds with secret joy her silent breast.
	Such Dido was; with such becoming state,
	Amidst the crowd, she walks serenely great.
	Their labour to her future sway she speeds,
710	And passing with a gracious glance proceeds,
	Then mounts the throne, high placed before the shrine;
	In crowds around, the swarming people join.
	She takes petitions, and dispenses laws,
	Hears and determines every private cause:
715	Their tasks in equal portions she divides,
	And, where unequal, there by lot decides.
	Another way by chance Æneas bends
	His eyes, and unexpected sees his friends,
	Antheus, Sergestus grave, Cloanthus strong,
720	And at their backs a mighty Trojan throng,
	Whom late the tempest on the billows tossed,
	And widely scattered on another coast.
	The prince, unseen, surprised with wonder stands,
	And longs, with joyful haste, to join their hands:
725	But, doubtful of the wished event, he stays,
	And from the hollow cloud his friends surveys,
	Impatient till they told their present state,
	And where they left their ships, and what their fate,
	And why they came, and what was their request;
730	For these were sent commissioned by the rest,
	To sue for leave to land their sickly men,
	And gain admission to the gracious queen.
	Entering, with cries they filled the holy fane;
	Then thus, with lowly voice, Ilioneus began: —
735	“O queen! indulged by favour of the gods
	To found an empire in these new abodes,
	To build a town, with statutes to restrain
	The wild inhabitants beneath thy reign —
	We wretched Trojans, tossed on every shore,
740	From sea to sea, thy clemency implore.
	Forbid the fires our shipping to deface!
	Receive the unhappy fugitives to grace,
	And spare the remnant of a pious race!
	We come not with design of wasteful prey,
745	To drive the country, force the swains away:
	Nor such our strength, nor such is our desire;
	The vanquished dare not to such thoughts aspire.
	A land there is, Hesperia named of old —
	The soil is fruitful, and the men are bold —
750	The Oenotrians held it once — by common fame,
	Now called Italia, from the leader’s name.
	To that sweet region was our voyage bent,
	When winds, and every warring element,
	Disturbed our course, and, far from sight of land,
755	Cast our torn vessels on the moving sand:
	The sea came on; the South, with mighty roar,
	Dispersed and dashed the rest upon the rocky shore.
	Those few you see escaped the storm, and fear,
	Unless you interpose, a shipwreck here.
760	What men, what monsters, what inhuman race,
	What laws, what barbarous customs of the place,
	Shut up a desert shore to drowning men,
	And drive us to the cruel seas again?
	If our hard fortune no compassion draws,
765	Nor hospitable rights, nor human laws,
	The gods are just, and will revenge our cause.
	Æneas was our prince — a juster lord,
	Or nobler warrior, never drew a sword —
	Observant of the right, religious of his word.
770	If yet he lives, and draws this vital air,
	Nor we, his friends, of safety shall despair,
	Nor you, great queen, these offices repent,
	Which he will equal, and perhaps prevent.
	We want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts,
775	Where king Acestes Trojan lineage boasts.
	Permit our ships a shelter on your shores,
	Refitted from your woods with planks and oars,
	That, if our prince be safe, we may renew
	Our destined course, and Italy pursue.
780	But if, O best of men! the Fates ordain,
	That thou art swallowed in the Libyan main,
	And if our young Iülus be no more,
	Dismiss our navy from your friendly shore,
	That we to good Acestes may return,
785	And with our friends our common losses mourn.”
	Thus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew
	With cries and clamours his request renew.
	The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes,
	Pondered the speech, then briefly thus replies: —
790	“Trojans! dismiss your fears; my cruel fate,
	And doubts attending an unsettled state,
	Force me to guard my coast from foreign foes.
	Who has not heard the story of your woes,
	The name and fortune of your native place,
795	The fame and valour of the Phrygian race?
	We Tyrians are not so devoid of sense,
	Nor so remote from Phoebus’ influence.
	Whether to Latian shores your course is bent,
	Or, driven by tempests from your first intent,
800	You seek the good Acestes’ government,
	Your men shall be received, your fleet repaired,
	And sail, with ships of convoy for your guard:
	Or, would you stay, and join your friendly powers
	To raise and to defend the Tyrian towers,
805	My wealth, my city, and myself, are yours.
	And would to heaven, the storm, you felt, would bring
	On Carthaginian coasts your wandering king.
	My people shall, by my command, explore
	The ports and creeks of every winding shore,
810	And towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest
	Of so renowned and so desired a guest.”

	Raised in his mind the Trojan hero stood,
	And longed to break from out his ambient cloud;
	Achates found it, and thus urged his way: —
815	“From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay?
	What more can you desire, your welcome sure,
	Your fleet in safety, and your friend secure?
	One only wants; and him we saw in vain
	Oppose the storm, and swallowed in the main.
820	Orontes in his fate our forfeit paid;
	The rest agrees with what your mother said.”
	Scarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way,
	The mists flew upward, and dissolved in day.
	The Trojan chief appeared in open sight,
825	August in visage, and serenely bright.
	His mother goddess, with her hands divine,
	Had formed his curling locks, and made his temples shine,
	And given his rolling eyes a sparkling grace,
	And breathed a youthful vigour on his face;
830	Like polished ivory, beauteous to behold,
	Or Parian marble, when enchased in gold;
	Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke,
	And thus with manly modesty he spoke: —
	“He whom you seek am I; by tempests tossed,
835	And saved from shipwreck on your Libyan coast;
	Presenting, gracious queen, before your throne,
	A prince that owes his life to you alone.
	Fair majesty! the refuge and redress
	Of those whom Fate pursues, and wants oppress!
840	You, who your pious offices employ
	To save the reliques of abandoned Troy;
	Receive the shipwrecked on your friendly shore,
	With hospitable rites relieve the poor;
	Associate in your town a wandering train,
845	And strangers in your palace entertain.
	What thanks can wretched fugitives return,
	Who, scattered through the world, in exile mourn?
	The gods, (if gods to goodness are inclined —
	If acts of mercy touch their heavenly mind),
850	And, more than all the gods, your generous heart,
	Conscious of worth, requite its own desert!
	In you this age is happy, and this earth,
	And parents more than mortal gave you birth.
	While rolling rivers into seas shall run,
855	And round the space of heaven the radiant sun;
	While trees the mountain-tops with shades supply,
	Your honour, name, and praise, shall never die.
	Whate’er abode my fortune has assigned,
	Your image shall be present in my mind.”
860	Thus having said, he turned with pious haste,
	And joyful his expecting friends embraced:
	With his right hand Ilioneus was graced,
	Serestus with his left; then to his breast
	Cloanthus and the noble Gyas pressed;
865	And so by turns descended to the rest.

