BOOK IV

AENEAS AND DIDO

But the queen finds no rest. Deep in her veins The wound is fed; she burns with hidden fire. His manhood, and the glory of his race Are an obsession with her, like his voice, Gesture and countenance. On the next morning, After a restless night, she sought her sister: “I am troubled, Anna, doubtful, terrified, Or am I dreaming? What new guest is this Come to our shores? How well he talks, how brave He seems in heart and action! I suppose It must be true; he does come from the gods. Fear proves a bastard spirit. He has been So buffeted by fate. What endless wars He told of! Sister, I must tell you something: Were not my mind made up, once and for all, Never again to marry, having been So lost when Sychaeus left me for the grave, Slain by my murderous brother at the altar, Were I not sick forever of the torch And bridal bed, here is the only man Who has moved my spirit, shaken my weak will. I might have yielded to him. I recognize The marks of an old fire. But I pray, rather, That earth engulf me, lightning strike me down To the pale shades and everlasting night Before I break the laws of decency. My love has gone with Sychaeus; let him keep it, Keep it with him forever in the grave.” She ended with a burst of tears. “Dear sister, Dearer than life,” Anna replied, “why must you Grieve all your youth away in loneliness, Not know sweet children, or the joys of love? Is that what dust demands, and buried shadows? So be it. You have kept your resolution From Tyre to Libya, proved it by denying Iarbas and a thousand other suitors From Africa’s rich kingdoms. Think a little. Whose lands are these you settle in? Getulians, Invincible in war, the wild Numidians, Unfriendly Syrtes, ring us round, and a desert Barren with drought, and the Barcaean rangers. Why should I mention Tyre, and wars arising Out of Pygmalion’s threats? And you, my sister, Why should you fight against a pleasing passion? I think the gods have willed it so, and Juno Has helped to bring the Trojan ships to Carthage. What a great city, sister, what a kingdom This might become, rising on such a marriage! Carthage and Troy together in arms, what glory Might not be ours? Only invoke the blessing Of the great gods, make sacrifice, be lavish In welcome, keep them here while the fierce winter Rages at sea, and cloud and sky are stormy, And ships still wrecked and broken.”

So she fanned The flame of the burning heart; the doubtful mind Was given hope, and the sense of guilt was lessened. And first of all they go to shrine and altar Imploring peace; they sacrifice to Ceres, Giver of law, to Bacchus, to Apollo, And most of all to Juno, in whose keeping The bonds of marriage rest. In all her beauty Dido lifts up the goblet, pours libation Between the horns of a white heifer, slowly, Or, slowly, moves to the rich altars, noting The proper gifts to mark the day, or studies The sacrificial entrails for the omens. Alas, poor blind interpreters! What woman In love is helped by offerings or altars? Soft fire consumes the marrow-bones, the silent Wound grows, deep in the heart. Unhappy Dido burns, and wanders, burning, All up and down the city, the way a deer With a hunter’s careless arrow in her flank Ranges the uplands, with the shaft still clinging To the hurt side. She takes Aeneas with her All through the town, displays the wealth of Sidon, Buildings projected; she starts to speak, and falters, And at the end of the day renews the banquet, Is wild to hear the story, over and over, Hangs on each word, until the late moon, sinking, Sends them all home. The stars die out, but Dido Lies brooding in the empty hall, alone, Abandoned on a lonely couch. She hears him, Sees him, or sees and hears him in Iulus, Fondles the boy, as if that ruse might fool her, Deceived by his resemblance to his father. The towers no longer rise, the youth are slack In drill for arms, the cranes and derricks rusting, Walls halt halfway to heaven.

And Juno saw it, The queen held fast by this disease, this passion Which made her good name meaningless. In anger She rushed to Venus:--“Wonderful!--the trophies, The praise, you and that boy of yours are winning! Two gods outwit one woman--splendid, splendid! What glory for Olympus! I know you fear me, Fear Carthage, and suspect us. To what purpose? What good does all this do? Is there no limit? Would we not both be better off, to sanction A bond of peace forever, a formal marriage? You have your dearest wish; Dido is burning With love, infected to her very marrow. Let us--why not?--conspire to rule one people On equal terms; let her serve a Trojan husband; Let her yield her Tyrian people as her dowry.”

