Part 2

A trusty coat of mail to me he sent,

Thrice chain'd with gold, for use and ornament;

The helm of Pyrrhus added to the rest,

That flourish'd with a plume and waving crest.

Nor was my sire forgotten, nor my friends;

And large recruits he to my navy sends:

Men, horses, captains, arms, and warlike stores;

Supplies new pilots, and new sweeping oars.

Meantime, my sire commands to hoist our sails,

Lest we should lose the first auspicious gales.

"The prophet bless'd the parting crew, and last,

With words like these, his ancient friend embrac'd:

'Old happy man, the care of gods above,

Whom heav'nly Venus honor'd with her love,

And twice preserv'd thy life, when Troy was lost,

Behold from far the wish'd Ausonian coast:

There land; but take a larger compass round,

For that before is all forbidden ground.

The shore that Phoebus has design'd for you,

At farther distance lies, conceal'd from view.

Go happy hence, and seek your new abodes,

Blest in a son, and favor'd by the gods:

For I with useless words prolong your stay,

When southern gales have summon'd you away.'

"Nor less the queen our parting thence deplor'd,

Nor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord.

A noble present to my son she brought,

A robe with flow'rs on golden tissue wrought,

A phrygian vest; and loads with gifts beside

Of precious texture, and of Asian pride.

'Accept,' she said, 'these monuments of love,

Which in my youth with happier hands I wove:

Regard these trifles for the giver's sake;

'T is the last present Hector's wife can make.

Thou call'st my lost Astyanax to mind;

In thee his features and his form I find:

His eyes so sparkled with a lively flame;

Such were his motions; such was all his frame;

And ah! had Heav'n so pleas'd, his years had been the same.'

"With tears I took my last adieu, and said:

'Your fortune, happy pair, already made,

Leaves you no farther wish. My diff'rent state,

Avoiding one, incurs another fate.

To you a quiet seat the gods allow:

You have no shores to search, no seas to plow,

Nor fields of flying Italy to chase:

(Deluding visions, and a vain embrace!)

You see another Simois, and enjoy

The labor of your hands, another Troy,

With better auspice than her ancient tow'rs,

And less obnoxious to the Grecian pow'rs.

If e'er the gods, whom I with vows adore,

Conduct my steps to Tiber's happy shore;

If ever I ascend the Latian throne,

And build a city I may call my own;

As both of us our birth from Troy derive,

So let our kindred lines in concord live,

And both in acts of equal friendship strive.

Our fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same:

The double Troy shall differ but in name;

That what we now begin may never end,

But long to late posterity descend.'

"Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore;

The shortest passage to th' Italian shore.

Now had the sun withdrawn his radiant light,

And hills were hid in dusky shades of night:

We land, and, on the bosom Of the ground,

A safe retreat and a bare lodging found.

Close by the shore we lay; the sailors keep

Their watches, and the rest securely sleep.

The night, proceeding on with silent pace,

Stood in her noon, and view'd with equal face

Her steepy rise and her declining race.

Then wakeful Palinurus rose, to spy

The face of heav'n, and the nocturnal sky;

And listen'd ev'ry breath of air to try;

Observes the stars, and notes their sliding course,

The Pleiads, Hyads, and their wat'ry force;

And both the Bears is careful to behold,

And bright Orion, arm'd with burnish'd gold.

Then, when he saw no threat'ning tempest nigh,

But a sure promise of a settled sky,

He gave the sign to weigh; we break our sleep,

Forsake the pleasing shore, and plow the deep.

"And now the rising morn with rosy light

Adorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight;

When we from far, like bluish mists, descry

The hills, and then the plains, of Italy.

Achates first pronounc'd the joyful sound;

Then, 'Italy!' the cheerful crew rebound.

My sire Anchises crown'd a cup with wine,

And, off'ring, thus implor'd the pow'rs divine:

'Ye gods, presiding over lands and seas,

And you who raging winds and waves appease,

Breathe on our swelling sails a prosp'rous wind,

And smooth our passage to the port assign'd!'

The gentle gales their flagging force renew,

And now the happy harbor is in view.

Minerva's temple then salutes our sight,

Plac'd, as a landmark, on the mountain's height.

We furl our sails, and turn the prows to shore;

The curling waters round the galleys roar.

The land lies open to the raging east,

Then, bending like a bow, with rocks compress'd,

Shuts out the storms; the winds and waves complain,

And vent their malice on the cliffs in vain.

The port lies hid within; on either side

Two tow'ring rocks the narrow mouth divide.

The temple, which aloft we view'd before,

To distance flies, and seems to shun the shore.

Scarce landed, the first omens I beheld

Were four white steeds that cropp'd the flow'ry field.

'War, war is threaten'd from this foreign ground,'

My father cried, 'where warlike steeds are found.

Yet, since reclaim'd to chariots they submit,

And bend to stubborn yokes, and champ the bit,

Peace may succeed to war.' Our way we bend

To Pallas, and the sacred hill ascend;

There prostrate to the fierce virago pray,

Whose temple was the landmark of our way.

Each with a Phrygian mantle veil'd his head,

And all commands of Helenus obey'd,

And pious rites to Grecian Juno paid.

These dues perform'd, we stretch our sails, and stand

To sea, forsaking that suspected land.

"From hence Tarentum's bay appears in view,

For Hercules renown'd, if fame be true.

Just opposite, Lacinian Juno stands;

Caulonian tow'rs, and Scylacaean strands,

For shipwrecks fear'd. Mount Aetna thence we spy,

Known by the smoky flames which cloud the sky.

Far off we hear the waves with surly sound

Invade the rocks, the rocks their groans rebound.

The billows break upon the sounding strand,

And roll the rising tide, impure with sand.

Then thus Anchises, in experience old:

”T is that Charybdis which the seer foretold,

And those the promis'd rocks! Bear off to sea!'

With haste the frighted mariners obey.

First Palinurus to the larboard veer'd;

Then all the fleet by his example steer'd.

To heav'n aloft on ridgy waves we ride,

Then down to hell descend, when they divide;

And thrice our galleys knock'd the stony ground,

And thrice the hollow rocks return'd the sound,

And thrice we saw the stars, that stood with dews around.

The flagging winds forsook us, with the sun;

And, wearied, on Cyclopian shores we run.

The port capacious, and secure from wind,

Is to the foot of thund'ring Aetna join'd.

By turns a pitchy cloud she rolls on high;

By turns hot embers from her entrails fly,

And flakes of mounting flames, that lick the sky.

Oft from her bowels massy rocks are thrown,

And, shiver'd by the force, come piecemeal down.

Oft liquid lakes of burning sulphur flow,

Fed from the fiery springs that boil below.

Enceladus, they say, transfix'd by Jove,

With blasted limbs came tumbling from above;

And, where he fell, th' avenging father drew

This flaming hill, and on his body threw.

As often as he turns his weary sides,

He shakes the solid isle, and smoke the heavens hides.

In shady woods we pass the tedious night,

Where bellowing sounds and groans our souls affright,

Of which no cause is offer'd to the sight;

For not one star was kindled in the sky,

Nor could the moon her borrow'd light supply;

For misty clouds involv'd the firmament,

The stars were muffled, and the moon was pent.

"Scarce had the rising sun the day reveal'd,

Scarce had his heat the pearly dews dispell'd,

When from the woods there bolts, before our sight,

Somewhat betwixt a mortal and a sprite,

So thin, so ghastly meager, and so wan,

So bare of flesh, he scarce resembled man.

This thing, all tatter'd, seem'd from far t' implore

Our pious aid, and pointed to the shore.

We look behind, then view his shaggy beard;

His clothes were tagg'd with thorns, and filth his limbs

besmear'd;

The rest, in mien, in habit, and in face,

Appear'd a Greek, and such indeed he was.

He cast on us, from far, a frightful view,

Whom soon for Trojans and for foes he knew;

Stood still, and paus'd; then all at once began

To stretch his limbs, and trembled as he ran.

Soon as approach'd, upon his knees he falls,

And thus with tears and sighs for pity calls:

'Now, by the pow'rs above, and what we share

From Nature's common gift, this vital air,

O Trojans, take me hence! I beg no more;

But bear me far from this unhappy shore.

'T is true, I am a Greek, and farther own,

Among your foes besieg'd th' imperial town.

For such demerits if my death be due,

No more for this abandon'd life I sue;

This only favor let my tears obtain,

To throw me headlong in the rapid main:

Since nothing more than death my crime demands,

I die content, to die by human hands.'

He said, and on his knees my knees embrac'd:

I bade him boldly tell his fortune past,

His present state, his lineage, and his name,

Th' occasion of his fears, and whence he came.

The good Anchises rais'd him with his hand;

Who, thus encourag'd, answer'd our demand:

'From Ithaca, my native soil, I came

To Troy; and Achaemenides my name.

Me my poor father with Ulysses sent;

(O had I stay'd, with poverty content!)

But, fearful for themselves, my countrymen

Left me forsaken in the Cyclops' den.

The cave, tho' large, was dark; the dismal floor

Was pav'd with mangled limbs and putrid gore.

Our monstrous host, of more than human size,

Erects his head, and stares within the skies;

Bellowing his voice, and horrid is his hue.

Ye gods, remove this plague from mortal view!

The joints of slaughter'd wretches are his food;

And for his wine he quaffs the streaming blood.

These eyes beheld, when with his spacious hand

He seiz'd two captives of our Grecian band;

Stretch'd on his back, he dash'd against the stones

Their broken bodies, and their crackling bones:

With spouting blood the purple pavement swims,

While the dire glutton grinds the trembling limbs.

"'Not unreveng'd Ulysses bore their fate,

Nor thoughtless of his own unhappy state;

For, gorg'd with flesh, and drunk with human wine

While fast asleep the giant lay supine,

Snoring aloud, and belching from his maw

His indigested foam, and morsels raw;

We pray; we cast the lots, and then surround

The monstrous body, stretch'd along the ground:

Each, as he could approach him, lends a hand

To bore his eyeball with a flaming brand.