	The Tyrian queen stood fixed upon his face,
	Pleased with his motions, ravished with his grace;
	Admired his fortunes, more admired the man;
	Then recollected stood, and thus began: —
870	“What fate, O goddess-born! what angry powers
	Have cast you shipwrecked on our barren shores?
	Are you the great Æneas, known to fame,
	Who from celestial seed your lineage claim?
	The same Æneas, whom fair Venus bore
875	To famed Anchises on the Idæan shore?
	It calls into my mind, though then a child,
	When Teucer came, from Salamis exiled,
	And sought my father’s aid, to be restored:
	My father Belus then with fire and sword
880	Invaded Cyprus, made the region bare,
	And, conquering, finished the successful war.
	From him the Trojan siege I understood,
	The Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood.
	Your foe himself the Dardan valour praised,
885	And his own ancestry from Trojans raised.
	Enter, my noble guest! and you shall find,
	If not a costly welcome, yet a kind:
	For I myself, like you, have been distressed,
	Till heaven afforded me this place of rest.
890	Like you, an alien in a land unknown,
	I learn to pity woes so like my own.”
	She said, and to the palace led her guest,
	Then offered incense, and proclaimed a feast.
	Nor yet less careful for her absent friends,
895	Twice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends;
	Besides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs,
	With bleating cries, attend their milky dams;
	And jars of generous wine, and spacious bowls,
	She gives, to cheer the sailors’ drooping souls.
900	Now purple hangings clothe the palace walls,
	And sumptuous feasts are made in splendid halls:
	On Tyrian carpets, richly wrought, they dine;
	With loads of massy plate the side-boards shine,
	And antique vases, all of gold embossed,
905	(The gold itself inferior to the cost
	Of curious work), where on the sides were seen
	The fights and figures of illustrious men,
	From their first founder to the present queen.

	The good Æneas, whose paternal care
910	Iülus’ absence could no longer bear,
	Dispatched Achates to the ships in haste,
	To give a glad relation of the past,
	And, fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy,
	Snatched from the ruins of unhappy Troy —
915	A robe of tissue, stiff with golden wire;
	An upper vest, once Helen’s rich attire,
	From Argos by the famed adultress brought,
	With golden flowers and winding foliage wrought —
	Her mother Leda’s present, when she came
920	To ruin Troy, and set the world on flame;
	The sceptre Priam’s eldest daughter bore,
	Her orient necklace, and the crown she wore
	Of double texture, glorious to behold;
	One order set with gems, and one with gold.
925	Instructed thus, the wise Achates goes,
	And, in his diligence, his duty shows.

	But Venus, anxious for her son’s affairs,
	New counsels tries, and new designs prepares:
	That Cupid should assume the shape and face
930	Of sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace;
	Should bring the presents, in her nephew’s stead,
	And in Eliza’s veins the gentle poison shed:
	For much she feared the Tyrians, double-tongued,
	And knew the town to Juno’s care belonged.
935	These thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke,
	And thus, alarmed, to winged Love she spoke: —
	“My son, my strength, whose mighty power alone
	Controls the Thunderer on his awful throne,
	To thee thy much-afflicted mother flies,
940	And on thy succour and thy faith relies.
	Thou know’st, my son, how Jove’s revengeful wife,
	By force and fraud, attempts thy brother’s life;
	And often hast thou mourned with me his pains.
	Him Dido now with blandishment detains;
945	But I suspect the town where Juno reigns.
	For this, ’tis needful to prevent her art,
	And fire with love the proud Phoenician’s heart —
	A love so violent, so strong, so sure,
	That neither age can change, nor art can cure.
950	How this may be performed, now take my mind:
	Ascanius, by his father is designed
	To come, with presents laden, from the port,
	To gratify the queen, and gain the court.
	I mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep,
955	And, ravished, in Idalian bowers to keep,
	Or high Cythera, that the sweet deceit
	May pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat.
	Take thou his form and shape. I beg the grace,
	But only for a night’s revolving space,
960	Thyself a boy, assume a boy’s dissembled face;
	That when, amidst the fervour of the feast,
	The Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast,
	And with sweet kisses in her arms constrains,
	Thou may’st infuse thy venom in her veins.”
965	The god of love obeys, and sets aside
	His bow and quiver, and his plumy pride;
	He walks Iülus in his mother’s sight,
	And in the sweet resemblance takes delight.

	The goddess then to young Ascanius flies,
970	And in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes:
	Lulled in her lap, amidst a train of Loves,
	She gently bears him to her blissful groves,
	Then with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head,
	And softly lays him on a flowery bed.
975	Cupid meantime assumed his form and face,
	Following Achates with a shorter pace,
	And brought the gifts. The queen already sate
	Amidst the Trojan lords, in shining state,
	High on a golden bed: her princely guest
980	Was next her side; in order sate the rest.
	Then canisters with bread are heaped on high;
	The attendants water for their hands supply,
	And, having washed, with silken towels dry.
	Next fifty handmaids in long order bore
985	The censers, and with fumes the gods adore:
	Then youths and virgins, twice as many, join
	To place the dishes, and to serve the wine.
	The Tyrian train, admitted to the feast,
	Approach, and on the painted couches rest.
990	All on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze,
	But view the beauteous boy with more amaze,
	His rosy-coloured cheeks, his radiant eyes,
	His motions, voice, and shape, and all the god’s disguise;
	Nor pass unpraised the vest and veil divine,
995	Which wandering foliage and rich flowers entwine.
	But, far above the rest, the royal dame,
	(Already doomed to love’s disastrous flame),
	With eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy,
	Beholds the presents, and admires the boy.
1000	The guileful god, about the hero long,
	With children’s play, and false embraces, hung;
	Then sought the queen: she took him to her arms
	With greedy pleasure, and devoured his charms.
	Unhappy Dido little thought what guest,
1005	How dire a god, she drew so near her breast,
	But he, not mindless of his mother’s prayer,
	Works in the pliant bosom of the fair,
	And moulds her heart anew, and blots her former care.
	The dead is to the living love resigned;
1010	And all Æneas enters in her mind.

