Touched with her lip the goblet’s edge,
Then challenged Bitias to the pledge.
He grasped the cup with eager hold,
And drenched him with the foaming gold.
The rest succeed. Iopas takes
His gilded lyre, its chords awakes,
The long-haired bard, rehearsing sweet
The descant learned at Atlas’ feet.
He sings the wanderings of the moon,
The sun eclipsed in deathly swoon,
Whence humankind and cattle came,
And whence the rain-spout and the flame,
Arcturus and the two bright Bears,
And Hyads weeping showery tears,
Why winter suns so swiftly go,
And why the weary nights move slow.
With plaudits Tyre the minstrel greets,
And Troy the loud acclaim repeats.
And now discourse succeeds to song:
Poor Dido makes the gay night long,
Still drinking love-draughts, deep and strong:
Much of great Priam asks the dame,
Much of his greater son:
Now of Tydides’ steeds of flame,
Now in what armour Memnon came,
Now how Achilles shone.
‘Nay, guest,’ she cries, ‘vouchsafe a space
The tale of Danaan fraud to trace,
The dire misfortunes of your race,
These wanderings of your own:
For since you first ’gan wander o’er
Yon homeless world of sea and shore,
Seven summers nigh have flown.’
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