by Virgil
I know the traces of the long-quenched flame; 19
The sparks of love revive, rekindled, but the same.
IV . “But O! gape Earth, or may the Sire of might
Hurl me with lightning to the Shades amain,
Pale shades of Erebus and abysmal Night,
Ere, wifely modesty, thy name I stain,
Or dare thy sacred precepts to profane.
Nay, he whose love first linked us long ago,
Took all my love, and he shall still retain
And guard it with him in the grave below.” 28
She spake, and o’er her lap the gushing tears outflow.
V . Then Anna: “Sister, dearer than the day,
Why thus in loneliness and endless woe
Wilt thou for ever wear thy youth away?
Nor care sweet sons, fair Venus’ gifts to know?
Think’st thou such grief concerns the shades below?
What though no husband, Libyan or of Tyre,
Could bend a heart made desolate; what though
In vain Iarbas did thy love desire, 37
And Africa’s proud chiefs, why quench a pleasing fire?
VI . “Think too, whose lands surround thee: on this side,
Gætulian cities, an unconquered race,
Numidians, reinless as the steeds they ride,
And cheerless Syrtis hold thee in embrace;
There fierce Barcæans and a sandy space
Wasted by drought. Why tell of wars from Tyre,
A brother’s threats? Well know I Juno’s grace
And heaven’s propitious auspices conspire 46
To find for Trojans here the home of their desire.
VII . “Sister, how glorious even now these towers,
What realm shall rise, with such a wondrous pair
When Teucrian arms join fellowship with ours,
What glory shall the Punic state upbear!
Pray thou to heaven and, having gained thy prayer,
Indulge thy welcome, and thy guest entreat
To tarry. Bid him winter’s storms beware;
Point to Orion’s watery star, the fleet 55
Still shattered, and the skies for mariners unmeet.”
VIII . So fanned, her passion kindled into flame:
Hope scattered scruples, and her doubts gave way,
And loosed were all the lingering ties of shame.
First to the fane the sisters haste away,
And there for peace at every shrine they pray,
And chosen ewes, as ancient rites ordain,
To Sire Lyæus, to the God of Day,
And Ceres, giver of the law, are slain, 64
And most to Juno’s power, who guards the nuptial chain.
IX . Herself, the lovely Dido, bowl in hand,
O’er a white heifer’s forehead pours the wine,
Or by the Gods’ rich altars takes her stand,
And piles the gifts, and o’er the slaughtered kine
Pores, from the quivering heartstrings to divine
The doom of Fate. Blind seers, alas! what art
To calm her frenzy, now hath vow or shrine?
Deep in her marrow feeds the tender smart, 73
Unseen, the silent wound is festering in her heart
X . Poor Dido burns, and roams from street to street,
Wild as a doe, whom heedless, far away,
Some swain hath pierced amid the woods of Crete,
And left, unware, the flying steel to stay,
While through the forests and the lawns his prey
Roams, with the death-bolt clinging to her side.
Now to Æneas doth the queen display
Her walls and wealth, the dowry of his bride; 82
Oft she essays to speak, so oft the utterance died.
XI . Again, when evening steals upon the light,
She seeks the feast, again would fain give ear
To Troy’s sad tale and, ravished with delight,
Hangs on his lips; and when the hall is clear,
And the moon sinks, and drowsy stars appear,
Alone she mourns, clings to the couch he pressed,
Him absent sees, his absent voice doth hear,
Now, fain to cheat her utter love’s unrest, 91
Clasps for his sire’s sweet sake Ascanius to her breast.
XII . No longer rise the growing towers, nor care
The youths in martial exercise to vie,
Nor ports nor bulwarks for defence prepare.
The frowning battlements neglected lie,
And lofty scaffolding that threats the sky.
Her, when Saturnian Juno saw possessed
With love so tameless, as would dare defy
The shame that whispers in a woman’s breast, 100
Forthwith the queen of Jove fair Venus thus addressed:
XIII . “Fine spoils, forsooth, proud triumph ye have won,
Thou and thy boy, — vast worship and renown!
Two gods by fraud one woman have undone.
But well I know ye fear the rising town,
The homes of Carthage offered for your own.
When shall this end? or why a feud so dire?
Let lasting peace and plighted wedlock crown
The compact. See, thou hast thy heart’s desire, 109
Poor Dido burns with love, her blood is turned to fire.
XIV . “Come then and rule we, each with equal power,
These folks as one. Let Tyrian Dido bear
A Phrygian’s yoke, and Tyrians be her dower.”
Then Venus, for she marked the Libyan snare
To snatch Italia’s lordship, “Who would care
To spurn such offer, or with thee contend,
Should fortune follow on a scheme so fair?
’Tis Fate, I doubt, if Jupiter intend 118
The sons of Tyre and Troy in common league to blend.
XV . “Thou art his consort; ’tis thy right to learn
By prayer the counsels of his breast. Lead thou,
I follow.” Quickly Juno made return:
“Be mine that task. Now briefly will I show
What means our purpose shall achieve, and how.