	Now, when the rage of hunger was appeased,
	The meat removed, and every guest was pleased,
	The golden bowls with sparkling wine are crowned,
	And through the palace cheerful cries resound.
1015	From gilded roofs depending lamps display
	Nocturnal beams, that emulate the day.
	A golden bowl, that shone with gems divine,
	The queen commanded to be crowned with wine —
	The bowl that Belus used, and all the Tyrian line.
1020	Then, silence through the hall proclaimed, she spoke: —
	“O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke,
	With solemn rites, thy sacred name and power;
	Bless to both nations this auspicious hour!
	So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line
1025	In lasting concord from this day combine.
	Thou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer,
	And gracious Juno, both be present here!
	And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address
	To heaven with mine, to ratify the peace.”
1030	The goblet then she took, with nectar crowned
	(Sprinkling the first libations on the ground),
	And raised it to her mouth with sober grace,
	Then, sipping, offered to the next in place.
	’Twas Bitias whom she called — a thirsty soul;
1035	He took the challenge, and embraced the bowl,
	With pleasure swilled the gold, nor ceased to draw,
	Till he the bottom of the brimmer saw.
	The goblet goes around: Iöpas brought
	His golden lyre, and sung what ancient Atlas taught —
1040	The various labours of the wandering moon,
	And whence proceed the eclipses of the sun;
	The original of men and beasts; and whence
	The rains arise, and fires their warmth dispense,
	And fixed and erring stars dispose their influence;
1045	What shakes the solid earth; what cause delays
	The summer nights, and shortens winter days.
	With peals of shouts the Tyrians praise the song;
	Those peals are echoed by the Trojan throng.
	The unhappy queen with talk prolonged the night,
1050	And drank large draughts of love with vast delight;
	Of Priam much inquired, of Hector more;
	Then asked what arms the swarthy Memnon wore,
	What troops he landed on the Trojan shore;
	The steeds of Diomede varied the discourse,
1055	And fierce Achilles, with his matchless force;
	At length, as Fate and her ill stars required,
	To hear the series of the war desired.
	“Relate at large, my god-like guest,” she said,
	“The Grecian stratagems, the town betrayed:
1060	The fatal issue of so long a war,
	Your flight, your wanderings, and your woes, declare;
	For, since on every sea, on every coast,
	Your men have been distressed, your navy tossed,
	Seven times the sun has either tropic viewed,
1065	The winter banished, and the spring renewed.”

	BOOK IV.
	ARGUMENT.
	Dido discovers to her sister her passion for Æneas, and her thoughts of marrying him. She prepares a hunting-match for his entertainment. Juno, by Venus’s consent, raises a storm, which separates the hunters, and drives Æneas and Dido into the same cave, where their marriage is supposed to be completed. Jupiter dispatches Mercury to Æneas, to warn him from Carthage. Æneas secretly prepares for his voyage. Dido finds out his design, and, to put a stop to it, makes use of her own and her sister’s entreaties, and discovers all the variety of passions that are incident to a neglected lover. When nothing would prevail upon him, she contrives her own death, with which this book concludes.

	But anxious cares already seized the queen;
	She fed within her veins a flame unseen;
	The hero’s valour, acts, and birth, inspire
	Her soul with love, and fan the secret fire.
5	His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart,
	Improve the passion, and increase the smart.
	Now, when the purple morn had chased away
	The dewy shadows, and restored the day,
	Her sister first with early care she sought,
10	And thus in mournful accents eased her thought: —
	“My dearest Anna! what new dreams affright
	My labouring soul! what visions of the night
	Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast
	With strange ideas of our Trojan guest!
15	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 suffered, when by Fate betrayed!
20	What brave attempts for falling Troy he made!
	Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke,
	That, were I not resolved against the yoke
	Of hapless marriage — never to be cursed
	With second love, so fatal was my first —
25	To this one error I might yield again;
	For, since Sichæus was untimely slain,
	This only man is able to subvert
	The fixed foundations of my stubborn heart.
	And, to confess my frailty, to my shame,
30	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 through the dark abyss descend —
	First let avenging Jove, with flames from high,
35	Drive down this body to the nether sky,
	Condemned 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 loved on earth, I worship in the grave.”

40	She said: the tears ran gushing from her eyes,
	And stopped her speech. Her sister thus replies: —
	“O dearer than the vital air I breathe!
	Will you to grief your blooming years bequeathe,
	Condemned to waste in woes your lonely life,
45	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,
50	The vows of Tyrian Princes to neglect,
	To scorn Iarbas, 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 heaven bestows,
55	On every side is hemmed with warlike foes;
	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;
60	Barcæan troops besiege the narrow shore,
	And from the sea Pygmalion threatens more.
	Propitious heaven, and gracious Juno, led
	This wandering navy to your needful aid:
	How will your empire spread, your city rise,
65	From such a union, and with such allies!
	Implore the favour of the powers above,
	And leave the conduct of the rest to love.
	Continue still your hospitable way,
	And still invent occasions of their stay,
70	Till storms and winter winds shall cease to threat,
	And planks and oars repair their shattered fleet.”

	These words, which from a friend and sister came,
	With ease resolved the scruples of her fame,
	And added fury to the kindled flame.
75	Inspired with hope, the project they pursue;
	On every altar sacrifice renew;
	A chosen ewe of two years old they pay
	To Ceres, Bacchus, and the god of day.
	Preferring Juno’s power (for Juno ties
80	The nuptial knot, and makes the marriage-joys),
	The beauteous queen before her altar stands,
	And holds the golden goblet in her hands.
	A milk-white heifer she with flowers adorns,
	And pours the ruddy wine betwixt her horns;
85	And, while the priests with prayer the gods invoke,
	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,
90	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.
95	So, when the watchful shepherd, from the blind,
	Wounds with a random shaft the careless hind,
	Distracted with her pain she flies the woods,
	Bounds o’er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods —
	With fruitless care; for still the fatal dart
100	Sticks in her side, and rankles in her heart.
	And now she leads the Trojan chief along
	The lofty walls, amidst the busy throng;
	Displays her Tyrian wealth, and rising town,
	Which love, without his labour, makes his own.
105	This pomp she shows, to tempt her wandering guest;
	Her faltering tongue forbids to speak the rest.
	When day declines, and feasts renew the night,
	Still on his face she feeds her famished sight;
	She longs again to hear the prince relate
110	His own adventures, and the Trojan fate.
	He tells it o’er and o’er; but still in vain,
	For still she begs to hear it once again.
	The hearer on the speaker’s mouth depends,
	And thus the tragic story never ends.

