Queen Juno’s self has turned my foe:
Not e’en Saturnian Jove is just:
No faith on earth, in heaven no trust.
A shipwrecked wanderer up and down,
I made him share my home, my crown:
His shattered fleet, his needy crew
From fire and famine’s jaws I drew.
Ah, Furies whirl me! now divine
Apollo, now the Lycian shrine,
Now Heaven’s own herald comes, to bear
His grisly mandate through the air!
Ay, Gods above ply tasks like these:
Such cares disturb their life of ease.—
I loathe your person, scorn your pleas.
Go, seek your kingdom o’er the foam,
Hunt with the winds your Latian home.
Yet, yet I trust, if Heaven do right,
That fate shall find you ’mid your flight,
Wrecked on some rock remote from shore,
And calling Dido o’er and o’er:
Dido shall fasten on her prey
In sulphurous fires, though far away:
And when her life and limbs divide,
Her ghost shall never quit your side:
Yes, blood for blood! your cry of woe,
Base wretch, shall reach me down below.’
Her speech half done, she breaks away,
And, sickening, shuns the light of day,
And tears her from his gaze,
While he, with thousand things to say,
Still falters and delays:
Her servants lift the sinking fair,
And to her marble chamber bear.
Would follow and console her pain
With many a groan, his mighty breast
Shaken all o’er with love suppressed,
Bows ne’ertheless to Heaven’s command,
And swiftly hies him to the strand.
Roused by the sight, the Trojan train
Haul down their navy to the main:
The smooth keel floats: from neighbouring wood
They bring them oars, unshaped and rude,
And timber leafy as it grew,
In zeal to fly, the eager crew:
You see them hurry to the shore,
And forth from all the city pour:
E’en as when ants industrious toil
Some mighty heap of corn to spoil,
And mindful of the cold to come
Convey their new-won booty home:
There moves the column long and black,
And threads the grass with one thin track:
Some labouring with their shoulders strong
Heave huge and heavy grains along:
Some force the stragglers into file:
The pathway seethes and glows the while.
What felt you, Dido, in that hour?
What groans escaped you then,
Beholding from your lofty tower
The coast alive with men,
And all the port before your eyes
One tumult of conflicting cries?
Curst Love! what lengths of tyrant scorn
Wreak’st not on those of woman born?
Once more affection’s tear must start,
Once more must prayers essay their art;
Once more that high and haughty soul
Must suppliant stoop to love’s control,
Lest aught of aid untried remain,
And Dido rush on death in vain.
O’er all the shore they crowd:
The sails are spread; the stems are decked
With festal garlands proud.
Enough; my heart foresaw this ill,
And, sister, I shall bear it still.
Yet once, but once your succour lend:
’Twas you the wretch would make his friend,
To you his secret thoughts confide:
You only know his softer side.
Go now, my sister, suppliant go,
And thus accost our haughty foe:
Not I with Greece at Aulis joined
To sweep his Trojans from mankind;
I sent no fleet to Ilium’s coast,
Nor vexed Anchises’ buried ghost;
Why should he change his ears to stone,
And close their portals on my moan?
One boon I sue for; let him bide
Till fair the breeze and smooth the tide.
Not now I ask him to restore
The ancient marriage he forswore,
Resign his lovely Latian town,
Or abdicate Italia’s crown.
My prayer is for a transient grace,
To give this madness breathing-space,
Till fortune’s discipline shall school
My vanquished heart to grieve by rule.
Vouchsafe this aid, the last I crave,
And take requital from my grave.’
Again, again her sister bears:
He stands immovable by tears,
Nor tenderest words with pity hears.
Fate bars the way: a hand above
His gentle ears makes deaf to love.
As some strong oak, the mountain’s pride,
Fierce Alpine blasts on either side
Are striving to o’erthrow:
It creaks and strains beneath the shock,
And from the weather-beaten stock
Thick leaves the ground bestrow:
Yet firm it stands; high as its crown
Towers up to heaven, so deep goes down
Its root to worlds below:
So in this storm of prayers the chief
Thrills through and through with manly grief:
Unchanged his heart’s resolves remain,
And falling tears are idle rain.
Unhappy Dido prays to die:
’Tis weary to look up and see
The overarching sky.
It chanced, to fortify her heart
And steel her purpose to depart,
Before the altar as she stands
She sees a blackness gather o’er
The chalice mantling in her hands,
And wine—O horror!—turns to gore.
Not e’en into her sister’s ear
She dared to breathe that tale of fear.
Beside, within her courts a fane
There stood, of marble’s purest grain,
Where oft she wont to render vows:
The chapel of her ancient spouse,
Wreathed with white wool and sacred boughs;
Thence, when the dark was over all,
There came a sighing and a call,
As in the dead man’s tone:
And midnight’s solitary bird,
Death-boding, from the roof was heard
To make its long, long moan.
And prophecies of bygone seers
Ring terror in her wildered ears.
Æneas with
| Previous chapter/page | Back | Home | Email this | Search | Discuss | Bookmark | Next chapter/page |