Beneath his frowning forehead lay his eye;

For only one did the vast frame supply-

But that a globe so large, his front it fill'd,

Like the sun's disk or like a Grecian shield.

The stroke succeeds; and down the pupil bends:

This vengeance follow'd for our slaughter'd friends.

But haste, unhappy wretches, haste to fly!

Your cables cut, and on your oars rely!

Such, and so vast as Polypheme appears,

A hundred more this hated island bears:

Like him, in caves they shut their woolly sheep;

Like him, their herds on tops of mountains keep;

Like him, with mighty strides, they stalk from steep to steep

And now three moons their sharpen'd horns renew,

Since thus, in woods and wilds, obscure from view,

I drag my loathsome days with mortal fright,

And in deserted caverns lodge by night;

Oft from the rocks a dreadful prospect see

Of the huge Cyclops, like a walking tree:

From far I hear his thund'ring voice resound,

And trampling feet that shake the solid ground.

Cornels and salvage berries of the wood,

And roots and herbs, have been my meager food.

While all around my longing eyes I cast,

I saw your happy ships appear at last.

On those I fix'd my hopes, to these I run;

'T is all I ask, this cruel race to shun;

What other death you please, yourselves bestow.'

"Scarce had he said, when on the mountain's brow

We saw the giant shepherd stalk before

His following flock, and leading to the shore:

A monstrous bulk, deform'd, depriv'd of sight;

His staff a trunk of pine, to guide his steps aright.

His pond'rous whistle from his neck descends;

His woolly care their pensive lord attends:

This only solace his hard fortune sends.

Soon as he reach'd the shore and touch'd the waves,

From his bor'd eye the gutt'ring blood he laves:

He gnash'd his teeth, and groan'd; thro' seas he strides,

And scarce the topmost billows touch'd his sides.

"Seiz'd with a sudden fear, we run to sea,

The cables cut, and silent haste away;

The well-deserving stranger entertain;

Then, buckling to the work, our oars divide the main.

The giant harken'd to the dashing sound:

But, when our vessels out of reach he found,

He strided onward, and in vain essay'd

Th' Ionian deep, and durst no farther wade.

With that he roar'd aloud: the dreadful cry

Shakes earth, and air, and seas; the billows fly

Before the bellowing noise to distant Italy.

The neigh'ring Aetna trembling all around,

The winding caverns echo to the sound.

His brother Cyclops hear the yelling roar,

And, rushing down the mountains, crowd the shore.

We saw their stern distorted looks, from far,

And one-eyed glance, that vainly threaten'd war:

A dreadful council, with their heads on high;

(The misty clouds about their foreheads fly;)

Not yielding to the tow'ring tree of Jove,

Or tallest cypress of Diana's grove.

New pangs of mortal fear our minds assail;

We tug at ev'ry oar, and hoist up ev'ry sail,

And take th' advantage of the friendly gale.

Forewarn'd by Helenus, we strive to shun

Charybdis' gulf, nor dare to Scylla run.

An equal fate on either side appears:

We, tacking to the left, are free from fears;

For, from Pelorus' point, the North arose,

And drove us back where swift Pantagias flows.

His rocky mouth we pass, and make our way

By Thapsus and Megara's winding bay.

This passage Achaemenides had shown,

Tracing the course which he before had run.

"Right o'er against Plemmyrium's wat'ry strand,

There lies an isle once call'd th' Ortygian land.

Alpheus, as old fame reports, has found

From Greece a secret passage under ground,

By love to beauteous Arethusa led;

And, mingling here, they roll in the same sacred bed.

As Helenus enjoin'd, we next adore

Diana's name, protectress of the shore.

With prosp'rous gales we pass the quiet sounds

Of still Elorus, and his fruitful bounds.

Then, doubling Cape Pachynus, we survey

The rocky shore extended to the sea.

The town of Camarine from far we see,

And fenny lake, undrain'd by fate's decree.

In sight of the Geloan fields we pass,

And the large walls, where mighty Gela was;

Then Agragas, with lofty summits crown'd,

Long for the race of warlike steeds renown'd.

We pass'd Selinus, and the palmy land,

And widely shun the Lilybaean strand,

Unsafe, for secret rocks and moving sand.

At length on shore the weary fleet arriv'd,

Which Drepanum's unhappy port receiv'd.

Here, after endless labors, often toss'd

By raging storms, and driv'n on ev'ry coast,

My dear, dear father, spent with age, I lost:

Ease of my cares, and solace of my pain,

Sav'd thro' a thousand toils, but sav'd in vain

The prophet, who my future woes reveal'd,

Yet this, the greatest and the worst, conceal'd;

And dire Celaeno, whose foreboding skill

Denounc'd all else, was silent of the ill.

This my last labor was. Some friendly god

From thence convey'd us to your blest abode."

Thus, to the list'ning queen, the royal guest

His wand'ring course and all his toils express'd;

And here concluding, he retir'd to rest.

BOOK IV

But anxious cares already seiz'd the queen:

She fed within her veins a flame unseen;

The hero's valor, acts, and birth inspire

Her soul with love, and fan the secret fire.

His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart,

Improve the passion, and increase the smart.

Now, when the purple morn had chas'd away

The dewy shadows, and restor'd the day,

Her sister first with early care she sought,

And thus in mournful accents eas'd her thought:

"My dearest Anna, what new dreams affright

My lab'ring soul! what visions of the night

Disturb my quiet, and distract my breast

With strange ideas of our Trojan guest!

His worth, his actions, and majestic air,

A man descended from the gods declare.

Fear ever argues a degenerate kind;

His birth is well asserted by his mind.

Then, what he suffer'd, when by Fate betray'd!

What brave attempts for falling Troy he made!

Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke,

That, were I not resolv'd against the yoke

Of hapless marriage, never to be curst

With second love, so fatal was my first,

To this one error I might yield again;

For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain,

This only man is able to subvert

The fix'd foundations of my stubborn heart.

And, to confess my frailty, to my shame,

Somewhat I find within, if not the same,

Too like the sparkles of my former flame.

But first let yawning earth a passage rend,

And let me thro' the dark abyss descend;

First let avenging Jove, with flames from high,

Drive down this body to the nether sky,

Condemn'd with ghosts in endless night to lie,

Before I break the plighted faith I gave!

No! he who had my vows shall ever have;

For, whom I lov'd on earth, I worship in the grave."

She said: the tears ran gushing from her eyes,

And stopp'd her speech. Her sister thus replies:

"O dearer than the vital air I breathe,

Will you to grief your blooming years bequeath,

Condemn'd to waste in woes your lonely life,

Without the joys of mother or of wife?

Think you these tears, this pompous train of woe,

Are known or valued by the ghosts below?

I grant that, while your sorrows yet were green,

It well became a woman, and a queen,

The vows of Tyrian princes to neglect,

To scorn Hyarbas, and his love reject,

With all the Libyan lords of mighty name;

But will you fight against a pleasing flame!

This little spot of land, which Heav'n bestows,

On ev'ry side is hemm'd with warlike foes;

Gaetulian cities here are spread around,

And fierce Numidians there your frontiers bound;

Here lies a barren waste of thirsty land,

And there the Syrtes raise the moving sand;

Barcaean troops besiege the narrow shore,

And from the sea Pygmalion threatens more.

Propitious Heav'n, and gracious Juno, lead

This wand'ring navy to your needful aid:

How will your empire spread, your city rise,

From such a union, and with such allies?

Implore the favor of the pow'rs above,

And leave the conduct of the rest to love.

Continue still your hospitable way,

And still invent occasions of their stay,

Till storms and winter winds shall cease to threat,

And planks and oars repair their shatter'd fleet."

These words, which from a friend and sister came,

With ease resolv'd the scruples of her fame,

And added fury to the kindled flame.

Inspir'd with hope, the project they pursue;

On ev'ry altar sacrifice renew:

A chosen ewe of two years old they pay

To Ceres, Bacchus, and the God of Day;

Preferring Juno's pow'r, for Juno ties

The nuptial knot and makes the marriage joys.

The beauteous queen before her altar stands,

And holds the golden goblet in her hands.

A milk-white heifer she with flow'rs adorns,

And pours the ruddy wine betwixt her horns;

And, while the priests with pray'r the gods invoke,

She feeds their altars with Sabaean smoke,

With hourly care the sacrifice renews,

And anxiously the panting entrails views.

What priestly rites, alas! what pious art,

What vows avail to cure a bleeding heart!

A gentle fire she feeds within her veins,

Where the soft god secure in silence reigns.

Sick with desire, and seeking him she loves,

From street to street the raving Dido roves.

So when the watchful shepherd, from the blind,

Wounds with a random shaft the careless hind,

Distracted with her pain she flies the woods,

Bounds o'er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods,

With fruitless care; for still the fatal dart

Sticks in her side, and rankles in her heart.

And now she leads the Trojan chief along

The lofty walls, amidst the busy throng;

Displays her Tyrian wealth, and rising town,

Which love, without his labor, makes his own.

This pomp she shows, to tempt her wand'ring guest;

Her falt'ring tongue forbids to speak the rest.

When day declines, and feasts renew the night,

Still on his face she feeds her famish'd sight;

She longs again to hear the prince relate

His own adventures and the Trojan fate.

He tells it o'er and o'er; but still in vain,

For still she begs to hear it once again.

The hearer on the speaker's mouth depends,

And thus the tragic story never ends.

Then, when they part, when Phoebe's paler light

Withdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite,

She last remains, when ev'ry guest is gone,

Sits on the bed he press'd, and sighs alone;

Absent, her absent hero sees and hears;

Or in her bosom young Ascanius bears,

And seeks the father's image in the child,

If love by likeness might be so beguil'd.