This, Venus knew, was spoken with a purpose, A guileful one, to turn Italian empire To Libyan shores: not without reservation She spoke in answer: “Who would be so foolish As to refuse such terms, preferring warfare, If only fortune follows that proposal? I do not know, I am more than a little troubled What fate permits: will Jupiter allow it, One city for the Tyrians and Trojans, This covenant, this mixture? You can fathom His mind, and ask him, being his wife. I follow Wherever you lead.” And royal Juno answered: “That I will tend to. Listen to me, and learn How to achieve the urgent need. They plan, Aeneas, and poor Dido, to go hunting When sunlight floods the world to-morrow morning. While the rush of the hunt is on, and the forest shaken With beaters and their nets, I will pour down Dark rain and hail, and make the whole sky rumble With thunder and threat. The company will scatter, Hidden or hiding in the night and shadow, And Dido and the Trojan come for shelter To the same cave. I will be there and join them In lasting wedlock; she will be his own, His bride, forever; this will be their marriage.” Venus assented, smiling, not ungracious-- The trick was in the open.

Dawn, rising, left the ocean, and the youth Come forth from all the gates, prepared for hunting, Nets, toils, wide spears, keen-scented coursing hounds, And Dido keeps them waiting; her own charger Stands bright in gold and crimson; the bit foams, The impatient head is tossed. At last she comes, With a great train attending, gold and crimson, Quiver of gold, and combs of gold, and mantle Crimson with golden buckle. A Trojan escort Attends her, with Iulus, and Aeneas Comes to her side, more lordly than Apollo Bright along Delos’ ridges in the springtime With laurel in his hair and golden weapons Shining across his shoulders. Equal radiance Is all around Aeneas, equal splendor.

They reach the mountain heights, the hiding-places Where no trail runs; wild goats from the rocks are started, Run down the ridges; elsewhere, in the open Deer cross the dusty plain, away from the mountains. The boy Ascanius, in the midst of the valley, Is glad he has so good a horse, rides, dashing Past one group or another: deer are cowards And wild goats tame; he prays for some excitement, A tawny lion coming down the mountain Or a great boar with foaming mouth.

The heaven Darkens, and thunder rolls, and rain and hail Come down in torrents. The hunt is all for shelter, Trojans and Tyrians and Ascanius dashing Wherever they can; the streams pour down the mountains. To the same cave go Dido and Aeneas, Where Juno, as a bridesmaid, gives the signal, And mountain nymphs wail high their incantations, First day of death, first cause of evil. Dido Is unconcerned with fame, with reputation, With how it seems to others. This is marriage For her, not hole-and-corner guilt; she covers Her folly with this name.

Rumor goes flying At once, through all the Libyan cities, Rumor Than whom no other evil was ever swifter. She thrives on motion and her own momentum; Tiny at first in fear, she swells, colossal In no time, walks on earth, but her head is hidden Among the clouds. Her mother, Earth, was angry, Once, at the gods, and out of spite produced her, The Titans’ youngest sister, swift of foot, Deadly of wing, a huge and terrible monster, With an eye below each feather in her body, A tongue, a mouth, for every eye, and ears Double that number; in the night she flies Above the earth, below the sky, in shadow Noisy and shrill; her eyes are never closed In slumber; and by day she perches, watching From tower or battlement, frightening great cities. She heralds truth, and clings to lies and falsehood, It is all the same to her. And now she was going Happy about her business, filling people With truth and lies: Aeneas, Trojan-born, Has come, she says, and Dido, lovely woman, Sees fit to mate with him, one way or another, And now the couple wanton out the winter, Heedless of ruling, prisoners of passion. They were dirty stories, but the goddess gave them To the common ear, then went to King Iarbas With words that fired the fuel of his anger.

This king was Ammon’s son, a child of rape Begotten on a nymph from Garamantia; He owned wide kingdoms, had a hundred altars Blazing with fires to Jove, eternal outposts In the gods’ honor; the ground was fat with blood, The temple portals blossoming with garlands. He heard the bitter stories, and went crazy, Before the presences of many altars Beseeching and imploring:--“Jove Almighty, To whom the Moorish race on colored couches Pours festive wine, do you see these things, or are we A pack of idiots, shaking at the lightning We think you brandish, when it is really only An aimless flash of light, and silly noises? Do you see these things? A woman, who used to wander Around my lands, who bought a little city, To whom we gave some ploughland and a contract, Disdains me as a husband, takes Aeneas To be her lord and master, in her kingdom, And now that second Paris, with his lackeys, Half-men, I call them, his chin tied up with ribbons, With millinery on his perfumed tresses, Takes over what he stole, and we keep bringing Gifts to your temples, we, devout believers Forsooth, in idle legend.”