115	Then, when they part, when Phoebe’s paler light
	Withdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite,
	She last remains, when every guest is gone,
	Sits on the bed he pressed, and sighs alone;
	Absent, her absent hero sees and hears;
120	Or in her bosom young Ascanius bears,
	And seeks the father’s image in the child,
	If love by likeness might be so beguiled.

	Meantime the rising towers are at a stand;
	No labours exercise the youthful band,
125	Nor use of arts, nor toils of arms they know;
	The mole is left unfinished to the foe;
	The mounds, the works, the walls, neglected lie,
	Short of their promised height, that seemed to threat the sky.

	But when imperial Juno, from above,
130	Saw Dido fettered in the chains of love,
	Hot with the venom which her veins inflamed,
	And by no sense of shame to be reclaimed,
	With soothing words to Venus she begun: —
	“High praises, endless honours, you have won,
135	And mighty trophies, with your worthy son!
	Two gods a silly woman have undone!
	Nor am I ignorant, you both suspect
	This rising city, which my hands erect:
	But shall celestial discord never cease?
140	’Tis better ended in a lasting peace.
	You stand possessed of all your soul desired;
	Poor Dido with consuming love is fired.
	Your Trojan with my Tyrian let us join;
	So Dido shall be yours, Æneas mine —
145	One common kingdom, one united line.
	Eliza shall a Dardan lord obey,
	And lofty Carthage for a dower convey.”
	Then Venus (who her hidden fraud descried,
	Which would the sceptre of the world misguide
150	To Libyan shores) thus artfully replied: —
	“Who, but a fool, would wars with Juno choose,
	And such alliance and such gifts refuse,
	If Fortune with our joint desires comply?
	The doubt is all from Jove, and destiny;
155	Lest he forbid, with absolute command,
	To mix the people in one common land —
	Or will the Trojan and the Tyrian line,
	In lasting leagues and sure succession, join.
	But you, the partner of his bed and throne,
160	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,
165	And gilds the world below with purple rays,
	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,
170	A pitchy cloud shall cover all the plain
	With hail, and thunder, and tempestuous rain;
	The fearful train shall take their speedy flight,
	Dispersed, and all involved in gloomy night;
	One cave a grateful shelter shall afford
175	To the fair princess and the Trojan lord.
	I will myself the bridal bed prepare,
	If you, to bless the nuptials, will be there:
	So shall their loves be crowned with due delights,
	And Hymen shall be present at the rites.”
180	The queen of love consents, and closely smiles
	At her vain project, and discovered wiles.

	The rosy morn was risen from the main,
	And horns and hounds awake the princely train:
	They issue early through the city gate,
185	Where the more wakeful huntsmen ready wait,
	With nets, and toils, and darts, beside the force
	Of Spartan dogs, and swift Massylian horse.
	The Tyrian peers and officers of state,
	For the slow queen, in antechambers wait;
190	Her lofty courser, in the court below,
	Who his majestic rider seems to know,
	Proud of his purple trappings, paws the ground,
	And champs the golden bit, and spreads the foam around.
	The queen at length appears: on either hand,
195	The brawny guards in martial order stand.
	A flowered cymar 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.
200	Then young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,
	Leads on the Trojan youth to view the chase.
	But far above the rest in beauty shines
	The great Æneas, when the troop he joins;
	Like fair Apollo, when he leaves the frost
205	Of wintery Xanthus, and the Lycian coast,
	When to his native Delos he resorts,
	Ordains the dances, and renews the sports;
	Where painted Scythians, mixed with Cretan bands,
	Before the joyful altars join their hands:
210	Himself, on Cynthus walking, sees below
	The merry madness of the sacred show.
	Green wreaths of bays his length of hair inclose;
	A golden fillet binds his awful brows;
	His quiver sounds. — Not less the prince is seen
215	In manly presence, or in lofty mien.

	Now had they reached the hills, and stormed the seat
	Of savage beasts, in dens, their last retreat.
	The cry pursues the mountain-goats: they bound
	From rock to rock, and keep the craggy ground:
220	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 through the vale, and these and those outrides.
225	His horse’s flanks and sides are forced to feel
	The clanking lash, and goring of the steel.
	Impatiently he views the feeble prey,
	Wishing some nobler beast to cross his way,
	And rather would the tusky boar attend,
230	Or see the tawny lion downward bend.

	Meantime, the gathering 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 showers.
235	The company, dispersed, to coverts 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,
240	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 to their love.
245	From this ill-omen’d hour, in time arose
	Debate and death, and all succeeding woes,
	The queen, whom sense of honour could not move,
	No longer made a secret of her love,
	But called it marriage, by that specious name
250	To veil the crime, and sanctify the shame.

	The loud report through Libyan cities goes.
	Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows —
	Swift from the first; and every moment brings
	New vigour to her flights, new pinions to her wings.
255	Soon grows the pigmy to gigantic size;
	Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies.
	Enraged against the gods, revengeful Earth
	Produced her, last of the Titanian birth —
	Swift is her walk, more swift her winged haste —
260	A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast.
	As many plumes as raise her lofty flight,
	So many piercing eyes enlarge her sight;
	Millions of opening mouths to Fame belong,
	And every mouth is furnished with a tongue,
265	And round with listening ears the flying plague is hung.
	She fills the peaceful universe with cries;
	No slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes;
	By day, from lofty towers her head she shews,
	And spreads through trembling crowds disastrous news;
270	With court informers haunts, and royal spies;
	Things done relates, not done she feigns, and mingles truth with lies.
	Talk is her business; and her chief delight
	To tell of prodigies, and cause affright.
	She fills the people’s ears with Dido’s name,
275	Who, “lost to honour and the sense of shame,
	Admits into her throne and nuptial bed
	A wandering guest, who from his country fled:
	Whole days with him she passes in delights,
	And wastes in luxury long winter nights,
280	Forgetful of her fame, and royal trust,
	Dissolved in ease, abandoned to her lust.”