Soon as to-morrow’s rising sun is seen,
And Titan’s rays unveil the world below,
Forth ride Æneas and the love-sick Queen, 127
With followers to the chase, to scour the woodland green.
XVI . “While busy beaters round the lawns prepare
Their feathered nets, thick sleet-storms will I shower
And rend all heaven with thunder. Here and there
The rest shall fly, and in the darkness cower.
One cave shall screen both lovers in that hour.
There will I be, if thou approve, meanwhile
And make her his in wedlock. Hymen’s power
Shall seal the rite.” — Not adverse, with a smile 136
Sweet Venus nods assent, and gladdens at the guile.
XVII . Meanwhile Aurora o’er the deep appears.
At daybreak, issuing from the gates is seen
A chosen train, with nets and steel-tipt spears
And wide-meshed toils; and sleuth-hounds, staunch and keen,
Mixed with Massylian riders, scour the green.
Each on his charger, by the doorway sit
The princes, waiting for the lingering Queen.
Her steed, with gold and purple housings fit, 145
Impatient paws the ground, and champs the foaming bit.
XVIII . Now forth at length, with numbers in her train,
She comes in state, majestic to behold,
Wrapped in a purpled scarf of Tyrian grain.
All golden is her quiver; knots of gold
Confine her hair; a golden clasp doth hold
Her purple cloak. Behind her throng amain
The Trojans, with Iulus, blithe and bold,
And good Æneas, with the rest, as fain, 154
>
Joins in, and steps along, the comeliest of the train.
XIX . As when from wintry Lycia and the shore
Of Xanthus, to his mother’s Delian seat
Apollo comes, the dances to restore.
Around his shrines Dryopians, sons of Crete,
And tattooed Agathyrsians shouting meet.
He, on high Cynthus moving, binds around
His flowing locks the foliage soft and sweet,
And braids with gold: his arms behind him sound, 163
So firm Æneas strode, such grace his features crowned.
XX . The hill-tops and the pathless lairs they gain.
Lo! from the rocks dislodged, the goats in fear
Bound o’er the crags. In dust-clouds o’er the plain
Down from the mountains rush the frightened deer.
On mettled steed the boy, in wild career,
Outrides them, glorying in the chase. No more
He heeds such timid prey, but longs to hear
The tawny lion, issuing with a roar 172
Forth from the lofty hills, and front the foaming boar.
XXI . Meanwhile deep mutterings vex the louring sky,
And, mixt with hail, in torrents comes the rain.
Scar’d, o’er the fields to diverse shelter fly
Troy’s sons, Ascanius, and the Tyrian train.
Down from the hills the deluge pours amain.
One cave protects the pair. Earth gives the sign,
With Juno, mistress of the nuptial chain.
And heaven bears witness, and the lightnings shine, 181
And from the crags above shriek out the Nymphs divine.
XXII . Dark day of fate, and dismal hour of sin!
Then first disaster did the gods ordain,
And death and woe were destined to begin.
Nor shame nor scandal now the Queen restrain,
No more she meditates to hide the stain,
No longer chooses to conceal her flame.
Marriage she calls it, but the fraud is plain,
And pretexts weaves, and with a specious name 190
Attempts to veil her guilt, and sanctify her shame.
XXIII . Fame with the news through Libya’s cities hies,
Fame, far the swiftest of all mischiefs bred;
Speed gives her force; she strengthens as she flies.
Small first through fear, she lifts a loftier head,
Her forehead in the clouds, on earth her tread.
Last sister of Enceladus, whom Earth
Brought forth, in anger with the gods, ’tis said,
Swift-winged, swift-footed, of enormous girth, 199
Huge, horrible, deformed, a giantess from birth.
XXIV . As many feathers as her form surround,
Strange sight! peep forth so many watchful eyes,
So many mouths and tattling tongues resound,
So many ears among the plumes uprise.
By night with shrieks ‘twixt heaven and earth she flies,
Nor suffers sleep her eyelids to subdue;
By day, the terror of great towns, she spies
From towers and housetops, perched aloft in view, 208
Fond of the false and foul, yet herald of the true.
XXV . So now, exulting, with a mingled hum
Of truth and falsehood, through the crowd she sped;
How one Æneas hath from Ilion come,
A Dardan guest, whom Dido deigns to wed.
Now, lapt in dalliance and with ease o’erfed,
All winter long they revel in their shame,
Lost to their kingdoms. Such the tale she spread;
And straight the demon to Iarbas came, 217
And wrath on wrath upheaped, and fanned his soul to flame.
XXVI . Born of a nymph, by Ammon’s forced embrace,
A hundred temples and in each a shrine
He built to Jove, the father of his race,
And lit the sacred fires, that sleepless shine,
The Gods’ eternal watches. Slaughtered kine
Smoke on the teeming pavement, garlands fair
Of various hues the stately porch entwine.
Stung by the bitter tidings, in despair 226
Before the gods he kneels, and pours a suppliant’s prayer.