And Jove heard him Making his prayer and clinging to the altars, And turned his eyes to Carthage and the lovers Forgetful of their better reputation. He summoned Mercury:--“Go forth, my son, Descend on wing and wind to Tyrian Carthage, Speak to the Trojan leader, loitering there Unheedful of the cities given by fate. Take him my orders through the rapid winds: It was not for this his lovely mother saved him Twice from Greek arms; she promised he would be A ruler, in a country loud with war, Pregnant with empire; he would sire a race From Teucer’s noble line; he would ordain Law for the world. If no such glory moves him, If his own fame and fortune count as nothing, Does he, a father, grudge his son the towers Of Rome to be? What is the fellow doing? With what ambition wasting time in Libya? Let him set sail. That’s all; convey the message.”

Before he ended, Mercury made ready To carry out the orders of his father; He strapped the golden sandals on, the pinions To bear him over sea and land, as swift As the breath of the wind; he took the wand, which summons Pale ghosts from Hell, or sends them there, denying Or giving sleep, unsealing dead men’s eyes, Useful in flight through wind and stormy cloud, And so came flying till he saw the summit And towering sides of Atlas, rugged giant With heaven on his neck, whose head and shoulders Are dark with fir, ringed with black cloud, and beaten With wind and rain, and laden with the whiteness Of falling snow, with rivers running over His agèd chin, and the rough beard ice-stiffened. Here first on level wing the god paused briefly, Poised, plummeted to ocean, like a bird That skims the water’s surface, flying low By shore and fishes’ rocky breeding-ground, So Mercury darted between earth and heaven To Libya’s sandy shore, cutting the wind From the home of Maia’s father. Soon as the winged sandals skim the rooftops, He sees Aeneas founding towers, building New homes for Tyrians; his sword is studded With yellow jasper; he wears across his shoulders A cloak of burning crimson, and golden threads Run through it, the royal gift of the rich queen. Mercury wastes no time:--“What are you doing, Forgetful of your kingdom and your fortunes, Building for Carthage? Woman-crazy fellow, The ruler of the gods, the great compeller Of heaven and earth, has sent me from Olympus With no more word than this: what are you doing, With what ambition wasting time in Libya? If your own fame and fortune count as nothing, Think of Ascanius at least, whose kingdom In Italy, whose Roman land, are waiting As promise justly due.” He spoke, and vanished Into thin air. Apalled, amazed, Aeneas Is stricken dumb; his hair stands up in terror, His voice sticks in his throat. He is more than eager To flee that pleasant land, awed by the warning Of the divine command. But how to do it? How get around that passionate queen? What opening Try first? His mind runs out in all directions, Shifting and veering. Finally, he has it, Or thinks he has: he calls his comrades to him, The leaders, bids them quietly prepare The fleet for voyage, meanwhile saying nothing About the new activity; since Dido Is unaware, has no idea that passion As strong as theirs is on the verge of breaking, He will see what he can do, find the right moment To let her know, all in good time. Rejoicing, The captains move to carry out the orders.

Who can deceive a woman in love? The queen Anticipates each move, is fearful even While everything is safe, foresees this cunning, And the same trouble-making goddess, Rumor, Tells her the fleet is being armed, made ready For voyaging. She rages through the city Like a woman mad, or drunk, the way the Maenads Go howling through the night-time on Cithaeron When Bacchus’ cymbals summon with their clashing. She waits no explanation from Aeneas; She is the first to speak: “And so, betrayer, You hoped to hide your wickedness, go sneaking Out of my land without a word? Our love Means nothing to you, our exchange of vows, And even the death of Dido could not hold you. The season is dead of winter, and you labor Over the fleet; the northern gales are nothing-- You must be cruel, must you not? Why, even, If ancient Troy remained, and you were seeking Not unknown homes and lands, but Troy again, Would you be venturing Troyward in this weather? I am the one you flee from: true? I beg you By my own tears, and your right hand--(I have nothing Else left my wretchedness)--by the beginnings Of marriage, wedlock, what we had, if ever I served you well, if anything of mine Was ever sweet to you, I beg you, pity A falling house; if there is room for pleading As late as this, I plead, put off that purpose. You are the reason I am hated; Libyans, Numidians, Tyrians, hate me; and my honor Is lost, and the fame I had, that almost brought me High as the stars, is gone. To whom, O guest-- I must not call you husband any longer-- To whom do you leave me? I am a dying woman; Why do I linger on? Until Pygmalion, My brother, brings destruction to this city? Until the prince Iarbas leads me captive? At least if there had been some hope of children Before your flight, a little Aeneas playing Around my courts, to bring you back, in feature At least, I would seem less taken and deserted.”

