by Virgil
Nor see the dangers that around thee lie,
Nor hear the Zephyrs whispering to the deep.
Dark crimes the Queen is plotting, bent to die
And tost with varying passions. Haste thee — fly,
While flight is open. Morn shall see the bay
Swarm with their ships, and all the shore and sky
Red with fierce firebrands and the flames. Away! 649
Changeful is woman’s mood, and varying with the day.”
LXXIV . He spake and, mixing with the night, withdrew.
Up starts Æneas from his sleep, so sore
The vision scared him, and awakes his crew.
“Quick, comrades, man the benches! ply the oar!
Unfurl the canvas! Lo, a God once more
Comes down to urge us, chiding our delay,
And bids us cut our cables from the shore.
Dread Power divine, we follow on thy way, 658
Gladly, whoe’er thou art, thy summons we obey.
LXXV . “Be near us now, and O, vouchsafe thine aid,
And bid fair stars their kindly beams afford
To light our pathway through the deep.” He prayed,
And from the scabbard snatched his flaming sword,
And, swift as lightning, cleft the twisted cord.
Fired by their chief, like ardour fills the crew,
They scour, they scud and, hurrying, crowd on board.
Bare lies the beach; ships hide the sea from view, 667
And strong arms lash the foam and sweep the sparkling blue.
LXXVI . Now rose Aurora from the saffron bed
Of old Tithonus, and with orient ray
Sprinkled the earth. Forth looks the Queen in dread,
And from her watch-tower marks the twilight grey
Glow with the shimmering whiteness of the day,
The harbour shipless and the shore all bare,
The fleet with full-squared canvas under weigh.
Then thrice and four times, frantic with despair, 676
She beats her beauteous breast, and rends her golden hair.
LXXVII . “Ah! Jove, shall he escape me? Shall he mock
My queenship? He, an alien, flout my sway?
Will no one arm and chase them, or undock
The ships? Bring fire; get weapons, quick! Away!
Swing out the oars! Ah me! what do I say?
Where am I? O, what madness turns my brain?
Poor Dido, hath thy folly found its prey?
Thy sins, alas! they sting thee, but in vain. 685
They should have done so then, when yielding him thy reign.
LXXVIII . “Lo, there his honour and the faith he swore,
Who takes Troy’s gods the partners of his flight,
And erst from Troy his aged parent bore.
O, had I torn him piecemeal, as I might,
And strewn him on the waves, and slain outright
His friends, and for the father’s banquet spread
The murdered boy! But doubtful were the fight.
Grant that it had been, whom should Dido dread, 694
What fear had death for me, self-destined to be dead?
LXXIX . “These hands the firebrands at his feet had cast,
And filled with flames his hatches. Sire and son
And all their race had perished with the past,
And I, too, perished with them. O great Sun,
Whose torch reveals whate’er on Earth is done,
Juno, who know’st the passion that devours
Poor Dido; Hecate, where crossways run
Night-howled in cities; ye avenging Powers, 703
Friends, Furies, Gods that guard Elissa’s dying hours!
LXXX . “Mark this, compassionate these woes, and bow
To supplication. If the Fates demand —
Curst be his head! — that he escape me now,
And touch his haven, and float up to land.
If so Jove wills, and fixt his edicts stand,
Then, scourged with warfare by a daring race,
In vain for succour let him stretch his hand,
And see his people perish with disgrace, 712
An exile, torn from home and from his son’s embrace.
LXXXI . “And when hard peace the traitor stoops to buy,
No realm be his, nor happy days in store.
Cut off in prime of manhood let him die,
And rot unburied on the sandy shore.
This dying curse, this utterance I pour,
The latest, with my life-blood, — this my prayer.
Them and their children’s children evermore
Ye Tyrians, with immortal hate outwear. 721
This gift— ‘twill please me best — for Dido’s shade prepare.
LXXXII . “This heritage be yours; no truce nor trust
‘Twixt theirs and ours, no union or accord
Arise, unknown Avenger from our dust;
With fire and steel upon the Dardan horde
Mete out the measure of their crimes’ reward.
To-day, to-morrow, for eternity
Fight, oft as ye are able — sword with sword,
Shore with opposing shore, and sea with sea; 730
Fight, Tyrians, all that are, and all that e’er shall be.”
LXXXIII . So spake the queen, and pondered in her breast
How of her loathèd life to clip the thread,
Then briefly thus Sychæus’ nurse addressed
(Her own at Tyre lay buried)— “Haste,” she said,
“Dear Barce; call my sister; let her head
With living water from the lustral bough
Be sprinkled. Hither be the victims led,
And due atoning offerings, and thou 739
Bring forth the sacred wreath, and bind it on thy brow.
LXXXIV . “The sacrifice, prepared for Stygian Jove,
I purpose now to consummate, and pay
The last sad rites, and ease me of my love,
And burn the couch whereon the Dardan lay.”
She spake; the old dame tottering hastes away.