	The goddess widely spreads the loud report,
	And flies at length to king Iarbas’ court.
	When first possessed with this unwelcome news,
285	Whom did he not of men and gods accuse?
	This prince, from ravished Garamantis born,
	A hundred temples did with spoils adorn,
	In Ammon’s honour, his celestial sire;
	A hundred altars fed with wakeful fire;
290	And, through his vast dominions, priests ordained,
	Whose watchful care these holy rites maintained.
	The gates and columns were with garlands crowned,
	And blood of victim beasts enriched the ground.

	He, when he heard a fugitive could move
295	The Tyrian princess, who disdained his love,
	His breast with fury burned, his eyes with fire,
	Mad with despair, impatient with desire;
	Then on the sacred altars pouring wine,
	He thus with prayers implored his sire divine: —
300	“Great Jove, propitious to the Moorish race,
	Who feast on painted beds, with offerings grace
	Thy temples, and adore thy power divine
	With blood of victims, and with sparkling wine!
	Seest thou not this? or do we fear in vain
305	Thy boasted thunder, and thy thoughtless reign?
	Do thy broad hands the forky lightnings lance?
	Thine are the bolts, or the blind work of chance?
	A wandering woman builds, within our state,
	A little town, bought at an easy rate;
310	She pays me homage (and my grants allow
	A narrow space of Libyan lands to plough);
	Yet, scorning me, by passion blindly led,
	Admits a banished Trojan to her bed!
	And now this other Paris, with his train
315	Of conquered cowards, must in Afric reign!
	(Whom, what they are, their looks and garb confess,
	Their locks with oil perfumed, their Lydian dress.)
	He takes the spoil, enjoys the princely dame;
	And I, rejected I, adore an empty name!”p>
320	His vows, in haughty terms, he thus preferred,
	And held his altar’s horns. The mighty Thunderer heard,
	Then cast his eyes on Carthage, where he found
	The lustful pair in lawless pleasure drowned,
	Lost in their loves, insensible of shame,
325	And both forgetful of their better fame.
	He calls Cyllenius, and the god attends,
	By whom this menacing command he sends: —
	“Go, mount the western winds, and cleave the sky;
	Then, with a swift descent, to Carthage fly:
330	There find the Trojan chief, who wastes his days
	In slothful riot and inglorious ease,
	Nor minds the future city, given by Fate.
	To him this message from my mouth relate: —
	Not so fair Venus hoped, when twice she won
335	Thy life with prayers, nor promised such a son.
	Hers was a hero, destined to command
	A martial race, and rule the Latian land;
	Who should his ancient line from Teucer draw,
	And on the conquered world impose the law.
340	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
345	From his long lingering on a hostile shore,
	Regardless to redeem his honour lost,
	And for his race to gain the Ausonian coast?
	Bid him with speed the Tyrian court forsake;
	With this command the slumbering warrior wake.”

350	Hermes obeys; with golden pinions binds
	His flying feet, and mounts the western winds:
	And, whether o’er the seas or earth he flies,
	With rapid force they bear him down the skies.
	But first he grasps within his awful hand
355	The mark of sovereign power, 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, though closed in death, restores to light.
360	Thus armed, the god begins his airy race,
	And drives the racking clouds along the liquid space;
	Now sees the top of Atlas, as he flies,
	Whose brawny back supports the starry skies;
	Atlas, whose head, with piny forests crowned,
365	Is beaten by the winds, with foggy vapours bound.
	Snows hide his shoulders; from beneath his chin
	The founts of rolling streams their race begin;
	A beard of ice on his large breast depends. —
	Here, poised upon his wings, the god descends:
370	Then, rested thus, he from the towering height
	Plunged downward with precipitated flight,
	Lights on the seas, and skims along the flood.
	As water-fowl, who seek their fishy food,
	Less, and yet less, to distant prospect show;
375	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 passed the seas, and crossed the sands,
	He closed his wings, and stooped on Libyan lands,
380	Where shepherds once were housed in homely sheds;
	Now towers within the clouds advance their heads.
	Arriving there, he found the Trojan prince
	New ramparts raising for the town’s defence.
	A purple scarf, with gold embroidered o’er
385	(Queen Dido’s gift), about his waist he wore;
	A sword, with glittering 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!
390	Thou woman’s property! what mak’st thou here,
	These foreign walls and Tyrian towers to rear,
	Forgetful of thy own? All-powerful Jove,
	Who sways the world below and heaven above,
	Has sent me down with this severe command:
395	What means thy lingering 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 promised crown let young Ascanius wear,
400	To whom the Ausonian sceptre, and the state
	Of Rome’s imperial name, is owed by Fate.”
	So spoke the god; and, speaking, took his flight,
	Involved in clouds, and vanished out of sight.

	The pious prince was seized with sudden fear;
405	Mute was his tongue, and upright stood his hair.
	Revolving in his mind the stern command,
	He longs to fly, and loathes the charming land.
	What should he say? or how should he begin?
	What course, alas! remains to steer between
410	The offended lover and the powerful queen?
	This way, and that, he turns his anxious mind,
	And all expedients tries, and none can find.
	Fixed on the deed, but doubtful of the means,
	After long thought, to this advice he leans:
415	Three chiefs he calls, commands them to repair
	The fleet, and ship their men, with silent care:
	Some plausible pretence he bids them find,
	To colour what in secret he designed.
	Himself, meantime, the softest hours would choose,
420	Before the love-sick lady heard the news;
	And move her tender mind, by slow degrees,
	To suffer what the sovereign power decrees:
	Jove will inspire him, when, and what to say. —
	They hear with pleasure, and with haste obey.

425	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 blazed abroad.
	Love the first motions of the lover hears,
430	Quick to presage, and even in safety fears.
	Nor impious Fame was wanting to report
	The ships repaired, the Trojans’ thick resort,
	And purpose to forsake the Tyrian court.
	Frantic with fear, impatient of the wound,
435	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;
440	Prevents his formed excuse, and thus began: —
	“Base and ungrateful! could you hope to fly,
	And undiscovered ’scape a lover’s eye?
	Nor could my kindness your compassion move,
	Nor plighted vows, nor dearer bands of love?
445	Or is the death of a despairing queen
	Not worth preventing, though too well foreseen?
	Even when the wintry winds command your stay,
	You dare the tempests, and defy the sea.
	False, as you are, suppose you were not bound
450	To lands unknown, and foreign coasts to sound;
	Were Troy restored, 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,
455	By this right hand (since I have nothing more
	To challenge, but the faith you gave before),
	I beg you by these tears too truly shed,
	By the new pleasures of our nuptial bed;
	If ever Dido, when you most were kind,
460	Were pleasing in your eyes, or touched your mind;
	By these my prayers, if prayers may yet have place,
	Pity the fortunes of a falling race!
	For you, I have provoked a tyrant’s hate,
	Incensed the Libyan and the Tyrian state;
465	For you alone, I suffer in my fame,
	Bereft of honour, and exposed 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?
470	Must I attend Pygmalion’s cruelty,
	Or till Iarbas shall in triumph lead
	A queen, that proudly scorned his proffered bed?
	Had you deferred, at least, your hasty flight,
	And left behind some pledge of our delight,
475	Some babe to bless the mother’s mournful sight,
	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.”