There was nothing he could say. Jove bade him keep Affection from his eyes, and grief in his heart With never a sign. At last, he managed something:-- “Never, O Queen, will I deny you merit Whatever you have strength to claim; I will not Regret remembering Dido, while I have Breath in my body, or consciousness of spirit. I have a point or two to make. I did not, Believe me, hope to hide my flight by cunning; I did not, ever, claim to be a husband, Made no such vows. If I had fate’s permission To live my life my way, to settle my troubles At my own will, I would be watching over The city of Troy, and caring for my people, Those whom the Greeks had spared, and Priam’s palace Would still be standing; for the vanquished people I would have built the town again. But now It is Italy I must seek, great Italy, Apollo orders, and his oracles Call me to Italy. There is my love, There is my country. If the towers of Carthage, The Libyan citadels, can please a woman Who came from Tyre, why must you grudge the Trojans Ausonian land? It is proper for us also To seek a foreign kingdom. I am warned Of this in dreams: when the earth is veiled in shadow And the fiery stars are burning, I see my father, Anchises, or his ghost, and I am frightened; I am troubled for the wrong I do my son, Cheating him out of his kingdom in the west, And lands that fate assigns him. And a herald, Jove’s messenger--I call them both to witness-- Has brought me, through the rush of air, his orders; I saw the god myself, in the full daylight, Enter these walls, I heard the words he brought me. Cease to inflame us both with your complainings; I follow Italy not because I want to.”

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him During the first of this, and her gaze was turning Now here, now there; and then, in bitter silence, She looked him up and down; then blazed out at him:-- “You treacherous liar! No goddess was your mother, No Dardanus the founder of your tribe, Son of the stony mountain-crags, begotten On cruel rocks, with a tigress for a wet-nurse! Why fool myself, why make pretense? what is there To save myself for now? When I was weeping Did he so much as sigh? Did he turn his eyes, Ever so little, toward me? Did he break at all, Or weep, or give his lover a word of pity? What first, what next? Neither Jupiter nor Juno Looks at these things with any sense of fairness. Faith has no haven anywhere in the world. He was an outcast on my shore, a beggar, I took him in, and, like a fool, I gave him Part of my kingdom; his fleet was lost, I found it, His comrades dying, I brought them back to life. I am maddened, burning, burning: now Apollo The prophesying god, the oracles Of Lycia, and Jove’s herald, sent from heaven, Come flying through the air with fearful orders,-- Fine business for the gods, the kind of trouble That keeps them from their sleep. I do not hold you, I do not argue, either. Go. And follow Italy on the wind, and seek the kingdom Across the water. But if any gods Who care for decency have any power, They will land you on the rocks; I hope for vengeance, I hope to hear you calling the name of Dido Over and over, in vain. Oh, I will follow In blackest fire, and when cold death has taken Spirit from body, I will be there to haunt you, A shade, all over the world. I will have vengeance, And hear about it; the news will be my comfort In the deep world below.” She broke it off, Leaving the words unfinished; even light Was unendurable; sick at heart, she turned And left him, stammering, afraid, attempting To make some kind of answer. And her servants Support her to her room, that bower of marble, A marriage-chamber once; here they attend her, Help her lie down.

And good Aeneas, longing To ease her grief with comfort, to say something To turn her pain and hurt away, sighs often, His heart being moved by this great love, most deeply, And still--the gods give orders, he obeys them; He goes back to the fleet. And then the Trojans Bend, really, to their work, launching the vessels All down the shore. The tarred keel swims in the water, The green wood comes from the forest, the poles are lopped For oars, with leaves still on them. All are eager For flight; all over the city you see them streaming, Bustling about their business, a black line moving The way ants do when they remember winter And raid a hill of grain, to haul and store it At home, across the plain, the column moving In thin black line through grass, part of them shoving Great seeds on little shoulders, and part bossing The job, rebuking laggards, and all the pathway Hot with the stream of work.

