Where deeds of hero-sires are told,
From chief to chief in sequence drawn,
E’en from proud Sidon’s earliest dawn.
The father in the king,
Sends down Achates to his crews:
‘Haste, to Ascanius bear the news,
Himself to Carthage bring.’
A father’s care, a father’s joy,
All centre in the darling boy.
Rich presents too he bids be brought,
Scarce saved when Troy’s last fight was fought,
A pall with stiffening gold inwrought,
A veil, the marvel of the loom,
Edged with acanthus’ saffron bloom
These Leda once to Helen gave,
And Helen from Mycenæ bore,
What time to Troy she crossed the wave
With that her unblessed paramour;
The sceptre Priam’s eldest fair,
Ilione, was wont to bear;
Her necklace, and her coronet
With gold and gems in circle set.
Such mandate hastening to obey,
Achates takes his shore-ward way.
New arts, new stratagems designed,
That Cupid, changed in mien and face,
Should come in sweet Ascanius’ place,
Fire with his gifts the royal dame,
And thread each leaping vein with flame.
The palace of deceit she fears,
The double tongues of Tyre;
Fell Juno’s form at night appears,
And burns her like a fire.
So to her will she seeks to move
The winged deity of Love:
‘My son, my strength, my virtue born,
Who laugh’st Jove’s Titan bolts to scorn,
To thee for succour I repair,
And breathe the voice of suppliant prayer.
How Juno drives from coast to coast
Thy Trojan brother, this thou know’st,
And oft hast bid thy sorrows flow
With mine in pity of his woe.
Him now this Tyrian entertains,
And with soft speech his stay constrains:
But I, I cannot brook with ease
Junonian hospitalities;
Nor, where our fortunes hinge and turn,
Canshe long rest in unconcern.
Fain would I first ensnare the dame,
And wrap her leagured heart in flame;
So, ere she change by power malign,
Æneas’ love shall bind her mine.
Such triumph how thou mayst achieve,
The issue of my thought receive.
To Sidon’s town the princely heir,
The darling motive of my care,
Sets out at summons of his sire,
With presents, saved from flood and fire.
Him, in the bands of slumber tied,
In high Cythera I will hide,
Or blest Idalia, safe and far,
Lest he perceive the plot, or mar.
Thou for one night supply his room,
Thyself a boy, the boy assume;
That when the queen, with rapture glowing,
While boards blaze rich, and wine is flowing,
Shall make thee nestle in her breast,
And to thy lips her lips are prest,
The stealthy plague thou mayst inspire,
And thrill her with contagious fire.’
And, laughing, like Iulus tripped.
But Venus on her grandson strows
The dewy softness of repose,
And laps him in her robe, and bears
To tall Idalia’s fragrant airs,
Where soft amaracus receives
And gently curtains him with leaves:
While Cupid, tutored to obey,
Beside Achates takes his way,
And bears the presents, blithe and gay.
Arrived, he finds the Tyrian queen
On tapestry laid of gorgeous sheen,
In central place, her guests between.
There lies Æneas, there his train,
All stretched at ease on purple grain.
Slaves o’er their hands clear water pour,
Deal round the bread from basket-store,
And napkins thick with wool:
Within full fifty maids supply
Fresh food, and make the hearths blaze high:
A hundred more of equal age,
Each with her fellow, girl and page,
Serve to the gathered company
The meats and goblets full.
The invited Tyrians throng the hall,
And on the broidered couches fall.
They marvel as the gifts they view,
They marvel at the bringer too,
The features where the God shines through,
The tones his mimic voice assumes,
The pall, the veil with saffron blooms.
But chiefly Dido, doomed to ill,
Her soul with gazing cannot fill,
And, kindling with delirious fires,
Admires the boy, the gift admires.
He, having hung a little space
Clasped in Æneas’ warm embrace,
And satisfied the fond desire
Of that his counterfeited sire,
Turns him to Dido. Heart and eye
She clings, she cleaves, she makes him lie
Lapped in her breast, nor knows, lost fair,
How dire a God sits heavy there.
But he, too studious to fulfil
His Acidalian mother’s will,
Begins to cancel trace by trace
The imprint of Sychæus’ face,
And bids a living passion steal
On senses long unused to feel.
And boards are cleared away,
They place the bowls, all brimming full,
And wreathe with garlands gay.
Up to the rafters mounts the din,
And voices swell and heave within:
From the gilt roof hang cressets bright,
And flambeau-fires put out the night.
The queen gives charge: a cup is brought
With massy gold and jewels wrought,
Whence ancient Belus quaffed his wine,
And all the kings of Belus’ line.
Then silence reigns: ‘Great Jove, who know’st
The mutual rights of guest and host,
O make this day a day of joy
Alike to Tyre and wandering Troy,
And may our children’s children feel
The blessing of the bond we seal!
Be Bacchus, giver of glad cheer,
And bounteous Juno, present here!
And, Tyrians, you with frank good-will
Our courteous purpose fulfil.’
She spoke, and on the festal board
The meed of due libation
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