XXVII . “Great Jove, to whom our Moorish tribes, reclined
On broidered couch, the votive wine-cup drain,
See’st thou or, Father, are thy bolts but blind,
Mere noise thy thunder, and thy lightnings vain?
This woman here, who, wandering on the main,
Bought leave to build and govern as her own
Her puny town, and till the sandy plain,
Our proffered love hath ventured to disown, 235
And takes a Trojan lord, Æneas, to her throne.
XXVIII . “And now that Paris, tricked in Lydian guise,
With perfumed locks and bonnet, and his crew
Of men half-women, gloats upon the prize,
While vainly at thy so-called shrines we sue,
And nurse a faith as empty as untrue.”
He prayed and clasped the altar. His request
Jove heard, and to the city bent his view,
And saw the guilty lovers, lapt in rest 244
And lost to shame, and thus Cyllenius he addressed:
XXIX . “Go, son, the Zephyrs call, and wing thy flight
To Carthage. Call the Dardan chief away,
Who, deaf to Fate, his destined walls doth slight.
This mandate through the wafting air convey,
Not such fair Venus did her son pourtray,
Nor twice for this from Grecian swords reclaim
One born to rule Italia, big with sway
And fierce for war, and spread the Teucrian name 253
Through Teucer’s sons, and laws to conquered earth proclaim.
XXX . “If glory cannot tempt him, nor inflame
His soul to win such greatness, if indeed
He takes no trouble for his own fair fame,
Shall he, a father, envy to his seed
The towers of Rome, by destiny decreed?
What schemes he now? what hope the chief constrains
To linger ‘mid a hostile race, nor heed
Ausonia’s sons and the Lavinian plains? 262
Go, bid him sail; enough; that word the sum contains.”
XXXI . Jove spake. Cyllenius to his feet binds fast
His golden sandals, that aloft in flight
O’er sea and shore upbear him with the blast,
Then takes his rod — the rod of mystic might,
That calls from Hell or plunges into night
The pallid ghosts, gives sleep or bids it fly,
And lifts the dead man’s eyelids to the light.
Armed with that rod, he rules the clouds on high, 271
And drives the scattered gales, and sails the stormy sky.
XXXII . Now, borne along, beneath him he espies
The sides precipitous and towering peak
Of rugged Atlas, who upholds the skies.
Round his pine-covered forehead, wild and bleak,
The dark clouds settle and the storm-winds shriek.
His shoulders glisten with the mantling snow,
Dark roll the torrents down his aged cheek,
Seamed with the wintry ravage, and below, 280
Stiff with the gathered ice his hoary beard doth show.
XXXIII . Poised on his wings, here first Cyllenius stood,
Then downward shot, and in the salt sea spray
Dipped like a sea-gull, who, in quest of food,
Searches the teeming shore-cliffs for his prey,
And scours the rocks and skims along the bay.
So swiftly now, between the earth and skies,
Leaving his mother’s sire, his airy way
Cyllene’s god on cleaving pinions plies, 289
As o’er the Libyan sand
s along the wind he flies.
XXXIV . Scarce now at Carthage had he stayed his feet,
Among the huts Æneas he espied,
Planning new towers and many a stately street.
A sword-hilt, starred with jasper, graced his side,
A scarf, gold-broidered by the queen, and dyed
With Tyrian hues, was o’er his shoulders thrown.
“What, thou — wilt thou build Carthage?” Hermes cried,
“And stay to beautify thy lady’s town, 298
And dote on Tyrian realms, and disregard thine own?
XXXV . “Himself, the Sire, who rules the earth and skies,
Sends me from heaven his mandate to proclaim.
What scheme is thine? what hope allures thine eyes,
To loiter thus in Libya? If such fame
Nowise can move thee, nor thy soul inflame,
If loth to labour for thine own renown,
Think of thy young Ascanius; see with shame
His rising promise, scarce to manhood grown, 307
Hope of the Roman race, and heir of Latium’s throne.”
XXXVI . He spake and, speaking, vanished into air.
Dumb stood Æneas, by the sight unmann’d:
Fear stifled speech and stiffened all his hair.
Fain would he fly, and quit the tempting land,
Surprised and startled by the god’s command.
Ah! what to do? what opening can he find
To break the news, the infuriate Queen withstand?
This way and that dividing his swift mind, 316
All means in turns he tries, and wavers like the wind.
XXXVII . This plan prevails; he bids a chosen few
Collect the crews in silence, arm the fleet
And hide the purport of these counsels new,
Himself, since Dido dreams not of deceit,
Nor thinks such passion can be frail or fleet,
Some avenue of access will essay,
Some tender moment for soft speeches meet,
And wit shall find, and cunning smooth the way. 325
With joy the captains hear, and hasten to obey.
XXXVIII . But Dido — who can cheat a lover’s care?
Could guess the fraud, the coming change descry,
And in the midst of safety feared a snare.
Now wicked Fame hath bid the rumour fly