And Dido saw them With who knows what emotion: there she stood On the high citadel, and saw, below her, The whole beach boiling, and the water littered With one ship after another, and men yelling, Excited over their work, and there was nothing For her to do but sob or choke with anguish. There is nothing to which the hearts of men and women Cannot be driven by love. Break into tears, Try prayers again, humble the pride, leave nothing Untried, and die in vain:--“Anna, you see them Coming from everywhere; they push and bustle All up and down the shore: the sails are swelling, The happy sailors garlanding the vessels. If I could hope for grief like this, my sister, I shall be able to bear it. But one service Do for me first, dear Anna, out of pity. You were the only one that traitor trusted, Confided in; you know the way to reach him, The proper time and place. Give him this message, Our arrogant enemy: tell him I never Swore with the Greeks at Aulis to abolish The Trojan race, I never sent a fleet To Pergamus, I never desecrated The ashes or the spirit of Anchises: Why does he, then, refuse to listen to me? What is the hurry? Let him give his lover The one last favor: only wait a little, Only a little while, for better weather And easy flight. He has betrayed the marriage, I do not ask for that again; I do not Ask him to give up Latium and his kingdom. Mere time is all I am asking, a breathing-space, A brief reprieve, until my luck has taught me To reconcile defeat and sorrow. This Is all I ask for, sister; pity and help me: If he grants me this, I will pay it ten times over After my death.” And Anna, most unhappy, Over and over, told her tears, her pleading; No tears, no pleading, move him; no man can yield When a god stops his ears. As northern winds Sweep over Alpine mountains, in their fury Fighting each other to uproot an oak-tree Whose ancient strength endures against their roaring And the trunk shudders and the leaves come down Strewing the ground, but the old tree clings to the mountain, Its roots as deep toward hell as its crest toward heaven, And still holds on--even so, Aeneas, shaken By storm-blasts of appeal, by voices calling From every side, is tossed and torn, and steady. His will stays motionless, and tears are vain.

Then Dido prays for death at last; the fates Are terrible, her luck is out, she is tired Of gazing at the everlasting heaven. The more to goad her will to die, she sees-- Oh terrible!--the holy water blacken, Libations turn to blood, on ground and altar, When she makes offerings. But she tells no one, Not even her sister. From the marble shrine, Memorial to her former lord, attended, Always, by her, with honor, fleece and garland, She hears his voice, his words, her husband calling When darkness holds the world, and from the house-top An owl sends out a long funereal wailing, And she remembers warnings of old seers, Fearful, foreboding. In her dreams Aeneas Appears to hunt her down; or she is going Alone in a lost country, wandering Trying to find her Tyrians, mad as Pentheus, Or frenzied as Orestes, when his mother Is after him with whips of snakes, or firebrands, While the Avengers menace at the threshold.

She was beaten, harboring madness, and resolved On dying; alone, she plotted time and method; Keeping the knowledge from her sorrowing sister, She spoke with calm composure:--“I have found A way (wish me good luck) to bring him to me Or set me free from loving him forever. Near Ocean and the west there is a country, The Ethiopian land, far-off, where Atlas Turns on his shoulders the star-studded world; I know a priestess there; she guards the temple Of the daughters of the Evening Star; she feeds The dragon there, and guards the sacred branches, She sprinkles honey-dew, strews drowsy poppies, And she knows charms to free the hearts of lovers When she so wills it, or to trouble others; She can reverse the wheeling of the planets, Halt rivers in their flowing; she can summon The ghosts of night-time; you will see earth shaking Under her tread, and trees come down from mountains. Dear sister mine, as heaven is my witness, I hate to take these arts of magic on me! Be secret, then; but in the inner courtyard, Raise up a funeral-pyre, to hold the armor Left hanging in the bower, by that hero, That good devoted man, and all his raiment, And add the bridal bed, my doom: the priestess Said to do this, and it will be a pleasure To see the end of all of it, every token Of that unspeakable knave.”

And so, thought Anna, Things are no worse than when Sychaeus perished. She did not know the death these rites portended, Had no suspicion, and carried out her orders.

