Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  refused the gift of night; her suffering

  redoubled, and in full returning tide

  her love rebelled, while on wild waves of rage

  she drifted to and fro. So, ceasing not

  from sorrow, thus she brooded on her wrongs:

  “What refuge now? Shall I invite the scorn

  of my rejected wooers, or entreat

  of some disdainful, nomad blackamoor

  to take me to his bed — though many a time

  such husbands I made mock of? Shall I sail

  on Ilian ships away, and sink to be

  the Trojans’ humble thrall? Do they rejoice

  that once I gave them bread? Lives gratitude

  in hearts like theirs for bygone kindnesses?

  O, who, if so I stooped, would deign to bear

  on yon proud ships the scorned and fallen Queen?

  Lost creature! Woe betide thee! Knowest thou not

  the perjured children of Laomedon?

  What way is left? Should I take flight alone

  and join the revelling sailors? Or depart

  with Tyrians, the whole attending train

  of my own people? Hard the task to force

  their hearts from Sidon’s towers; how once more

  compel to sea, and bid them spread the sail?

  Nay, perish! Thou hast earned it. Let the sword

  from sorrow save thee! Sister of my blood —

  who else but thee, — my own tears borne down,

  didst heap disaster on my frantic soul,

  and fling me to this foe? Why could I not

  pass wedlock by, and live a blameless life

  as wild things do, nor taste of passion’s pain?

  But I broke faith! I cast the vows away

  made at Sichaeus’ grave.” Such loud lament

  burst from her breaking heart with doleful sound.

  Meanwhile Aeneas on his lofty ship,

  having made ready all, and fixed his mind

  to launch away upon brief slumher fell.

  But the god came; and in the self-same guise

  once more in monitory vision spoke,

  all guised as Mercury, — his voice, his hue,

  his golden locks, and young limbs strong and fair.

  “Hail, goddess-born! Wouldst linger on in sleep

  at such an hour? Nor seest thou the snares

  that hem thee round? Nor hearest thou the voice

  of friendly zephyrs calling? Senseless man!

  That woman’s breast contrives some treachery

  and horrid stroke; for, resolute to die,

  she drifts on swollen floods of wrath and scorn.

  Wilt thou not fly before the hastening hour

  of flight is gone? To-morrow thou wilt see

  yon waters thronged with ships, the cruel glare

  of fire-brands, and yonder shore all flame,

  if but the light of morn again surprise

  thee loitering in this land. Away! Away!

  Stay not! A mutable and shifting thing

  is woman ever.” Such command he spoke,

  then melted in the midnight dark away.

  Aeneas, by that fleeting vision struck

  with an exceeding awe, straightway leaped forth

  from slumber’s power, and to his followers cried :

  “Awake, my men! Away! Each to his place

  upon the thwarts! Unfurl at once the sails!

  A god from heaven a second time sent down

  urges our instant flight and bids us cut

  the twisted cords. Whatever be thy name,

  behold, we come, O venerated Power!

  Again with joy we follow! Let thy grace

  assist us as we go! And may thy power

  bring none but stars benign across our sky.”

  So saying, from its scabbard forth he flashed

  the lightning of his sword, with naked blade

  striking the hawsers free. Like ardor seized

  on all his willing men, who raced and ran;

  and, while their galleys shadowed all the sea,

  clean from the shore they scudded, with strong strokes

  sweeping the purple waves and crested foam.

  Aurora’s first young beams to earth were pouring

  as from Tithonus’ saffron bed she sprang;

  while from her battlements the wakeful Queen

  watched the sky brighten, saw the mated sails

  push forth to sea, till all her port and strand

  held not an oar or keel. Thrice and four times

  she smote her lovely breast with wrathful hand,

  and tore her golden hair. “Great Jove,” she cries,

  “Shall that departing fugitive make mock

  of me, a queen? Will not my men-at-arms

  draw sword, give chase, from all my city thronging?

  Down from the docks, my ships! Out, out! Begone!

  Take fire and sword! Bend to your oars, ye slaves!

  What have I said? Where am I? What mad thoughts

  delude this ruined mind? Woe unto thee,

  thou wretched Dido, now thy impious deeds

  strike back upon thee. Wherefore struck they not,

  as was most fit, when thou didst fling away

  thy sceptre from thy hand? O Iying oaths!

  O faith forsworn! of him who brings, they boast,

  his father’s gods along, and bowed his back

  to lift an age-worn sire! Why dared I not

  seize on him, rend his body limb from limb,

  and hurl him piecemeal on the rolling sea?

  Or put his troop of followers to the sword,

  ascanius too, and set his flesh before

  that father for a feast? Such fearful war

  had been of doubtful issue. Be it so!

  What fears a woman dying? Would I had

  attacked their camp with torches, kindled flame

  from ship to ship, until that son and sire,

  with that whole tribe, were unto ashes burned

  in one huge holocaust — myself its crown!

  Great orb of light whose holy beam surveys

  all earthly deeds! Great Juno, patroness

  of conjugal distress, who knowest all!