Meantime the rising tow'rs are at a stand;

No labors exercise the youthful band,

Nor use of arts, nor toils of arms they know;

The mole is left unfinish'd to the foe;

The mounds, the works, the walls, neglected lie,

Short of their promis'd heighth, that seem'd to threat the sky,

But when imperial Juno, from above,

Saw Dido fetter'd in the chains of love,

Hot with the venom which her veins inflam'd,

And by no sense of shame to be reclaim'd,

With soothing words to Venus she begun:

"High praises, endless honors, you have won,

And mighty trophies, with your worthy son!

Two gods a silly woman have undone!

Nor am I ignorant, you both suspect

This rising city, which my hands erect:

But shall celestial discord never cease?

'T is better ended in a lasting peace.

You stand possess'd of all your soul desir'd:

Poor Dido with consuming love is fir'd.

Your Trojan with my Tyrian let us join;

So Dido shall be yours, Aeneas mine:

One common kingdom, one united line.

Eliza shall a Dardan lord obey,

And lofty Carthage for a dow'r convey."

Then Venus, who her hidden fraud descried,

Which would the scepter of the world misguide

To Libyan shores, thus artfully replied:

"Who, but a fool, would wars with Juno choose,

And such alliance and such gifts refuse,

If Fortune with our joint desires comply?

The doubt is all from Jove and destiny;

Lest he forbid, with absolute command,

To mix the people in one common land-

Or will the Trojan and the Tyrian line

In lasting leagues and sure succession join?

But you, the partner of his bed and throne,

May move his mind; my wishes are your own."

"Mine," said imperial Juno, "be the care;

Time urges, now, to perfect this affair:

Attend my counsel, and the secret share.

When next the Sun his rising light displays,

And gilds the world below with purple rays,

The queen, Aeneas, and the Tyrian court

Shall to the shady woods, for sylvan game, resort.

There, while the huntsmen pitch their toils around,

And cheerful horns from side to side resound,

A pitchy cloud shall cover all the plain

With hail, and thunder, and tempestuous rain;

The fearful train shall take their speedy flight,

Dispers'd, and all involv'd in gloomy night;

One cave a grateful shelter shall afford

To the fair princess and the Trojan lord.

I will myself the bridal bed prepare,

If you, to bless the nuptials, will be there:

So shall their loves be crown'd with due delights,

And Hymen shall be present at the rites."

The Queen of Love consents, and closely smiles

At her vain project, and discover'd wiles.

The rosy morn was risen from the main,

And horns and hounds awake the princely train:

They issue early thro' the city gate,

Where the more wakeful huntsmen ready wait,

With nets, and toils, and darts, beside the force

Of Spartan dogs, and swift Massylian horse.

The Tyrian peers and officers of state

For the slow queen in antechambers wait;

Her lofty courser, in the court below,

Who his majestic rider seems to know,

Proud of his purple trappings, paws the ground,

And champs the golden bit, and spreads the foam around.

The queen at length appears; on either hand

The brawny guards in martial order stand.

A flow'r'd simar with golden fringe she wore,

And at her back a golden quiver bore;

Her flowing hair a golden caul restrains,

A golden clasp the Tyrian robe sustains.

Then young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,

Leads on the Trojan youth to view the chase.

But far above the rest in beauty shines

The great Aeneas, the troop he joins;

Like fair Apollo, when he leaves the frost

Of wint'ry Xanthus, and the Lycian coast,

When to his native Delos he resorts,

Ordains the dances, and renews the sports;

Where painted Scythians, mix'd with Cretan bands,

Before the joyful altars join their hands:

Himself, on Cynthus walking, sees below

The merry madness of the sacred show.

Green wreaths of bays his length of hair inclose;

A golden fillet binds his awful brows;

His quiver sounds: not less the prince is seen

In manly presence, or in lofty mien.

Now had they reach'd the hills, and storm'd the seat

Of salvage beasts, in dens, their last retreat.

The cry pursues the mountain goats: they bound

From rock to rock, and keep the craggy ground;

Quite otherwise the stags, a trembling train,

In herds unsingled, scour the dusty plain,

And a long chase in open view maintain.

The glad Ascanius, as his courser guides,

Spurs thro' the vale, and these and those outrides.

His horse's flanks and sides are forc'd to feel

The clanking lash, and goring of the steel.

Impatiently he views the feeble prey,

Wishing some nobler beast to cross his way,

And rather would the tusky boar attend,

Or see the tawny lion downward bend.

Meantime, the gath'ring clouds obscure the skies:

From pole to pole the forky lightning flies;

The rattling thunders roll; and Juno pours

A wintry deluge down, and sounding show'rs.

The company, dispers'd, to converts ride,

And seek the homely cots, or mountain's hollow side.

The rapid rains, descending from the hills,

To rolling torrents raise the creeping rills.

The queen and prince, as love or fortune guides,

One common cavern in her bosom hides.

Then first the trembling earth the signal gave,

And flashing fires enlighten all the cave;

Hell from below, and Juno from above,

And howling nymphs, were conscious of their love.

From this ill-omen'd hour in time arose

Debate and death, and all succeeding woes.

The queen, whom sense of honor could not move,

No longer made a secret of her love,

But call'd it marriage, by that specious name

To veil the crime and sanctify the shame.

The loud report thro' Libyan cities goes.

Fame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows:

Swift from the first; and ev'ry moment brings

New vigor to her flights, new pinions to her wings.

Soon grows the pigmy to gigantic size;

Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies.

Inrag'd against the gods, revengeful Earth

Produc'd her last of the Titanian birth.

Swift is her walk, more swift her winged haste:

A monstrous phantom, horrible and vast.

As many plumes as raise her lofty flight,

So many piercing eyes inlarge her sight;

Millions of opening mouths to Fame belong,

And ev'ry mouth is furnish'd with a tongue,

And round with list'ning ears the flying plague is hung.

She fills the peaceful universe with cries;

No slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes;

By day, from lofty tow'rs her head she shews,

And spreads thro' trembling crowds disastrous news;

With court informers haunts, and royal spies;

Things done relates, not done she feigns, and mingles truth with

lies.

Talk is her business, and her chief delight

To tell of prodigies and cause affright.

She fills the people's ears with Dido's name,

Who, lost to honor and the sense of shame,

Admits into her throne and nuptial bed

A wand'ring guest, who from his country fled:

Whole days with him she passes in delights,

And wastes in luxury long winter nights,

Forgetful of her fame and royal trust,

Dissolv'd in ease, abandon'd to her lust.

The goddess widely spreads the loud report,

And flies at length to King Hyarba's court.

When first possess'd with this unwelcome news

Whom did he not of men and gods accuse?

This prince, from ravish'd Garamantis born,

A hundred temples did with spoils adorn,

In Ammon's honor, his celestial sire;

A hundred altars fed with wakeful fire;

And, thro' his vast dominions, priests ordain'd,

Whose watchful care these holy rites maintain'd.

The gates and columns were with garlands crown'd,

And blood of victim beasts enrich'd the ground.

He, when he heard a fugitive could move

The Tyrian princess, who disdain'd his love,

His breast with fury burn'd, his eyes with fire,

Mad with despair, impatient with desire;

Then on the sacred altars pouring wine,

He thus with pray'rs implor'd his sire divine:

"Great Jove! propitious to the Moorish race,

Who feast on painted beds, with off'rings grace

Thy temples, and adore thy pow'r divine

With blood of victims, and with sparkling wine,

Seest thou not this? or do we fear in vain

Thy boasted thunder, and thy thoughtless reign?

Do thy broad hands the forky lightnings lance?

Thine are the bolts, or the blind work of chance?

A wand'ring woman builds, within our state,

A little town, bought at an easy rate;

She pays me homage, and my grants allow

A narrow space of Libyan lands to plow;

Yet, scorning me, by passion blindly led,

Admits a banish'd Trojan to her bed!

And now this other Paris, with his train

Of conquer'd cowards, must in Afric reign!

(Whom, what they are, their looks and garb confess,

Their locks with oil perfum'd, their Lydian dress.)

He takes the spoil, enjoys the princely dame;

And I, rejected I, adore an empty name."

His vows, in haughty terms, he thus preferr'd,

And held his altar's horns. The mighty Thund'rer heard;

Then cast his eyes on Carthage, where he found

The lustful pair in lawless pleasure drown'd,

Lost in their loves, insensible of shame,

And both forgetful of their better fame.

He calls Cyllenius, and the god attends,

By whom his menacing command he sends:

"Go, mount the western winds, and cleave the sky;

Then, with a swift descent, to Carthage fly:

There find the Trojan chief, who wastes his days

In slothful not and inglorious ease,

Nor minds the future city, giv'n by fate.

To him this message from my mouth relate:

'Not so fair Venus hop'd, when twice she won

Thy life with pray'rs, nor promis'd such a son.

Hers was a hero, destin'd to command

A martial race, and rule the Latian land,

Who should his ancient line from Teucer draw,

And on the conquer'd world impose the law.'

If glory cannot move a mind so mean,

Nor future praise from fading pleasure wean,

Yet why should he defraud his son of fame,

And grudge the Romans their immortal name!

What are his vain designs! what hopes he more

From his long ling'ring on a hostile shore,

Regardless to redeem his honor lost,

And for his race to gain th' Ausonian coast!

Bid him with speed the Tyrian court forsake;

With this command the slumb'ring warrior wake."

Hermes obeys; with golden pinions binds

His flying feet, and mounts the western winds:

And, whether o'er the seas or earth he flies,

With rapid force they bear him down the skies.

But first he grasps within his awful hand

The mark of sov'reign pow'r, his magic wand;

With this he draws the ghosts from hollow graves;

With this he drives them down the Stygian waves;

With this he seals in sleep the wakeful sight,

And eyes, tho' clos'd in death, restores to light.