The pyre is raised in the court; it towers high With pine and holm-oak, it is hung with garlands And funeral wreaths, and on the couch she places Aeneas’ sword, his garments, and his image, Knowing the outcome. Round about are altars, Where, with her hair unbound, the priestess calls On thrice a hundred gods, Erebus, Chaos, Hecate, queen of Hell, triple Diana. Water is sprinkled, from Avernus fountain, Or said to be, and herbs are sought, by moonlight Mown with bronze sickles, and the stem-ends running With a black milk, and the caul of a colt, new-born. Dido, with holy meal and holy hands, Stands at the altar, with one sandal loosened And robes unfastened, calls the gods to witness, Prays to the stars that know her doom, invoking, Beyond them, any powers, if there are any, Who care for lovers in unequal bondage.

Night: and tired creatures over all the world Were seeking slumber; the woods and the wild waters Were quiet, and the silent stars were wheeling Their course half over; every field was still; The beasts of the field, the brightly colored birds, Dwellers in lake and pool, in thorn and thicket, Slept through the tranquil night, their sorrows over, Their troubles soothed. But no such blessèd darkness Closes the eyes of Dido; no repose Comes to her anxious heart. Her pangs redouble, Her love swells up, surging, a great tide rising Of wrath and doubt and passion. “What do I do? What now? Go back to my Numidian suitors, Be scorned by those I scorned? Pursue the Trojans? Obey their orders? They were grateful to me, Once, I remember. But who would let them take me? Suppose I went. They hate me now; they were always Deceivers: is Laomedon forgotten, Whose blood runs through their veins? What then? Attend them, Alone, be their companion, the loud-mouthed sailors? Or with my own armada follow after, Wear out my sea-worn Tyrians once more With vengeance and adventure? Better die. Die; you deserve to; end the hurt with the sword. It is your fault, Anna; you were sorry for me, Won over by my tears; you put this load Of evil on me. It was not permitted, It seems, for me to live apart from wedlock, A blameless life. An animal does better. I vowed Sychaeus faith. I have been faithless.” So, through the night, she tossed in restless torment.

Meanwhile Aeneas, on the lofty stern, All things prepared, sure of his going, slumbers As Mercury comes down once more to warn him, Familiar blond young god: “O son of Venus, Is this a time for sleep? The wind blows fair, And danger rises all around you. Dido, Certain to die, however else uncertain, Plots treachery, harbors evil. Seize the moment While it can still be seized, and hurry, hurry! The sea will swarm with ships, the fiery torches Blaze, and the shore rankle with fire by morning. Shove off, be gone! A shifty, fickle object Is woman, always.” He vanished into the night. And, frightened by that sudden apparition, Aeneas started from sleep, and urged his comrades:-- “Hurry, men, hurry; get to the sails and benches, Get the ships under way. A god from heaven Again has come to speed our flight, to sever The mooring-ropes. O holy one, we follow, Whoever you are, we are happy in obeying. Be with us, be propitious; let the stars Be right in heaven!” He drew his sword; the blade Flashed, shining, at the hawser; and all the men Were seized in the same restlessness and rushing. They have left the shore, they have hidden the sea-water With the hulls of the ships; the white foam flies, the oars Dip down in dark-blue water.

And Aurora Came from Tithonus’ saffron couch to freshen The world with rising light, and from her watch-tower The queen saw day grow whiter, and the fleet Go moving over the sea, keep pace together To the even spread of the sail; she knew the harbors Were empty of sailors now; she struck her breast Three times, four times; she tore her golden hair, Crying, “God help me, will he go, this stranger, Treating our kingdom as a joke? Bring arms, Bring arms, and hurry! follow from all the city, Haul the ships off the ways, some of you! Others, Get fire as fast as you can, give out the weapons, Pull oars! What am I saying? Or where am I? I must be going mad. Unhappy Dido, Is it only now your wickedness strikes home? The time it should have was when you gave him power. Well, here it is, look at it now, the honor, The faith of the hero who, they tell me, carries With him his household gods, who bore on his shoulders His agèd father! Could I not have seized him, Torn him to pieces, scattered him over the waves? What was the matter? Could I not have murdered His comrades, and Iulus, and served the son For a dainty at the table of his father? But fight would have a doubtful fortune. It might have, What then? I was going to die; whom did I fear? I would have, should have, set his camp on fire, Filled everything with flame, choked off the father, The son, the accursèd race, and myself with them. Great Sun, surveyor of all the works of earth, Juno, to whom my sorrows are committed, Hecate, whom the cross-roads of the cities Wail to by night, avenging Furies, hear me, Grant me divine protection, take my prayer. If he must come to harbor, then he must, If Jove ordains it, however vile he is, False, and unspeakable. If Jove ordains, The goal is fixed. So be it. Take my prayer. Let him be driven by arms and war, an exile, Let him be taken from his son Iulus, Let him beg for aid, let him see his people dying Unworthy deaths, let him accept surrender On unfair terms, let him never enjoy the kingdom, The hoped-for light, let him fall and die, untimely, Let him lie unburied on the sand. Oh, hear me, Hear the last prayer, poured out with my last blood! And you, O Tyrians, hate, and hate forever The Trojan stock. Offer my dust this homage. No love, no peace, between these nations, ever! Rise from my bones, O great unknown avenger, Hunt them with fire and sword, the Dardan settlers, Now, then, here, there, wherever strength is given. Shore against shore, wave against wave, and war, War after war, for all the generations.”