  Pale Hecate, whose name the witches cry

  at midnight crossways! O avenging furies!

  O gods that guard Queen Dido’s dying breath!

  Give ear, and to my guiltless misery

  extend your power. Hear me what I pray!

  If it be fated that yon creature curst

  drift to the shore and happy haven find,

  if Father Iove’s irrevocable word

  such goal decree — there may he be assailed

  by peoples fierce and bold. A banished man,

  from his Iulus’ kisses sundered far,

  may his own eyes see miserably slain

  his kin and kind, and sue for alien arms.

  nor when he basely bows him to receive

  terms of unequal peace, shall he be blest

  with sceptre or with life; but perish there

  before his time, and lie without a grave

  upon the barren sand. For this I pray.

  This dying word is flowing from my heart

  with my spilt blood. And — O ye Tyrians! I

  sting with your hatred all his seed and tribe

  forevermore. This is the offering

  my ashes ask. Betwixt our nations twain,

  No Iove! No truce or amity! Arise,

  Out of my dust, unknown Avenger, rise!

  To harry and lay waste with sword and flame

  those Dardan settlers, and to vex them sore,

  to-day, to-morrow, and as long as power

  is thine to use! My dying curse arrays

  shore against shore and the opposing seas

  in shock of arms with arms. May living foes

  pass down from sire to son insatiate war!”

 
; She said. From point to point her purpose flew,

  seeking without delay to quench the flame

  of her loathed life. Brief bidding she addressed

  to Barce then, Sichaeus’ nurse (her own

  lay dust and ashes in a lonely grave

  beside the Tyrian shore), “Go, nurse, and call

  my sister Anna! Bid her quickly bathe

  her limbs in living water, and procure

  due victims for our expiating fires.

  bid her make haste. Go, bind on thy own brow

  the sacred fillet. For to Stygian Jove

  it is my purpose now to consummate

  the sacrifice ordained, ending my woe,

  and touch with flame the Trojan’s funeral pyre.”

  The aged crone to do her bidding ran

  with trembling zeal. But Dido (horror-struck

  at her own dread design, unstrung with fear,

  her bloodshot eyes wide-rolling, and her cheek

  twitching and fever-spotted, her cold brow

  blanched with approaching death) — sped past the doors

  into the palace garden; there she leaped,

  a frenzied creature, on the lofty pyre

  and drew the Trojan’s sword; a gift not asked

  for use like this! When now she saw the garb

  of Ilian fashion, and the nuptial couch

  she knew too well, she lingered yet awhile

  for memory and tears, and, falling prone

  on that cold bed, outpoured a last farewell:

  “Sweet relics! Ever dear when Fate and Heaven

  upon me smiled, receive my parting breath,

  and from my woe set free! My life is done.

  I have accomplished what my lot allowed;

  and now my spirit to the world of death

  in royal honor goes. The founder I

  of yonder noble city, I have seen

  walls at my bidding rise. I was avenged

  for my slain husband: I chastised the crimes

  of our injurious brother. Woe is me!

  Blest had I been, beyond deserving blest,

  if but the Trojan galleys ne’er had moored

  upon my kingdom’s bound!”So saying, she pressed

  one last kiss on the couch. “Though for my death

  no vengeance fall, O, give me death!” she cried.

  “O thus! O thus! it is my will to take

  the journey to the dark. From yonder sea

  may his cold Trojan eyes discern the flames

  that make me ashes! Be this cruel death

  his omen as he sails!” She spoke no more.

  But almost ere she ceased, her maidens all

  thronged to obey her cry, and found their Queen

  prone fallen on the sword, the reeking steel

  still in her bloody hands. Shrill clamor flew

  along the lofty halls; wild rumor spread

  through the whole smitten city: Ioud lament,

  groans and the wail of women echoed on

  from roof to roof, and to the dome of air

  the noise of mourning rose. Such were the cry

  if a besieging host should break the walls

  of Carthage or old Tyre, and wrathful flames

  o’er towers of kings and worshipped altars roll.

  Her sister heard. Half in a swoon, she ran

  with trembling steps, where thickest was the throng,

  beating her breast, while with a desperate hand

  she tore at her own face, and called aloud

  upon the dying Queen.

  “Was it for this

  my own true sister used me with such guile?

  O, was this horrid deed the dire intent

  of altars, Iofty couch, and funeral fires?

  What shall I tell for chiefest of my woes?

  Lost that I am! Why, though in death, cast off

  thy sister from thy heart? Why not invite

  one mortal stroke for both, a single sword,

  one agony together? But these hands

  built up thy pyre; and my voice implored

  the blessing of our gods, who granted me

  that thou shouldst perish thus — and I not know!

  In thy self-slaughter, sister, thou hast slain

  myself, thy people, the grave counsellors

  of Sidon, and yon city thou didst build

  to be thy throne! — Go, fetch me water, there!