Thus arm'd, the god begins his airy race,

And drives the racking clouds along the liquid space;

Now sees the tops of Atlas, as he flies,

Whose brawny back supports the starry skies;

Atlas, whose head, with piny forests crown'd,

Is beaten by the winds, with foggy vapors bound.

Snows hide his shoulders; from beneath his chin

The founts of rolling streams their race begin;

A beard of ice on his large breast depends.

Here, pois'd upon his wings, the god descends:

Then, rested thus, he from the tow'ring height

Plung'd downward, with precipitated flight,

Lights on the seas, and skims along the flood.

As waterfowl, who seek their fishy food,

Less, and yet less, to distant prospect show;

By turns they dance aloft, and dive below:

Like these, the steerage of his wings he plies,

And near the surface of the water flies,

Till, having pass'd the seas, and cross'd the sands,

He clos'd his wings, and stoop'd on Libyan lands:

Where shepherds once were hous'd in homely sheds,

Now tow'rs within the clouds advance their heads.

Arriving there, he found the Trojan prince

New ramparts raising for the town's defense.

A purple scarf, with gold embroider'd o'er,

(Queen Dido's gift,) about his waist he wore;

A sword, with glitt'ring gems diversified,

For ornament, not use, hung idly by his side.

Then thus, with winged words, the god began,

Resuming his own shape: "Degenerate man,

Thou woman's property, what mak'st thou here,

These foreign walls and Tyrian tow'rs to rear,

Forgetful of thy own? All-pow'rful Jove,

Who sways the world below and heav'n above,

Has sent me down with this severe command:

What means thy ling'ring in the Libyan land?

If glory cannot move a mind so mean,

Nor future praise from flitting pleasure wean,

Regard the fortunes of thy rising heir:

The promis'd crown let young Ascanius wear,

To whom th' Ausonian scepter, and the state

Of Rome's imperial name is ow'd by fate."

So spoke the god; and, speaking, took his flight,

Involv'd in clouds, and vanish'd out of sight.

The pious prince was seiz'd with sudden fear;

Mute was his tongue, and upright stood his hair.

Revolving in his mind the stern command,

He longs to fly, and loathes the charming land.

What should he say? or how should he begin?

What course, alas! remains to steer between

Th' offended lover and the pow'rful queen?

This way and that he turns his anxious mind,

And all expedients tries, and none can find.

Fix'd on the deed, but doubtful of the means,

After long thought, to this advice he leans:

Three chiefs he calls, commands them to repair

The fleet, and ship their men with silent care;

Some plausible pretense he bids them find,

To color what in secret he design'd.

Himself, meantime, the softest hours would choose,

Before the love-sick lady heard the news;

And move her tender mind, by slow degrees,

To suffer what the sov'reign pow'r decrees:

Jove will inspire him, when, and what to say.

They hear with pleasure, and with haste obey.

But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise:

(What arts can blind a jealous woman's eyes!)

She was the first to find the secret fraud,

Before the fatal news was blaz'd abroad.

Love the first motions of the lover hears,

Quick to presage, and ev'n in safety fears.

Nor impious Fame was wanting to report

The ships repair'd, the Trojans' thick resort,

And purpose to forsake the Tyrian court.

Frantic with fear, impatient of the wound,

And impotent of mind, she roves the city round.

Less wild the Bacchanalian dames appear,

When, from afar, their nightly god they hear,

And howl about the hills, and shake the wreathy spear.

At length she finds the dear perfidious man;

Prevents his form'd excuse, and thus began:

"Base and ungrateful! could you hope to fly,

And undiscover'd scape a lover's eye?

Nor could my kindness your compassion move.

Nor plighted vows, nor dearer bands of love?

Or is the death of a despairing queen

Not worth preventing, tho' too well foreseen?

Ev'n when the wintry winds command your stay,

You dare the tempests, and defy the sea.

False as you are, suppose you were not bound

To lands unknown, and foreign coasts to sound;

Were Troy restor'd, and Priam's happy reign,

Now durst you tempt, for Troy, the raging main?

See whom you fly! am I the foe you shun?

Now, by those holy vows, so late begun,

By this right hand, (since I have nothing more

To challenge, but the faith you gave before;)

I beg you by these tears too truly shed,

By the new pleasures of our nuptial bed;

If ever Dido, when you most were kind,

Were pleasing in your eyes, or touch'd your mind;

By these my pray'rs, if pray'rs may yet have place,

Pity the fortunes of a falling race.

For you I have provok'd a tyrant's hate,

Incens'd the Libyan and the Tyrian state;

For you alone I suffer in my fame,

Bereft of honor, and expos'd to shame.

Whom have I now to trust, ungrateful guest?

(That only name remains of all the rest!)

What have I left? or whither can I fly?

Must I attend Pygmalion's cruelty,

Or till Hyarba shall in triumph lead

A queen that proudly scorn'd his proffer'd bed?

Had you deferr'd, at least, your hasty flight,

And left behind some pledge of our delight,

Some babe to bless the mother's mournful sight,

Some young Aeneas, to supply your place,

Whose features might express his father's face;

I should not then complain to live bereft

Of all my husband, or be wholly left."

Here paus'd the queen. Unmov'd he holds his eyes,

By Jove's command; nor suffer'd love to rise,

Tho' heaving in his heart; and thus at length replies:

"Fair queen, you never can enough repeat

Your boundless favors, or I own my debt;

Nor can my mind forget Eliza's name,

While vital breath inspires this mortal frame.

This only let me speak in my defense:

I never hop'd a secret flight from hence,

Much less pretended to the lawful claim

Of sacred nuptials, or a husband's name.

For, if indulgent Heav'n would leave me free,

And not submit my life to fate's decree,

My choice would lead me to the Trojan shore,

Those relics to review, their dust adore,

And Priam's ruin'd palace to restore.

But now the Delphian oracle commands,

And fate invites me to the Latian lands.

That is the promis'd place to which I steer,

And all my vows are terminated there.

If you, a Tyrian, and a stranger born,

With walls and tow'rs a Libyan town adorn,

Why may not we- like you, a foreign race-

Like you, seek shelter in a foreign place?

As often as the night obscures the skies

With humid shades, or twinkling stars arise,

Anchises' angry ghost in dreams appears,

Chides my delay, and fills my soul with fears;

And young Ascanius justly may complain

Of his defrauded and destin'd reign.

Ev'n now the herald of the gods appear'd:

Waking I saw him, and his message heard.

From Jove he came commission'd, heav'nly bright

With radiant beams, and manifest to sight

(The sender and the sent I both attest)

These walls he enter'd, and those words express'd.

Fair queen, oppose not what the gods command;

Forc'd by my fate, I leave your happy land."

Thus while he spoke, already she began,

With sparkling eyes, to view the guilty man;

From head to foot survey'd his person o'er,

Nor longer these outrageous threats forebore:

"False as thou art, and, more than false, forsworn!

Not sprung from noble blood, nor goddess-born,

But hewn from harden'd entrails of a rock!

And rough Hyrcanian tigers gave thee suck!

Why should I fawn? what have I worse to fear?

Did he once look, or lent a list'ning ear,

Sigh'd when I sobb'd, or shed one kindly tear?-

All symptoms of a base ungrateful mind,

So foul, that, which is worse, 'tis hard to find.

Of man's injustice why should I complain?

The gods, and Jove himself, behold in vain

Triumphant treason; yet no thunder flies,

Nor Juno views my wrongs with equal eyes;

Faithless is earth, and faithless are the skies!

Justice is fled, and Truth is now no more!

I sav'd the shipwrack'd exile on my shore;

With needful food his hungry Trojans fed;

I took the traitor to my throne and bed:

Fool that I was- 't is little to repeat

The rest- I stor'd and rigg'd his ruin'd fleet.

I rave, I rave! A god's command he pleads,

And makes Heav'n accessary to his deeds.

Now Lycian lots, and now the Delian god,

Now Hermes is employ'd from Jove's abode,

To warn him hence; as if the peaceful state

Of heav'nly pow'rs were touch'd with human fate!

But go! thy flight no longer I detain-

Go seek thy promis'd kingdom thro' the main!

Yet, if the heav'ns will hear my pious vow,

The faithless waves, not half so false as thou,

Or secret sands, shall sepulchers afford

To thy proud vessels, and their perjur'd lord.

Then shalt thou call on injur'd Dido's name:

Dido shall come in a black sulph'ry flame,

When death has once dissolv'd her mortal frame;

Shall smile to see the traitor vainly weep:

Her angry ghost, arising from the deep,

Shall haunt thee waking, and disturb thy sleep.

At least my shade thy punishment shall know,

And Fame shall spread the pleasing news below."

Abruptly here she stops; then turns away

Her loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day.

Amaz'd he stood, revolving in his mind

What speech to frame, and what excuse to find.

Her fearful maids their fainting mistress led,

And softly laid her on her ivory bed.

But good Aeneas, tho' he much desir'd

To give that pity which her grief requir'd;

Tho' much he mourn'd, and labor'd with his love,

Resolv'd at length, obeys the will of Jove;

Reviews his forces: they with early care

Unmoor their vessels, and for sea prepare.

The fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride,

And well-calk'd galleys in the harbor ride.

Then oaks for oars they fell'd; or, as they stood,

Of its green arms despoil'd the growing wood,

Studious of flight. The beach is cover'd o'er

With Trojan bands, that blacken all the shore:

On ev'ry side are seen, descending down,

Thick swarms of soldiers, loaden from the town.

Thus, in battalia, march embodied ants,

Fearful of winter, and of future wants,

T' invade the corn, and to their cells convey

The plunder'd forage of their yellow prey.

The sable troops, along the narrow tracks,

Scarce bear the weighty burthen on their backs:

Some set their shoulders to the pond'rous grain;

Some guard the spoil; some lash the lagging train;

All ply their sev'ral tasks, and equal toil sustain.

What pangs the tender breast of Dido tore,

When, from the tow'r, she saw the cover'd shore,

And heard the shouts of sailors from afar,

Mix'd with the murmurs of the wat'ry war!