She spoke, and turned her purpose to accomplish The quickest end to the life she hated. Briefly She spoke to Barce, Sychaeus’ nurse; her own Was dust and ashes in her native country:-- “Dear nurse, bring me my sister, tell her to hurry, Tell her to sprinkle her body with river water, To bring the sacrificial beast and offerings, And both of you cover your temples with holy fillets. I have a vow to keep; I have made beginning Of rites to Stygian Jove, to end my sorrows, To burn the litter of that Trojan leader.” Barce, with an old woman’s fuss and bustle, Went hurrying out of sight; but Dido, trembling, Wild with her project, the blood-shot eyeballs rolling, Pale at the death to come, and hectic color Burning the quivering cheeks, broke into the court, Mounted the pyre in madness, drew the sword, The Trojan gift, bestowed for no such purpose, And she saw the Trojan garments, and the bed She knew so well, and paused a little, weeping, Weeping, and thinking, and flung herself down on it, Uttering her last words:-- “Spoils that were sweet while gods and fate permitted, Receive my spirit, set me free from suffering. I have lived, I have run the course that fortune gave me, And now my shade, a great one, will be going Below the earth. I have built a noble city, I have seen my walls, I have avenged a husband, Punished a hostile brother. I have been Happy, I might have been too happy, only The Trojans made their landing.” She broke off, Pressed her face to the couch, cried:--“So, we shall die, Die unavenged; but let us die. So, so,-- I am glad to meet the darkness. Let his eyes Behold this fire across the sea, an omen Of my death going with him.”

As she spoke, Her handmaids saw her, fallen on the sword, The foam of blood on the blade, and blood on the hands. A scream rings through the house; Rumor goes reeling, Rioting, through the shaken town; the palace Is loud with lamentation, women sobbing, Wailing and howling, and the vaults of heaven Echo the outcry, as if Tyre or Carthage Had fallen to invaders, and the fury Of fire came rolling over homes and temples. Anna, half lifeless, heard in panic terror, Came rushing through them all, beating her bosom, Clawing her face:--“Was it for this, my sister? To trick me so? The funeral pyre, the altars, Prepared this for me? I have, indeed, a grievance, Being forsaken; you would not let your sister Companion you in death? You might have called me To the same fate; we might have both been taken, One sword, one hour. I was the one who built it, This pyre, with my own hands; it was my voice That called our fathers’ gods, for what?--to fail you When you were lying here. You have killed me, sister, Not only yourself, you have killed us all, the people, The town. Let me wash the wounds with water, Let my lips catch what fluttering breath still lingers.” She climbed the lofty steps, and held her sister, A dying woman, close; she used her robe To try to stop the bleeding. And Dido tried In vain to raise her heavy eyes, fell back, And her wound made a gurgling hissing sound. Three times she tried to lift herself; three times Fell back; her rolling eyes went searching heaven And the light hurt when she found it, and she moaned.

At last all-powerful Juno, taking pity, Sent Iris from Olympus, in compassion For the long racking agony, to free her From the limbs’ writhing and the struggle of spirit. She had not earned this death, she had only sought it Before her time, driven by sudden madness, Therefore, the queen of Hades had not taken The golden lock, consigning her to Orcus. So Iris, dewy on saffron wings, descending, Trailing a thousand colors through the brightness Comes down the sky, poises above her, saying, “This lock I take as bidden, and from the body Release the soul,” and cuts the lock; and cold Takes over, and the winds receive the spirit.