480	Here paused the queen. Unmoved he holds his eyes,
	By Jove’s command; nor suffered love to rise,
	Though heaving in his heart; and thus at length replies: —
	“Fair queen, you never can enough repeat
	Your boundless favours, or I own my debt;
485	Nor can my mind forget Eliza’s name,
	While vital breath inspires this mortal frame.
	This only let me speak in my defence —
	I never hoped a secret flight from hence,
	Much less pretended to the lawful claim
490	Of sacred nuptials, or a husband’s name.
	For, if indulgent heaven 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,
495	And Priam’s ruined palace to restore.
	But now the Delphian oracle commands,
	And Fate invites me to the Latian lands.
	That is the promised place to which I steer,
	And all my vows are terminated there.
500	If you, a Tyrian and a stranger born,
	With walls and towers 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
505	With humid shades, or twinkling stars arise,
	Anchises’ angry ghost in dreams appears,
	Chides my delay, and fills my soul with fears;
	And young Ascanius justly may complain,
	Defrauded of his fate and destined reign.
510	Even now the herald of the gods appeared —
	Waking I saw him, and his message heard.
	From Jove he came commissioned, heavenly bright
	With radiant beams, and manifest to sight
	(The sender and the sent I both attest):
515	These walls he entered, and those words expressed: —
	Fair queen, oppose not what the gods command;
	Forced by my fate, I leave your happy land.”

	Thus while he spoke, already she began,
	With sparkling eyes, to view the guilty man;
520	From head to foot surveyed 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 hardened entrails of a rock!
525	And rough Hyrcanian tigers gave thee suck!
	Why should I fawn? what have I worse to fear?
	Did he once look, or lent a listening ear,
	Sighed when I sobbed, or shed one kindly tear?
	All symptoms of a base ungrateful mind,
530	So foul, that, which is worse, ’tis hard to find.
	Of man’s injustice why should I complain?
	The gods, and Jove himself, behold in vain
	Triumphant treason; yet no thunder flies,
	Nor Juno views my wrongs with equal eyes;
535	Faithless is earth, and faithless are the skies!
	Justice is fled, and truth is now no more!
	I saved the shipwrecked exile on my shore;
	With needful food his hungry Trojans fed;
	I took the traitor to my throne and bed:
540	Fool that I was — ’tis little to repeat
	The rest — I stored and rigged his ruined fleet.
	I rave, I rave! A god’s command he pleads,
	And makes heaven accessory to his deeds.
	Now Lycian lots, and now the Delian god,
545	Now Hermes is employed from Jove’s abode,
	To warn him hence; as if the peaceful state
	Of heavenly powers were touched with human fate!
	But go! thy flight no longer I detain —
	Go! seek thy promised kingdom through the main!
550	Yet, if the heavens will hear my pious vow,
	The faithless waves, not half so false as thou,
	Or secret sands, shall sepulchres afford
	To thy proud vessels, and their perjured lord.
	Then shalt thou call on injured Dido’s name:
555	Dido shall come in a black sulphury flame,
	When death has once dissolved 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.
560	At least my shade thy punishment shall know,
	And Fame shall spread the pleasing news below.”

	Abruptly here she stops — then turns away
	Her loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day.
	Amazed he stood, revolving in his mind
565	What speech to frame, and what excuse to find.
	Her fearful maids their fainting mistress led,
	And softly laid her on her ivory bed.

	But good Æneas, though he much desired
	To give that pity which her grief required —
570	Though much he mourned, and laboured with his love —
	Resolved 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,
575	And well-caulked galleys in the harbour ride.
	Then oaks for oars they felled; or, as they stood,
	Of its green arms despoiled the growing wood,
	Studious of flight. The beach is covered o’er
	With Trojan bands, that blacken all the shore:
580	On every 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,
	To invade the corn, and to their cells convey
585	The plundered forage of their yellow prey.
	The sable troops, along the narrow tracks,
	Scarce bear the weighty burden on their backs:
	Some set their shoulders to the ponderous grain;
	Some guard the spoil; some lash the lagging train;
590	All ply their several tasks, and equal toil sustain.
	What pangs the tender breast of Dido tore,
	When, from the tower, she saw the covered shore,
	And heard the shouts of sailors from afar,
	Mixed with the murmurs of the watery war!
595	All-powerful Love! what changes canst thou cause
	In human hearts, subjected to thy laws!
	Once more her haughty soul the tyrant bends:
	To prayers and mean submissions she descends.
	No female arts or aids she left untried,
600	Nor counsels unexplored, 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.
605	Could I have thought this threatening blow so near,
	My tender soul had been forewarned to bear.
	But do not you my last request deny;
	With yon perfidious man your interest try,
	And bring me news, if I must live or die.
610	You are his favourite; you alone can find
	The dark recesses of his inmost mind:
	In all his trusted secrets you have part,
	And know the soft approaches to his heart.
	Haste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe;
615	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 moved with hands profane his father’s dust:
	Why should he then reject a suit so just?
620	Whom does he shun? and whither would he fly?
	Can he this last, this only prayer deny?
	Let him at least his dangerous flight delay,
	Wait better winds, and hope a calmer sea.
	The nuptials he disclaims, I urge no more:
625	Let him pursue the promised Latian shore.
	A short delay is all I ask him now —
	A pause of grief, an interval from woe,
	Till my soft soul be tempered to sustain
	Accustomed sorrows, and inured to pain.
630	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 employed in vain;
635	Again she comes, and is refused again.
	His hardened heart nor prayers nor threatenings move;
	Fate, and the god, had stopped his ears to love.