All-pow'rful Love! what changes canst thou cause

In human hearts, subjected to thy laws!

Once more her haughty soul the tyrant bends:

To pray'rs and mean submissions she descends.

No female arts or aids she left untried,

Nor counsels unexplor'd, before she died.

"Look, Anna! look! the Trojans crowd to sea;

They spread their canvas, and their anchors weigh.

The shouting crew their ships with garlands bind,

Invoke the sea gods, and invite the wind.

Could I have thought this threat'ning blow so near,

My tender soul had been forewarn'd to bear.

But do not you my last request deny;

With yon perfidious man your int'rest try,

And bring me news, if I must live or die.

You are his fav'rite; you alone can find

The dark recesses of his inmost mind:

In all his trusted secrets you have part,

And know the soft approaches to his heart.

Haste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe;

Tell him, I did not with the Grecians go,

Nor did my fleet against his friends employ,

Nor swore the ruin of unhappy Troy,

Nor mov'd with hands profane his father's dust:

Why should he then reject a just!

Whom does he shun, and whither would he fly!

Can he this last, this only pray'r deny!

Let him at least his dang'rous flight delay,

Wait better winds, and hope a calmer sea.

The nuptials he disclaims I urge no more:

Let him pursue the promis'd Latian shore.

A short delay is all I ask him now;

A pause of grief, an interval from woe,

Till my soft soul be temper'd to sustain

Accustom'd sorrows, and inur'd to pain.

If you in pity grant this one request,

My death shall glut the hatred of his breast."

This mournful message pious Anna bears,

And seconds with her own her sister's tears:

But all her arts are still employ'd in vain;

Again she comes, and is refus'd again.

His harden'd heart nor pray'rs nor threat'nings move;

Fate, and the god, had stopp'd his ears to love.

As, when the winds their airy quarrel try,

Justling from ev'ry quarter of the sky,

This way and that the mountain oak they bend,

His boughs they shatter, and his branches rend;

With leaves and falling mast they spread the ground;

The hollow valleys echo to the sound:

Unmov'd, the royal plant their fury mocks,

Or, shaken, clings more closely to the rocks;

Far as he shoots his tow'ring head on high,

So deep in earth his fix'd foundations lie.

No less a storm the Trojan hero bears;

Thick messages and loud complaints he hears,

And bandied words, still beating on his ears.

Sighs, groans, and tears proclaim his inward pains;

But the firm purpose of his heart remains.

The wretched queen, pursued by cruel fate,

Begins at length the light of heav'n to hate,

And loathes to live. Then dire portents she sees,

To hasten on the death her soul decrees:

Strange to relate! for when, before the shrine,

She pours in sacrifice the purple wine,

The purple wine is turn'd to putrid blood,

And the white offer'd milk converts to mud.

This dire presage, to her alone reveal'd,

From all, and ev'n her sister, she conceal'd.

A marble temple stood within the grove,

Sacred to death, and to her murther'd love;

That honor'd chapel she had hung around

With snowy fleeces, and with garlands crown'd:

Oft, when she visited this lonely dome,

Strange voices issued from her husband's tomb;

She thought she heard him summon her away,

Invite her to his grave, and chide her stay.

Hourly 't is heard, when with a boding note

The solitary screech owl strains her throat,

And, on a chimney's top, or turret's height,

With songs obscene disturbs the silence of the night.

Besides, old prophecies augment her fears;

And stern Aeneas in her dreams appears,

Disdainful as by day: she seems, alone,

To wander in her sleep, thro' ways unknown,

Guideless and dark; or, in a desart plain,

To seek her subjects, and to seek in vain:

Like Pentheus, when, distracted with his fear,

He saw two suns, and double Thebes, appear;

Or mad Orestes, when his mother's ghost

Full in his face infernal torches toss'd,

And shook her snaky locks: he shuns the sight,

Flies o'er the stage, surpris'd with mortal fright;

The Furies guard the door and intercept his flight.

Now, sinking underneath a load of grief,

From death alone she seeks her last relief;

The time and means resolv'd within her breast,

She to her mournful sister thus address'd

(Dissembling hope, her cloudy front she clears,

And a false vigor in her eyes appears):

"Rejoice!" she said. "Instructed from above,

My lover I shall gain, or lose my love.

Nigh rising Atlas, next the falling sun,

Long tracts of Ethiopian climates run:

There a Massylian priestess I have found,

Honor'd for age, for magic arts renown'd:

Th' Hesperian temple was her trusted care;

'T was she supplied the wakeful dragon's fare.

She poppy seeds in honey taught to steep,

Reclaim'd his rage, and sooth'd him into sleep.

She watch'd the golden fruit; her charms unbind

The chains of love, or fix them on the mind:

She stops the torrents, leaves the channel dry,

Repels the stars, and backward bears the sky.

The yawning earth rebellows to her call,

Pale ghosts ascend, and mountain ashes fall.

Witness, ye gods, and thou my better part,

How loth I am to try this impious art!

Within the secret court, with silent care,

Erect a lofty pile, expos'd in air:

Hang on the topmost part the Trojan vest,

Spoils, arms, and presents, of my faithless guest.

Next, under these, the bridal bed be plac'd,

Where I my ruin in his arms embrac'd:

All relics of the wretch are doom'd to fire;

For so the priestess and her charms require."

Thus far she said, and farther speech forbears;

A mortal paleness in her face appears:

Yet the mistrustless Anna could not find

The secret fun'ral in these rites design'd;

Nor thought so dire a rage possess'd her mind.

Unknowing of a train conceal'd so well,

She fear'd no worse than when Sichaeus fell;

Therefore obeys. The fatal pile they rear,

Within the secret court, expos'd in air.

The cloven holms and pines are heap'd on high,

And garlands on the hollow spaces lie.

Sad cypress, vervain, yew, compose the wreath,

And ev'ry baleful green denoting death.

The queen, determin'd to the fatal deed,

The spoils and sword he left, in order spread,

And the man's image on the nuptial bed.

And now (the sacred altars plac'd around)

The priestess enters, with her hair unbound,

And thrice invokes the pow'rs below the ground.

Night, Erebus, and Chaos she proclaims,

And threefold Hecate, with her hundred names,

And three Dianas: next, she sprinkles round

With feign'd Avernian drops the hallow'd ground;

Culls hoary simples, found by Phoebe's light,

With brazen sickles reap'd at noon of night;

Then mixes baleful juices in the bowl,

And cuts the forehead of a newborn foal,

Robbing the mother's love. The destin'd queen

Observes, assisting at the rites obscene;

A leaven'd cake in her devoted hands

She holds, and next the highest altar stands:

One tender foot was shod, her other bare;

Girt was her gather'd gown, and loose her hair.

Thus dress'd, she summon'd, with her dying breath,

The heav'ns and planets conscious of her death,

And ev'ry pow'r, if any rules above,

Who minds, or who revenges, injur'd love.

"'T was dead of night, when weary bodies close

Their eyes in balmy sleep and soft repose:

The winds no longer whisper thro' the woods,

Nor murm'ring tides disturb the gentle floods.

The stars in silent order mov'd around;

And Peace, with downy wings, was brooding on the ground

The flocks and herds, and party-color'd fowl,

Which haunt the woods, or swim the weedy pool,

Stretch'd on the quiet earth, securely lay,

Forgetting the past labors of the day.

All else of nature's common gift partake:

Unhappy Dido was alone awake.

Nor sleep nor ease the furious queen can find;

Sleep fled her eyes, as quiet fled her mind.

Despair, and rage, and love divide her heart;

Despair and rage had some, but love the greater part.

Then thus she said within her secret mind:

"What shall I do? what succor can I find?

Become a suppliant to Hyarba's pride,

And take my turn, to court and be denied?

Shall I with this ungrateful Trojan go,

Forsake an empire, and attend a foe?

Himself I refug'd, and his train reliev'd-

'T is true- but am I sure to be receiv'd?

Can gratitude in Trojan souls have place!

Laomedon still lives in all his race!

Then, shall I seek alone the churlish crew,

Or with my fleet their flying sails pursue?

What force have I but those whom scarce before

I drew reluctant from their native shore?

Will they again embark at my desire,

Once more sustain the seas, and quit their second Tyre?

Rather with steel thy guilty breast invade,

And take the fortune thou thyself hast made.

Your pity, sister, first seduc'd my mind,

Or seconded too well what I design'd.

These dear-bought pleasures had I never known,

Had I continued free, and still my own;

Avoiding love, I had not found despair,

But shar'd with salvage beasts the common air.

Like them, a lonely life I might have led,

Not mourn'd the living, nor disturb'd the dead."

These thoughts she brooded in her anxious breast.

On board, the Trojan found more easy rest.

Resolv'd to sail, in sleep he pass'd the night;

And order'd all things for his early flight.

To whom once more the winged god appears;

His former youthful mien and shape he wears,

And with this new alarm invades his ears:

"Sleep'st thou, O goddess-born! and canst thou drown

Thy needful cares, so near a hostile town,

Beset with foes; nor hear'st the western gales

Invite thy passage, and inspire thy sails?

She harbors in her heart a furious hate,

And thou shalt find the dire effects too late;

Fix'd on revenge, and obstinate to die.

Haste swiftly hence, while thou hast pow'r to fly.

The sea with ships will soon be cover'd o'er,

And blazing firebrands kindle all the shore.

Prevent her rage, while night obscures the skies,

And sail before the purple morn arise.

Who knows what hazards thy delay may bring?

Woman's a various and a changeful thing."

Thus Hermes in the dream; then took his flight

Aloft in air unseen, and mix'd with night.

Twice warn'd by the celestial messenger,

The pious prince arose with hasty fear;

Then rous'd his drowsy train without delay:

"Haste to your banks; your crooked anchors weigh,

And spread your flying sails, and stand to sea.