Maddening stood Dido at the doom so dread,
With bloodshot eyes and trembling with dismay,
Her quivering cheeks flecked with the burning red, 748
Pale with approaching death, but yearning to be dead.
LXXXV . So bursting through the inner doors she flew
And, with wild frenzy, climbed the lofty pyre,
Then seized the scabbard he had left, and drew
The sword, ne’er given for an end so dire.
But when, with eyes still wistful with desire,
She viewed the bed that she had known too well,
The Ilian raiment and the chief’s attire,
She paused, then musing, while the teardrops fell, 757
Sank on the fatal couch, and cried a last farewell:
LXXXVI . “Dear relics! loved while Fate and Jove were kind,
Receive this soul, and free me from my woe.
My life is lived; behold, the course assigned
By Fortune now is finished, and I go,
A shade majestic, to the world below,
A glorious city I have built, have seen
My walls, avenged my husband of his foe.
Thrice happy, ah! too happy had I been 766
Had Dardan ships, alas! not come to bring me teen!”
LXXXVII . She paused, and pressed her lips upon the bed.
“To die — and unavenged? Yea, let me die!
Thus — thus it joys to journey to the dead.
Let yon false Dardan with remorseful eye
Drink in this bale-fire from the deep, and sigh
To bear the omens of my death.” — No more
She said, but swooned. The servants see her lie,
Sunk on the sword; they see the life-blood pour, 775
Reddening her tender hands, the weapon drenched with gore.
LXX
XVIII . Then through the lofty palace rose a scream,
And madly Rumour riots, as she flies
Through the shocked town. The very houses seem
To groan, and shrieks, and sobbing and the cries
Of wailing women pierce the vaulted skies.
’Twas e’en as though all Carthage or old Tyre
Were falling, stormed by ruthless enemies,
While over roof and battlement and spire 784
And temples of the Gods rolled on the infuriate fire.
LXXXIX . Her sister heard, and through the concourse came,
And tore her cheeks and beat her bosom fair,
And called upon the dying Queen by name.
“Sister! was this thy secret? thine this snare?
For me this fraud? For this did I prepare
That pyre, those flames and altars? This the end?
Ah me, forlorn! what worse remains to bear?
Would’st thou in death desert me, and pretend 793
To scorn a sister’s care, and shun me as a friend?
XC . “Thou should’st have called me to thy doom! One stroke,
A moment’s pang, and we had ceased to sigh.
Reared I this pyre, did I the gods invoke
To leave thee thus companionless, to die?
Lo, all are dead together, thou and I,
Town, princes, people, perished in a day.
Bring water; let me close the lightless eye,
And bathe those wounds, and kiss those lips of clay, 802
And catch one fluttering breath, if yet, perchance, I may!”
XCI . So saying, she climbs the steps, and, groaning sore,
Clasps to her breast her sister ere she dies,
And stanches with her robe the streaming gore.
In vain poor Dido lifts her wearied eyes,
The closing eyelids sicken at the skies.
Deep gurgles in her breast the deadly wound;
Thrice on her elbow she essays to rise,
Thrice back she sinks. With wandering eyes all round 811
She seeks the light of heaven, and moans when it is found.
XCII . Then Juno, pitying her agony
Of lingering death, sent Iris down with speed.
Her struggling soul from clinging limbs to free.
For since by Fate, or for her own misdeed
She perished not, but, ere the day decreed,
Fell in the frenzy of her love’s despair,
Not yet Proserpina had claimed her meed,
And shorn the ringlet of her golden hair, 820
And bade the sacred shade to Stygian realms repair.
XCIII . So down to earth came Iris from on high
On saffron wings all glittering with the dew.
A thousand tints against the sunlit sky
She flashed from out her rainbow as she flew,
Then, hovering overhead, these words outthrew,
“Behold, to Dis this offering I bear,
And loose thee from thy body.” — Forth she drew
The fatal shears, and clipped the golden hair; 829
The vital heats disperse, and life dissolves in air.
BOOK FIVE
ARGUMENT
Æneas, unaware of Dido’s fate, sails away to Acestes in Sicily, and prepares funeral games against the anniversary of Anchises’ death (1-90). Offerings are paid to the spirit of Anchises. Sicilians and Trojans assemble for the first contest, a boat race (91-140), which is described at length. Cloanthus, ancestor of the Cluentii, wins with the “Scylla” (141-342). The foot-race is next narrated. Euryalus, by his friend’s cunning, gains the first prize, and the scene shifts (343-441) to the ring, in which Dares is defeated by the veteran Entellus, who fells the ox, his prize, as an offering to his master Eryx (442-594). After some wonderful shooting in the archery which follows, Æneas awards the first prize to Acestes, as the favourite of the gods (595-667). Before this contest is over Æneas summons Ascanius and his boy-companions to perform the elaborate manoeuvres afterwards celebrated in Rome as the “Trojan Ride” (668-729). Juno schemes to destroy the Trojan fleet, while the games are being held. She inspires with discontent the Trojan matrons, who are not present at the festival. They set fire to the ships (730-810). Ascanius hurries to the scene. Jupiter sends rain and saves all the ships but four (811-855). Nautes advises Æneas to leave behind the weak and aged with Acestes. The wraith of Anchises enforces the advice, and bids Æneas visit him in the nether-world (856-909). Preparations for departure. Acestes accepts his new subjects, and the Trojans depart. Venus prevails on Neptune to grant them safe convoy in return for the life of the helmsman Palinurus, who is drowned (910-1062).