	As, when the winds their airy quarrel try,
	Jostling from every quarter of the sky,
640	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:
	Unmoved, the royal plant their fury mocks,
645	Or, shaken, clings more closely to the rocks;
	Far as he shoots his towering head on high,
	So deep in earth his fixed foundations lie. —
	No less a storm the Trojan hero bears;
	Thick messages and loud complaints he hears,
650	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 heaven to hate,
655	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 turned to putrid blood,
660	And the white offered milk converts to mud.
	This dire presage, to her alone revealed,
	From all, and even her sister, she concealed.
	A marble temple stood within the grove,
	Sacred to death, and to her murdered love;
665	That honoured chapel she had hung around
	With snowy fleeces, and with garlands crowned:
	Oft, when she visited this lonely dome,
	Strange voices issued from her husband’s tomb:
	She thought she heard him summon her away,
670	Invite her to his grave, and chide her stay.
	Hourly ’tis 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.
675	Besides, old prophecies augment her fears;
	And stern Æneas in her dreams appears,
	Disdainful as by day: she seems, alone,
	To wander in her sleep, through ways unknown,
	Guideless and dark; or, in a desert plain,
680	To seek her subjects, and to seek in vain —
	Like Pentheus, when, distracted with his fear,
	He saw two suns, and double Thebes, appear;
	Or mad Orestes, when his mother’s ghost
	Full in his face infernal torches tossed,
685	And shook her snaky locks: he shuns the sight,
	Flies o’er the stage, surprised 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;
690	The time and means resolved within her breast,
	She to her mournful sister thus addressed: —
	(Dissembling hope, her cloudy front she clears,
	And a false vigour in her eyes appears)
	“Rejoice!” she said. “Instructed from above,
695	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,
	Honoured for age, for magic arts renowned:
700	The Hesperian temple was her trusted care;
	’Twas she supplied the wakeful dragon’s fare.
	She poppy-seeds in honey taught to steep,
	Reclaimed his rage, and soothed him into sleep:
	She watched the golden fruit. Her charms unbind
705	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.
710	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, exposed in air:
	Hang, on the topmost part, the Trojan vest,
715	Spoils, arms, and presents, of my faithless guest.
	Next, under these, the bridal bed be placed,
	Where I my ruin in his arms embraced.
	All relics of the wretch are doomed to fire;
	For so the priestess and her charms require.”
720	Thus far she said, and further speech forbears.
	A mortal paleness in her face appears:
	Yet the mistrustless Anna could not find
	The secret funeral, in these rites designed;
	Nor thought so dire a rage possessed her mind.
725	Unknowing of a train concealed so well,
	She feared no worse than when Sichæus fell;
	Therefore obeys. The fatal pile they rear,
	Within the secret court, exposed in air.
	The cloven holms and pines are heaped on high,
730	And garlands on the hollow spaces lie.
	Sad cypress, vervain, yew, compose the wreath,
	And every baleful green denoting death.
	The queen, determined to the fatal deed,
	The spoils and sword he left, in order spread,
735	And the man’s image on the nuptial bed.

	And now (the sacred altars placed around)
	The priestess enters, with her hair unbound,
	And thrice invokes the power below the ground.
	Night, Erebus, and Chaos, she proclaims,
740	And threefold Hecate, with her hundred names,
	And three Dianas: next, she sprinkles round,
	With feigned Avernian drops, the hallowed ground;
	Culls hoary simples, found by Phoebe’s light,
	With brazen sickles reaped at noon of night;
745	Then mixes baleful juices in the bowl,
	And cuts the forehead of a new-born foal,
	Robbing the mother’s love. — The destined queen
	Observes, assisting at the rites obscene:
	A leavened cake in her devoted hands
750	She holds, and next the highest altar stands:
	One tender foot was shod, her other bare,
	Girt was her gathered gown, and loose her hair.
	Thus dressed, she summoned, with her dying breath,
	The heavens and planets conscious of her death,
755	And every power, if any rules above,
	Who minds, or who revenges, injured love.

	’Twas dead of night, when weary bodies close
	Their eyes in balmy sleep, and soft repose:
	The winds no longer whisper through the woods,
760	Nor murmuring tides disturb the gentle floods.
	The stars in silent order moved around;
	And Peace, with downy wings, was brooding on the ground.
	The flocks and herds, and party-coloured fowl,
	Which haunt the woods, or swim the weedy pool,
765	Stretched on the quiet earth, securely lay,
	Forgetting the past labours 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;
770	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 succour can I find?
775	Become a suppliant to Iarbas’ 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 refuged, and his train relieved —
780	’Tis true — but am I sure to be received?
	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?
785	What force have I but those, whom scarce before
	I drew reluctant from their native shore?
	Will they again embark at my desire,
	Once more sustain the seas, and quit their second Tyre?
	Rather with steel thy guilty breast invade,
790	And take the fortune thou thyself hast made.
	Your pity, sister, first seduced my mind,
	Or seconded too well what I designed.
	These dear-bought pleasures had I never known,
	Had I continued free, and still my own —
795	Avoiding love, I had not found despair,
	But shared with savage beasts the common air.
	Like them, a lonely life I might have led,
	Not mourned the living, nor disturbed the dead.”
	These thoughts she brooded in her anxious breast. —
800	On board, the Trojan found more easy rest.
	Resolved to sail, in sleep he passed the night;
	And ordered all things for his early flight.

	To whom once more the winged god appears;
	His former youthful mien and shape he wears,
805	And with this new alarm invades his ears: —
	“Sleep’st thou, O goddess-born? and canst thou drown
	Thy needful cares, so near a hostile town,
	Beset with foes; nor hear’st the western gales
	Invite thy passage, and inspire thy sails?
810	She harbours in her heart a furious hate,
	And thou shalt find the dire effects too late;
	Fixed on revenge, and obstinate to die.
	Haste swiftly hence, while thou hast power to fly.
	The sea with ships will soon be covered o’er,
815	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.” —
820	Thus Hermes in the dream; then took his flight
	Aloft in air unseen, and mixed with night.

	Twice warned by the celestial messenger,
	The pious prince arose with hasty fear;
	Then roused his drowsy train without delay:
825	“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 urged us once again to speedy flight.
	O sacred power! what power soe’er thou art,
830	To thy blessed 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 thundering arm divides the many-twisted cord.
835	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 labouring oars.