A god commands: he stood before my sight,

And urg'd us once again to speedy flight.

O sacred pow'r, what pow'r soe'er thou art,

To thy blest orders I resign my heart.

Lead thou the way; protect thy Trojan bands,

And prosper the design thy will commands."

He said: and, drawing forth his flaming sword,

His thund'ring arm divides the many-twisted cord.

An emulating zeal inspires his train:

They run; they snatch; they rush into the main.

With headlong haste they leave the desert shores,

And brush the liquid seas with lab'ring oars.

Aurora now had left her saffron bed,

And beams of early light the heav'ns o'erspread,

When, from a tow'r, the queen, with wakeful eyes,

Saw day point upward from the rosy skies.

She look'd to seaward; but the sea was void,

And scarce in ken the sailing ships descried.

Stung with despite, and furious with despair,

She struck her trembling breast, and tore her hair.

"And shall th' ungrateful traitor go," she said,

"My land forsaken, and my love betray'd?

Shall we not arm? not rush from ev'ry street,

To follow, sink, and burn his perjur'd fleet?

Haste, haul my galleys out! pursue the foe!

Bring flaming brands! set sail, and swiftly row!

What have I said? where am I? Fury turns

My brain; and my distemper'd bosom burns.

Then, when I gave my person and my throne,

This hate, this rage, had been more timely shown.

See now the promis'd faith, the vaunted name,

The pious man, who, rushing thro' the flame,

Preserv'd his gods, and to the Phrygian shore

The burthen of his feeble father bore!

I should have torn him piecemeal; strow'd in floods

His scatter'd limbs, or left expos'd in woods;

Destroy'd his friends and son; and, from the fire,

Have set the reeking boy before the sire.

Events are doubtful, which on battles wait:

Yet where's the doubt, to souls secure of fate?

My Tyrians, at their injur'd queen's command,

Had toss'd their fires amid the Trojan band;

At once extinguish'd all the faithless name;

And I myself, in vengeance of my shame,

Had fall'n upon the pile, to mend the fun'ral flame.

Thou Sun, who view'st at once the world below;

Thou Juno, guardian of the nuptial vow;

Thou Hecate hearken from thy dark abodes!

Ye Furies, fiends, and violated gods,

All pow'rs invok'd with Dido's dying breath,

Attend her curses and avenge her death!

If so the Fates ordain, Jove commands,

Th' ungrateful wretch should find the Latian lands,

Yet let a race untam'd, and haughty foes,

His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose:

Oppress'd with numbers in th' unequal field,

His men discourag'd, and himself expell'd,

Let him for succor sue from place to place,

Torn from his subjects, and his son's embrace.

First, let him see his friends in battle slain,

And their untimely fate lament in vain;

And when, at length, the cruel war shall cease,

On hard conditions may he buy his peace:

Nor let him then enjoy supreme command;

But fall, untimely, by some hostile hand,

And lie unburied on the barren sand!

These are my pray'rs, and this my dying will;

And you, my Tyrians, ev'ry curse fulfil.

Perpetual hate and mortal wars proclaim,

Against the prince, the people, and the name.

These grateful off'rings on my grave bestow;

Nor league, nor love, the hostile nations know!

Now, and from hence, in ev'ry future age,

When rage excites your arms, and strength supplies the rage

Rise some avenger of our Libyan blood,

With fire and sword pursue the perjur'd brood;

Our arms, our seas, our shores, oppos'd to theirs;

And the same hate descend on all our heirs!"

This said, within her anxious mind she weighs

The means of cutting short her odious days.

Then to Sichaeus' nurse she briefly said

(For, when she left her country, hers was dead):

"Go, Barce, call my sister. Let her care

The solemn rites of sacrifice prepare;

The sheep, and all th' atoning off'rings bring,

Sprinkling her body from the crystal spring

With living drops; then let her come, and thou

With sacred fillets bind thy hoary brow.

Thus will I pay my vows to Stygian Jove,

And end the cares of my disastrous love;

Then cast the Trojan image on the fire,

And, as that burns, my passions shall expire."

The nurse moves onward, with officious care,

And all the speed her aged limbs can bear.

But furious Dido, with dark thoughts involv'd,

Shook at the mighty mischief she resolv'd.

With livid spots distinguish'd was her face;

Red were her rolling eyes, and discompos'd her pace;

Ghastly she gaz'd, with pain she drew her breath,

And nature shiver'd at approaching death.

Then swiftly to the fatal place she pass'd,

And mounts the fun'ral pile with furious haste;

Unsheathes the sword the Trojan left behind

(Not for so dire an enterprise design'd).

But when she view'd the garments loosely spread,

Which once he wore, and saw the conscious bed,

She paus'd, and with a sigh the robes embrac'd;

Then on the couch her trembling body cast,

Repress'd the ready tears, and spoke her last:

"Dear pledges of my love, while Heav'n so pleas'd,

Receive a soul, of mortal anguish eas'd:

My fatal course is finish'd; and I go,

A glorious name, among the ghosts below.

A lofty city by my hands is rais'd,

Pygmalion punish'd, and my lord appeas'd.

What could my fortune have afforded more,

Had the false Trojan never touch'd my shore!"

Then kiss'd the couch; and, "Must I die," she said,

"And unreveng'd? 'T is doubly to be dead!

Yet ev'n this death with pleasure I receive:

On any terms, 't is better than to live.

These flames, from far, may the false Trojan view;

These boding omens his base flight pursue!"

She said, and struck; deep enter'd in her side

The piercing steel, with reeking purple dyed:

Clogg'd in the wound the cruel weapon stands;

The spouting blood came streaming on her hands.

Her sad attendants saw the deadly stroke,

And with loud cries the sounding palace shook.

Distracted, from the fatal sight they fled,

And thro' the town the dismal rumor spread.

First from the frighted court the yell began;

Redoubled, thence from house to house it ran:

The groans of men, with shrieks, laments, and cries

Of mixing women, mount the vaulted skies.

Not less the clamor, than if- ancient Tyre,

Or the new Carthage, set by foes on fire-

The rolling ruin, with their lov'd abodes,

Involv'd the blazing temples of their gods.

Her sister hears; and, furious with despair,

She beats her breast, and rends her yellow hair,

And, calling on Eliza's name aloud,

Runs breathless to the place, and breaks the crowd.

"Was all that pomp of woe for this prepar'd;

These fires, this fun'ral pile, these altars rear'd?

Was all this train of plots contriv'd," said she,

"All only to deceive unhappy me?

Which is the worst? Didst thou in death pretend

To scorn thy sister, or delude thy friend?

Thy summon'd sister, and thy friend, had come;

One sword had serv'd us both, one common tomb:

Was I to raise the pile, the pow'rs invoke,

Not to be present at the fatal stroke?

At once thou hast destroy'd thyself and me,

Thy town, thy senate, and thy colony!

Bring water; bathe the wound; while I in death

Lay close my lips to hers, and catch the flying breath."

This said, she mounts the pile with eager haste,

And in her arms the gasping queen embrac'd;

Her temples chaf'd; and her own garments tore,

To stanch the streaming blood, and cleanse the gore.

Thrice Dido tried to raise her drooping head,

And, fainting thrice, fell grov'ling on the bed;

Thrice op'd her heavy eyes, and sought the light,

But, having found it, sicken'd at the sight,

And clos'd her lids at last in endless night.

Then Juno, grieving that she should sustain

A death so ling'ring, and so full of pain,

Sent Iris down, to free her from the strife

Of lab'ring nature, and dissolve her life.

For since she died, not doom'd by Heav'n's decree,

Or her own crime, but human casualty,

And rage of love, that plung'd her in despair,

The Sisters had not cut the topmost hair,

Which Proserpine and they can only know;

Nor made her sacred to the shades below.

Downward the various goddess took her flight,

And drew a thousand colors from the light;

Then stood above the dying lover's head,

And said: "I thus devote thee to the dead.

This off'ring to th' infernal gods I bear."

Thus while she spoke, she cut the fatal hair:

The struggling soul was loos'd, and life dissolv'd in air.

BOOK V

Meantime the Trojan cuts his wat'ry way,

Fix'd on his voyage, thro' the curling sea;

Then, casting back his eyes, with dire amaze,

Sees on the Punic shore the mounting blaze.

The cause unknown; yet his presaging mind

The fate of Dido from the fire divin'd;

He knew the stormy souls of womankind,

What secret springs their eager passions move,

How capable of death for injur'd love.

Dire auguries from hence the Trojans draw;

Till neither fires nor shining shores they saw.

Now seas and skies their prospect only bound;

An empty space above, a floating field around.

But soon the heav'ns with shadows were o'erspread;

A swelling cloud hung hov'ring o'er their head:

Livid it look'd, the threat'ning of a storm:

Then night and horror ocean's face deform.

The pilot, Palinurus, cried aloud:

"What gusts of weather from that gath'ring cloud

My thoughts presage! Ere yet the tempest roars,

Stand to your tackle, mates, and stretch your oars;

Contract your swelling sails, and luff to wind."

The frighted crew perform the task assign'd.

Then, to his fearless chief: "Not Heav'n," said he,

"Tho' Jove himself should promise Italy,

Can stem the torrent of this raging sea.

Mark how the shifting winds from west arise,

And what collected night involves the skies!

Nor can our shaken vessels live at sea,

Much less against the tempest force their way.

'T is fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey.

Not far from hence, if I observ'd aright

The southing of the stars, and polar light,

Sicilia lies, whose hospitable shores

In safety we may reach with struggling oars."

Aeneas then replied: "Too sure I find

We strive in vain against the seas and wind:

Now shift your sails; what place can please me more

Than what you promise, the Sicilian shore,

Whose hallow'd earth Anchises' bones contains,

And where a prince of Trojan lineage reigns?"

The course resolv'd, before the western wind

They scud amain, and make the port assign'd.