I . Now well at sea, Æneas, fixt in mind,
Held on his course, and cleft the watery ways
Through billows blackened by the northern wind,
And backward on the city bent his gaze,
Bright with the flames of Dido. Whence the blaze
Arose, they knew not; but the pangs they knew
When love is passionate, and man betrays,
And what a frantic woman scorned can do, 1
And many a sad surmise their boding thoughts pursue.
II . The fleet was on mid-ocean; land no more
Was visible, nor aught but sea and sky;
When lo! above them a black cloud, that bore
Tempest and Night, frowned iron-dark on high,
And the wave, shuddering as the wind swept by,
Curled and was darkened. From the stern loud cries
The pilot Palinurus: “Whence and why
This cloudy rack that gathers o’er the skies? 10
What, father Neptune, now, what mischief dost devise?”
III . So having said, he bade the seamen take
The tackling in, and ply the lusty oar,
Then sloped the mainsheet to the wind, and spake:
“Noble Æneas, e’en if high Jove swore
To bring us safely to Italia’s shore,
With skies like these, ‘twere hopeless. Westward loom
The dark clouds mustering, and the changed winds roar
Athwart us, and the air is thick with gloom. 19
Vainly we strive to move, and struggle with our doom.
IV . “Come, then, since Fortune hath the mastering hand,
Yield we and turn. Not far, methinks, there lies
A friendly shore, thy brother Eryx’ land,
And ports Sicanian, if aright these eyes
Recall my former reading of the skies.”
Then good Æneas: “Long ago, ’tis plain,
The winds so willed it. I have seen,” he cries,
“And marked thee toiling in their teeth in vain. 28
Shift sail and turn the helm. What sweeter shore to gain,
V . “What port more welcome to a wearied fleet
And wave-worn mariners, what land more blest
Than that where still Acestes lives, to greet
His Dardan friends, and in the boon earth’s breast
My father’s bones, Anchises’, are at rest?”
He spake; at once the Trojans strive to gain
The port. Fair breezes, blowing from the West,
Swell out the sails. They bound along the main, 37
And soon with gladdening hearts the well-known shore attain.
VI . Far off Acestes, wondering, from a height
The coming of their friendly ships descries,
And hastes to meet them. Roughly is he dight
In Libyan bearskin, as in huntsman’s guise;
A pointed javelin in each hand he plies.
Him once a Trojan to Crimisus bore,
The stream-god. Mindful of ancestral ties
He hails his weary kinsmen, come once more, 46
And dainty fruits sets forth, and cheers them from his store.
VII . Next dawn had chased the stars, when on the shore
Æneas thus the gathered crews addressed:
“Twelve months have passed, brave Dardans, since we bore
The bones of great Anchises to his rest,
And laid his ashes in the ground, and blessed
The mourning altars by the rolling sea.
And now once more, if rightly I have guessed,
The day is come, which Heaven hath willed to be 55
Sacred for evermore, but ever sad to me.
VIII . This day, though exiled on Gætulian sands,
Or caught by tempests on th’ Ægean brine,
Or at Mycenæ in the foemen’s hands,
With annual honours will I hold divine,
And head with fitting offerings the shrine.
By chance unsought, now hither are we led,
Yet not, I ween, without the God’s design,
Where lie the ashes of my father dead, 64
And greet a friendly port, by favouring breezes sped.
IX . “Come then, with festival his name revere,
Pray we for winds to waft us, and entreat
His shade to take these offerings year by year,
When gathered to our new-built Troy, we meet
In hallowed fanes, his worship to repeat.
See, for each ship two head of hornèd kine
Acestes sends, his Trojan friends to greet
Bid then the home-gods of the Trojan line, 73
With those our host adores, to grace the feast divine.
X . “Nay, if the ninth fair morning show fine day,
And bring the sunshine, be a match decreed
For Teucrian ships, their swiftness to essay.
Next, in the footrace whosoe’er hath speed,
Or, glorying in his manhood, claims the meed
With dart, or flying arrow and the bow,
Or bout with untanned gauntlet, mark and heed,
And wait the victor’s guerdon. Come ye now; 82
Hush’d be each idle tongue, and garlanded each brow.”
XI . He spake, and round his temples binds with joy
His mother’s myrtle. Helymus is crowned,
The veteran Acestes, and the boy
Ascanius, and the Trojan warriors round.
So from the council to the funeral mound
He moves, the centre of a circling crowd.