	Aurora now had left her saffron bed,
840	And beams of early light the heavens o’erspread,
	When, from a tower, the queen, with wakeful eyes,
	Saw day point upward from the rosy skies.
	She looked to seaward; but the sea was void,
	And scarce in ken the sailing ships descried.
845	Stung with despite, and furious with despair,
	She struck her trembling breast, and tore her hair.
	“And shall the ungrateful traitor go” (she said),
	“My land forsaken, and my love betrayed?
	Shall we not arm? not rush from every street,
850	To follow, sink, and burn, his perjured fleet?
	Haste, haul my galleys out! pursue the foe!
	Bring flaming brands! set sail, and swiftly row! —
	What have I said? where am I? Fury turns
	My brain; and my distempered bosom burns.
855	Then, when I gave my person and my throne,
	This hate, this rage, had been more timely shown.
	See now the promised faith, the vaunted name,
	The pious man, who, rushing through the flame,
	Preserved his gods, and to the Phrygian shore
860	The burden of his feeble father bore!
	I should have torn him piece-meal — strewed in floods
	His scattered limbs, or left exposed in woods —
	Destroyed his friends, and son; and, from the fire,
	Have set the reeking boy before the sire.
865	Events are doubtful, which on battle wait:
	Yet where’s the doubt, to souls secure of fate?
	My Tyrians, at their injured queen’s command,
	Had tossed their fires amid the Trojan band;
	At once extinguished all the faithless name;
870	And I myself, in vengeance of my shame,
	Had fallen upon the pile, to mend the funeral 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!
875	Ye Furies, Fiends, and violated Gods!
	All powers invoked with Dido’s dying breath,
	Attend her curses and avenge her death!
	If so the Fates ordain, and Jove commands,
	The ungrateful wretch should find the Latian lands,
880	Yet let a race untamed, and haughty foes,
	His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose:
	Oppressed with numbers in the unequal field,
	His men discouraged, and himself expelled,
	Let him for succour sue from place to place,
885	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:
890	Nor let him then enjoy supreme command;
	But fall, untimely, by some hostile hand,
	And lie unburied on the barren sand!
	These are my prayers, and this my dying will;
	And you, my Tyrians, every curse fulfil.
895	Perpetual hate, and mortal wars proclaim,
	Against the prince, the people, and the name.
	These grateful offerings on my grave bestow;
	Nor league, nor love, the hostile nations know!
	Now, and from hence, in every future age,
900	When rage excites your arms, and strength supplies the rage,
	Rise some avenger of our Libyan blood,
	With fire and sword pursue the perjured brood;
	Our arms, our seas, our shores, opposed to theirs;
	And the same hate descend on all our heirs!”p>
905	This said, within her anxious mind she weighs
	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
910	The solemn rites of sacrifice prepare
	The sheep, and all the atoning offerings, bring;
	Sprinkling her body from the crystal spring
	With living drops; then let her come, and thou
	With sacred fillets bind thy hoary brow.
915	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 passion shall expire.”

	The nurse moves onward with officious care,
920	And all the speed her aged limbs can bear.
	But furious Dido, with dark thoughts involved,
	Shook at the mighty mischief she resolved.
	With livid spots distinguished was her face;
	Red were her rolling eyes, and discomposed her pace;
925	Ghastly she gazed, with pain she drew her breath,
	And nature shivered at approaching death.

	Then swiftly to the fatal place she passed,
	And mounts the funeral pile with furious haste;
	Unsheathes the sword the Trojan left behind
930	(Not for so dire an enterprise designed).
	But when she viewed the garments loosely spread,
	Which once he wore, and saw the conscious bed,
	She paused, and, with a sigh, the robes embraced,
	Then on the couch her trembling body cast,
935	Repressed the ready tears, and spoke her last: —
	“Dear pledges of my love, while heaven so pleased,
	Receive a soul, of mortal anguish eased.
	My fatal course is finished; and I go,
	A glorious name, among the ghosts below.
940	A lofty city by my hands is raised;
	Pygmalion punished, and my lord appeased.
	What could my fortune have afforded more,
	Had the false Trojan never touched my shore?”
	Then kissed the couch; and “Must I die,” she said,
945	“And unrevenged? ’tis doubly to be dead!
	Yet even 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!”
950	She said, and struck; deep entered in her side
	The piercing steel, with reeking purple dyed:
	Clogged in the wound the cruel weapon stands;
	The spouting blood came streaming on her hands.
	Her sad attendants saw the deadly stroke,
955	And with loud cries the sounding palace shook.
	Distracted, from the fatal sight they fled,
	And through the town the dismal rumour spread.
	First, from the frighted court the yell began;
	Redoubled, thence from house to house it ran:
960	The groans of men, with shrieks, laments, and cries
	Of mixing women, mount the vaulted skies.
	Not less the clamour, than if — ancient Tyre,
	Or the new Carthage, set by foes on fire —
	The rolling ruin, with their loved abodes,
965	Involved 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.
970	“Was all that pomp of woe for this prepared,
	These fires, this funeral pile, these altars reared?
	Was all this train of plots contrived” (said she),
	“All only to deceive unhappy me?
	Which is the worst? Didst thou in death pretend
975	To scorn thy sister, or delude thy friend?
	Thy summoned sister, and thy friend, had come;
	One sword had served us both, one common tomb:
	Was I to raise the pile, the powers invoke,
	Not to be present at the fatal stroke?
980	At once thou hast destroyed thyself and me,
	Thy town, thy senate, and thy colony!
	Bring water! bathe the wound; while I in death
	Lay close my lips to hers, and catch the flying breath.”
	This said, she mounts the pile with eager haste,
985	And in her arms the gasping queen embraced;
	Her temples chafed; 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 grovelling on the bed;
990	Thrice oped her heavy eyes, and sought the light,
	But, having found it, sickened at the sight,
	And closed her lids at last in endless night.
	Then Juno, grieving that she should sustain
	A death so lingering, and so full of pain,
995	Sent Iris down, to free her from the strife
	Of labouring nature, and dissolve her life.
	For, since she died, not doomed by heaven’s decree,
	Or her own crime, but human casualty,
	And rage of love, that plunged her in despair,
1000	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 colours from the light;
1005	Then stood above the dying lover’s head,
	And said, “I thus devote thee to the dead.
	This offering to the infernal gods I bear.”
	Thus while she spoke, she cut the fatal hair:
	The struggling soul was loosed, and life dissolved in air.

The Æneis of Virgil

Books I and IV

Translated by John Dryden

Edited by Jack Lynch

BOOK I.

ARGUMENT.

BOOK IV.

ARGUMENT.