Meantime Acestes, from a lofty stand,

Beheld the fleet descending on the land;

And, not unmindful of his ancient race,

Down from the cliff he ran with eager pace,

And held the hero in a strict embrace.

Of a rough Libyan bear the spoils he wore,

And either hand a pointed jav'lin bore.

His mother was a dame of Dardan blood;

His sire Crinisus, a Sicilian flood.

He welcomes his returning friends ashore

With plenteous country cates and homely store.

Now, when the following morn had chas'd away

The flying stars, and light restor'd the day,

Aeneas call'd the Trojan troops around,

And thus bespoke them from a rising ground:

"Offspring of heav'n, divine Dardanian race!

The sun, revolving thro' th' ethereal space,

The shining circle of the year has fill'd,

Since first this isle my father's ashes held:

And now the rising day renews the year;

A day for ever sad, for ever dear.

This would I celebrate with annual games,

With gifts on altars pil'd, and holy flames,

Tho' banish'd to Gaetulia's barren sands,

Caught on the Grecian seas, or hostile lands:

But since this happy storm our fleet has driv'n

(Not, as I deem, without the will of Heav'n)

Upon these friendly shores and flow'ry plains,

Which hide Anchises and his blest remains,

Let us with joy perform his honors due,

And pray for prosp'rous winds, our voyage to renew;

Pray, that in towns and temples of our own,

The name of great Anchises may be known,

And yearly games may spread the gods' renown.

Our sports Acestes, of the Trojan race,

With royal gifts ordain'd, is pleas'd to grace:

Two steers on ev'ry ship the king bestows;

His gods and ours shall share your equal vows.

Besides, if, nine days hence, the rosy morn

Shall with unclouded light the skies adorn,

That day with solemn sports I mean to grace:

Light galleys on the seas shall run a wat'ry race;

Some shall in swiftness for the goal contend,

And others try the twanging bow to bend;

The strong, with iron gauntlets arm'd, shall stand

Oppos'd in combat on the yellow sand.

Let all be present at the games prepar'd,

And joyful victors wait the just reward.

But now assist the rites, with garlands crown'd."

He said, and first his brows with myrtle bound.

Then Helymus, by his example led,

And old Acestes, each adorn'd his head;

Thus young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,

His temples tied, and all the Trojan race.

Aeneas then advanc'd amidst the train,

By thousands follow'd thro' the flow'ry plain,

To great Anchises' tomb; which when he found,

He pour'd to Bacchus, on the hallow'd ground,

Two bowls of sparkling wine, of milk two more,

And two (from offer'd bulls) of purple gore,

With roses then the sepulcher he strow'd

And thus his father's ghost bespoke aloud:

"Hail, O ye holy manes! hail again,

Paternal ashes, now review'd in vain!

The gods permitted not, that you, with me,

Should reach the promis'd shores of Italy,

Or Tiber's flood, what flood soe'er it be."

Scarce had he finish'd, when, with speckled pride,

A serpent from the tomb began to glide;

His hugy bulk on sev'n high volumes roll'd;

Blue was his breadth of back, but streak'd with scaly gold:

Thus riding on his curls, he seem'd to pass

A rolling fire along, and singe the grass.

More various colors thro' his body run,

Than Iris when her bow imbibes the sun.

Betwixt the rising altars, and around,

The sacred monster shot along the ground;

With harmless play amidst the bowls he pass'd,

And with his lolling tongue assay'd the taste:

Thus fed with holy food, the wondrous guest

Within the hollow tomb retir'd to rest.

The pious prince, surpris'd at what he view'd,

The fun'ral honors with more zeal renew'd,

Doubtful if this place's genius were,

Or guardian of his father's sepulcher.

Five sheep, according to the rites, he slew;

As many swine, and steers of sable hue;

New gen'rous wine he from the goblets pour'd.

And call'd his father's ghost, from hell restor'd.

The glad attendants in long order come,

Off'ring their gifts at great Anchises' tomb:

Some add more oxen: some divide the spoil;

Some place the chargers on the grassy soil;

Some blow the fires, and off entrails broil.

Now came the day desir'd. The skies were bright

With rosy luster of the rising light:

The bord'ring people, rous'd by sounding fame

Of Trojan feasts and great Acestes' name,

The crowded shore with acclamations fill,

Part to behold, and part to prove their skill.

And first the gifts in public view they place,

Green laurel wreaths, and palm, the victors' grace:

Within the circle, arms and tripods lie,

Ingots of gold and silver, heap'd on high,

And vests embroider'd, of the Tyrian dye.

The trumpet's clangor then the feast proclaims,

And all prepare for their appointed games.

Four galleys first, which equal rowers bear,

Advancing, in the wat'ry lists appear.

The speedy Dolphin, that outstrips the wind,

Bore Mnestheus, author of the Memmian kind:

Gyas the vast Chimaera's bulk commands,

Which rising, like a tow'ring city stands;

Three Trojans tug at ev'ry lab'ring oar;

Three banks in three degrees the sailors bore;

Beneath their sturdy strokes the billows roar.

Sergesthus, who began the Sergian race,

In the great Centaur took the leading place;

Cloanthus on the sea-green Scylla stood,

From whom Cluentius draws his Trojan blood.

Far in the sea, against the foaming shore,

There stands a rock: the raging billows roar

Above his head in storms; but, when 't is clear,

Uncurl their ridgy backs, and at his foot appear.

In peace below the gentle waters run;

The cormorants above lie basking in the sun.

On this the hero fix'd an oak in sight,

The mark to guide the mariners aright.

To bear with this, the seamen stretch their oars;

Then round the rock they steer, and seek the former shores.

The lots decide their place. Above the rest,

Each leader shining in his Tyrian vest;

The common crew with wreaths of poplar boughs

Their temples crown, and shade their sweaty brows:

Besmear'd with oil, their naked shoulders shine.

All take their seats, and wait the sounding sign:

They gripe their oars; and ev'ry panting breast

Is rais'd by turns with hope, by turns with fear depress'd.

The clangor of the trumpet gives the sign;

At once they start, advancing in a line:

With shouts the sailors rend the starry skies;

Lash'd with their oars, the smoky billows rise;

Sparkles the briny main, and the vex'd ocean fries.

Exact in time, with equal strokes they row:

At once the brushing oars and brazen prow

Dash up the sandy waves, and ope the depths below.

Not fiery coursers, in a chariot race,

Invade the field with half so swift a pace;

Not the fierce driver with more fury lends

The sounding lash, and, ere the stroke descends,

Low to the wheels his pliant body bends.

The partial crowd their hopes and fears divide,

And aid with eager shouts the favor'd side.

Cries, murmurs, clamors, with a mixing sound,

From woods to woods, from hills to hills rebound.

Amidst the loud applauses of the shore,

Gyas outstripp'd the rest, and sprung before:

Cloanthus, better mann'd, pursued him fast,

But his o'er-masted galley check'd his haste.

The Centaur and the Dolphin brush the brine

With equal oars, advancing in a line;

And now the mighty Centaur seems to lead,

And now the speedy Dolphin gets ahead;

Now board to board the rival vessels row,

The billows lave the skies, and ocean groans below.

They reach'd the mark. Proud Gyas and his train

In triumph rode, the victors of the main;

But, steering round, he charg'd his pilot stand

More close to shore, and skim along the sand-

"Let others bear to sea!" Menoetes heard;

But secret shelves too cautiously he fear'd,

And, fearing, sought the deep; and still aloof he steer'd.

With louder cries the captain call'd again:

"Bear to the rocky shore, and shun the main."

He spoke, and, speaking, at his stern he saw

The bold Cloanthus near the shelvings draw.

Betwixt the mark and him the Scylla stood,

And in a closer compass plow'd the flood.

He pass'd the mark; and, wheeling, got before:

Gyas blasphem'd the gods, devoutly swore,

Cried out for anger, and his hair he tore.

Mindless of others' lives (so high was grown

His rising rage) and careless of his own,

The trembling dotard to the deck he drew;

Then hoisted up, and overboard he threw:

This done, he seiz'd the helm; his fellows cheer'd,

Turn'd short upon the shelfs, and madly steer'd.

Hardly his head the plunging pilot rears,

Clogg'd with his clothes, and cumber'd with his years:

Now dropping wet, he climbs the cliff with pain.

The crowd, that saw him fall and float again,

Shout from the distant shore; and loudly laugh'd,

To see his heaving breast disgorge the briny draught.

The following Centaur, and the Dolphin's crew,

Their vanish'd hopes of victory renew;

While Gyas lags, they kindle in the race,

To reach the mark. Sergesthus takes the place;

Mnestheus pursues; and while around they wind,

Comes up, not half his galley's length behind;

Then, on the deck, amidst his mates appear'd,

And thus their drooping courage he cheer'd:

"My friends, and Hector's followers heretofore,

Exert your vigor; tug the lab'ring oar;

Stretch to your strokes, my still unconquer'd crew,

Whom from the flaming walls of Troy I drew.

In this, our common int'rest, let me find

That strength of hand, that courage of the mind,

As when you stemm'd the strong Malean flood,

And o'er the Syrtes' broken billows row'd.

I seek not now the foremost palm to gain;

Tho' yet- but, ah! that haughty wish is vain!

Let those enjoy it whom the gods ordain.

But to be last, the lags of all the race!-

Redeem yourselves and me from that disgrace."

Now, one and all, they tug amain; they row

At the full stretch, and shake the brazen prow.

The sea beneath 'em sinks; their lab'ring sides

Are swell'd, and sweat runs gutt'ring down in tides.

Chance aids their daring with unhop'd success;

Sergesthus, eager with his beak to press

Betwixt the rival galley and the rock,

Shuts up th' unwieldly Centaur in the lock.

The vessel struck; and, with the dreadful shock,

Her oars she shiver'd, and her head she broke.

The trembling rowers from their banks arise,

And, anxious for themselves, renounce the prize.

With iron poles they heave her off the shores,

And gather from the sea their floating oars.