  That I may bathe those gashes! If there be

  one hovering breath that stays, let my fond lips

  discover and receive!” So saying, she sprang up

  from stair to stair, and, clasping to her breast

  her sister’s dying form, moaned grievously,

  and staunched the dark blood with her garment’s fold.

  Vainly would Dido lift her sinking eyes,

  but backward fell, while at her heart the wound

  opened afresh; three times with straining arm

  she rose; three times dropped helpless, her dimmed eyes

  turned skyward, seeking the sweet light of day, —

  which when she saw, she groaned. Great Juno then

  looked down in mercy on that lingering pain

  and labor to depart: from realms divine

  she sent the goddess of the rainbow wing,

  Iris, to set the struggling spirit free

  and loose its fleshly coil. For since the end

  came not by destiny, nor was the doom

  of guilty deed, but of a hapless wight

  to sudden madness stung, ere ripe to die,

  therefore the Queen of Hades had not shorn

  the fair tress from her forehead, nor assigned

  that soul to Stygian dark. So Iris came

  on dewy, saffron pinions down from heaven,

  a thousand colors on her radiant way,

  from the opposing sun. She stayed her flight

  above that pallid brow: “I come with power

  to make this gift to Death. I set thee free

  from thy frail body’s bound.” With her right hand

  she cut the tress: then through its every limb

  the sinking form grew cold; the vital breath

  fled forth, departing on the viewless air.

  BOOK V

  Meanwhile Aeneas, now well launched away,

  steered forth with all the fleet to open sea,

  on his unswerving course, and ploughed the waves,

  sped by a driving gale; but when his eyes

  looked back on Carthage, they beheld the glare

  of hapless Dido’s fire. Not yet was known

  what kindled the wild flames; but that the pang

  of outraged love is cruel, and what the heart

  of desperate woman dares, they knew too well,

  and sad foreboding shook each Trojan soul.

  Soon in mid-sea, beyond all chart of shore,

  when only seas and skies were round their way,

  full in the zenith loomed a purple cloud,

  storm-laden, dark as night, and every wave

  grew black and angry; from his Iofty seat

  the helmsman Palinurus cried, “Alas!

  What means this host of storms encircling heaven?

  What, Neptune, wilt thou now?” He, having said,

  bade reef and tighten, bend to stronger stroke,

  and slant sail to the wind; then spake again:

  “High-souled Aeneas, not if Jove the King

  gave happy omen, would I have good hope

  of making Italy through yonder sky.

  Athwart our course from clouded evening-star

  rebellious winds run shifting, and the air

  into a cloud-wrack rolls. Against such foes

  too weak our strife and strain! Since now the hand

  of Fortune triumphs, let us where she calls

  obedient go. For near us, I believe,

  lies Eryx’ faithful and fraternal shore:

&n
bsp; here are Sicilian havens, if my mind

  of yon familiar stars have knowledge true.”

  then good Aeneas: “For a friendly wind

  long have I sued, and watched thee vainly strive.

  Shift sail! What happier land for me and mine,

  or for our storm-beat ships what safer shore,

  than where Dardanian Acestes reigns;

  the land whose faithful bosom cherishes

  Anchises’ ashes?” Heedful of his word,

  they landward steer, while favoring zephyrs fill

  the spreading sail. On currents swift and strong

  the fleet is wafted, and with thankful soul

  they moor on Sicily’s familiar strand.

  From a far hill-top having seen with joy

  the entering ships, and knowing them for friends,

  good King Acestes ran to bid them hail.

  Garbed in rough pelt of Libyan bear was he,

  and javelins he bore, in sylvan guise:

  for him the river-god Crimisus sired

  of Trojan wife. Remembering in his heart

  his ancient blood, he greeted with glad words

  the wanderers returned; bade welcome to

  his rude abundance, and with friendly gifts

  their weariness consoled. The morrow morn,

  soon as the new beams of a golden day

  had banished every star, Aeneas called

  a council of his followers on the shore,

  and from a fair green hillock gave this word:

  “Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty line

  none but the gods began! This day fulfils

  the annual cycle of revolving time,

  since the dear relics of my god-like sire

  to earth we gave, and with dark offerings due

  built altars sorrowful. If now I err not,

  this is my day — ye gods have willed it so! —

  for mourning and for praise. Should it befall

  me exiled in Gaetulia’s wilderness,

  or sailing some Greek sea, or at the walls

  of dire Mycenae, still would I renew

  unfailing vows, and make solemnity

  with thankful rites, and worshipful array,

  at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come,

  beyond all hope, where lie the very bones

  of my great sire. Nor did it come to pass

  without divine intent and heavenly power,

  that on these hospitable shores we stand.

  Up, then! For we will make a festal day,

  imploring lucky winds! O, may his spirit

  grant me to build my city, where his shrines

  forever shall receive perpetual vows

  made in his name! This prince of Trojan line,

  Acestes, upon every ship bestows

  a pair of oxen. To our offerings call

  the powers that bless the altars and the fires