The crew of Mnestheus, with elated minds,

Urge their success, and call the willing winds;

Then ply their oars, and cut their liquid way

In larger compass on the roomy sea.

As, when the dove her rocky hold forsakes,

Rous'd in a fright, her sounding wings she shakes;

The cavern rings with clatt'ring; out she flies,

And leaves her callow care, and cleaves the skies:

At first she flutters; but at length she springs

To smoother flight, and shoots upon her wings:

So Mnestheus in the Dolphin cuts the sea;

And, flying with a force, that force assists his way.

Sergesthus in the Centaur soon he pass'd,

Wedg'd in the rocky shoals, and sticking fast.

In vain the victor he with cries implores,

And practices to row with shatter'd oars.

Then Mnestheus bears with Gyas, and outflies:

The ship, without a pilot, yields the prize.

Unvanquish'd Scylla now alone remains;

Her he pursues, and all his vigor strains.

Shouts from the fav'ring multitude arise;

Applauding Echo to the shouts replies;

Shouts, wishes, and applause run rattling thro' the skies.

These clamors with disdain the Scylla heard,

Much grudg'd the praise, but more the robb'd reward:

Resolv'd to hold their own, they mend their pace,

All obstinate to die, or gain the race.

Rais'd with success, the Dolphin swiftly ran;

For they can conquer, who believe they can.

Both urge their oars, and fortune both supplies,

And both perhaps had shar'd an equal prize;

When to the seas Cloanthus holds his hands,

And succor from the wat'ry pow'rs demands:

"Gods of the liquid realms, on which I row!

If, giv'n by you, the laurel bind my brow,

Assist to make me guilty of my vow!

A snow-white bull shall on your shore be slain;

His offer'd entrails cast into the main,

And ruddy wine, from golden goblets thrown,

Your grateful gift and my return shall own."

The choir of nymphs, and Phorcus, from below,

With virgin Panopea, heard his vow;

And old Portunus, with his breadth of hand,

Push'd on, and sped the galley to the land.

Swift as a shaft, or winged wind, she flies,

And, darting to the port, obtains the prize.

The herald summons all, and then proclaims

Cloanthus conqu'ror of the naval games.

The prince with laurel crowns the victor's head,

And three fat steers are to his vessel led,

The ship's reward; with gen'rous wine beside,

And sums of silver, which the crew divide.

The leaders are distinguish'd from the rest;

The victor honor'd with a nobler vest,

Where gold and purple strive in equal rows,

And needlework its happy cost bestows.

There Ganymede is wrought with living art,

Chasing thro' Ida's groves the trembling hart:

Breathless he seems, yet eager to pursue;

When from aloft descends, in open view,

The bird of Jove, and, sousing on his prey,

With crooked talons bears the boy away.

In vain, with lifted hands and gazing eyes,

His guards behold him soaring thro' the skies,

And dogs pursue his flight with imitated cries.

Mnestheus the second victor was declar'd;

And, summon'd there, the second prize he shard.

A coat of mail, brave Demoleus bore,

More brave Aeneas from his shoulders tore,

In single combat on the Trojan shore:

This was ordain'd for Mnestheus to possess;

In war for his defense, for ornament in peace.

Rich was the gift, and glorious to behold,

But yet so pond'rous with its plates of gold,

That scarce two servants could the weight sustain;

Yet, loaded thus, Demoleus o'er the plain

Pursued and lightly seiz'd the Trojan train.

The third, succeeding to the last reward,

Two goodly bowls of massy silver shar'd,

With figures prominent, and richly wrought,

And two brass caldrons from Dodona brought.

Thus all, rewarded by the hero's hands,

Their conqu'ring temples bound with purple bands;

And now Sergesthus, clearing from the rock,

Brought back his galley shatter'd with the shock.

Forlorn she look'd, without an aiding oar,

And, houted by the vulgar, made to shore.

As when a snake, surpris'd upon the road,

Is crush'd athwart her body by the load

Of heavy wheels; or with a mortal wound

Her belly bruis'd, and trodden to the ground:

In vain, with loosen'd curls, she crawls along;

Yet, fierce above, she brandishes her tongue;

Glares with her eyes, and bristles with her scales;

But, groveling in the dust, her parts unsound she trails:

So slowly to the port the Centaur tends,

But, what she wants in oars, with sails amends.

Yet, for his galley sav'd, the grateful prince

Is pleas'd th' unhappy chief to recompense.

Pholoe, the Cretan slave, rewards his care,

Beauteous herself, with lovely twins as fair.

From thence his way the Trojan hero bent

Into the neighb'ring plain, with mountains pent,

Whose sides were shaded with surrounding wood.

Full in the midst of this fair valley stood

A native theater, which, rising slow

By just degrees, o'erlook'd the ground below.

High on a sylvan throne the leader sate;

A num'rous train attend in solemn state.

Here those that in the rapid course delight,

Desire of honor and the prize invite.

The rival runners without order stand;

The Trojans mix'd with the Sicilian band.

First Nisus, with Euryalus, appears;

Euryalus a boy of blooming years,

With sprightly grace and equal beauty crown'd;

Nisus, for friendship to the youth renown'd.

Diores next, of Priam's royal race,

Then Salius joined with Patron, took their place;

(But Patron in Arcadia had his birth,

And Salius his from Arcananian earth;)

Then two Sicilian youths- the names of these,

Swift Helymus, and lovely Panopes:

Both jolly huntsmen, both in forest bred,

And owning old Acestes for their head;

With sev'ral others of ignobler name,

Whom time has not deliver'd o'er to fame.

To these the hero thus his thoughts explain'd,

In words which gen'ral approbation gain'd:

"One common largess is for all design'd,

(The vanquish'd and the victor shall be join'd,)

Two darts of polish'd steel and Gnosian wood,

A silver-studded ax, alike bestow'd.

The foremost three have olive wreaths decreed:

The first of these obtains a stately steed,

Adorn'd with trappings; and the next in fame,

The quiver of an Amazonian dame,

With feather'd Thracian arrows well supplied:

A golden belt shall gird his manly side,

Which with a sparkling diamond shall be tied.

The third this Grecian helmet shall content."

He said. To their appointed base they went;

With beating hearts th' expected sign receive,

And, starting all at once, the barrier leave.

Spread out, as on the winged winds, they flew,

And seiz'd the distant goal with greedy view.

Shot from the crowd, swift Nisus all o'erpass'd;

Nor storms, nor thunder, equal half his haste.

The next, but tho' the next, yet far disjoin'd,

Came Salius, and Euryalus behind;

Then Helymus, whom young Diores plied,

Step after step, and almost side by side,

His shoulders pressing; and, in longer space,

Had won, or left at least a dubious race.

Now, spent, the goal they almost reach at last,

When eager Nisus, hapless in his haste,

Slipp'd first, and, slipping, fell upon the plain,

Soak'd with the blood of oxen newly slain.

The careless victor had not mark'd his way;

But, treading where the treach'rous puddle lay,

His heels flew up; and on the grassy floor

He fell, besmear'd with filth and holy gore.

Not mindless then, Euryalus, of thee,

Nor of the sacred bonds of amity,

He strove th' immediate rival's hope to cross,

And caught the foot of Salius as he rose.

So Salius lay extended on the plain;

Euryalus springs out, the prize to gain,

And leaves the crowd: applauding peals attend

The victor to the goal, who vanquish'd by his friend.

Next Helymus; and then Diores came,

By two misfortunes made the third in fame.

But Salius enters, and, exclaiming loud

For justice, deafens and disturbs the crowd;

Urges his cause may in the court be heard;

And pleads the prize is wrongfully conferr'd.

But favor for Euryalus appears;

His blooming beauty, with his tender tears,

Had brib'd the judges for the promis'd prize.

Besides, Diores fills the court with cries,

Who vainly reaches at the last reward,

If the first palm on Salius be conferr'd.

Then thus the prince: "Let no disputes arise:

Where fortune plac'd it, I award the prize.

But fortune's errors give me leave to mend,

At least to pity my deserving friend."

He said, and, from among the spoils, he draws

(Pond'rous with shaggy mane and golden paws)

A lion's hide: to Salius this he gives.

Nisus with envy sees the gift, and grieves.

"If such rewards to vanquish'd men are due."

He said, "and falling is to rise by you,

What prize may Nisus from your bounty claim,

Who merited the first rewards and fame?

In falling, both an equal fortune tried;

Would fortune for my fall so well provide!"

With this he pointed to his face, and show'd

His hand and all his habit smear'd with blood.

Th' indulgent father of the people smil'd,

And caus'd to be produc'd an ample shield,

Of wondrous art, by Didymaon wrought,

Long since from Neptune's bars in triumph brought.

This giv'n to Nisus, he divides the rest,

And equal justice in his gifts express'd.

The race thus ended, and rewards bestow'd,

Once more the princes bespeaks th' attentive crowd:

"If there he here whose dauntless courage dare

In gauntlet-fight, with limbs and body bare,

His opposite sustain in open view,

Stand forth the champion, and the games renew.

Two prizes I propose, and thus divide:

A bull with gilded horns, and fillets tied,

Shall be the portion of the conqu'ring chief;

A sword and helm shall cheer the loser's grief."

Then haughty Dares in the lists appears;

Stalking he strides, his head erected bears:

His nervous arms the weighty gauntlet wield,

And loud applauses echo thro' the field.

Dares alone in combat us'd to stand

The match of mighty Paris, hand to hand;

The same, at Hector's fun'rals, undertook

Gigantic Butes, of th' Amycian stock,

And, by the stroke of his resistless hand,

Stretch'd the vast bulk upon the yellow sand.

Such Dares was; and such he strode along,

And drew the wonder of the gazing throng.

His brawny back and ample breast he shows,

His lifted arms around his head he throws,

And deals in whistling air his empty blows.

His match is sought; but, thro' the trembling band,

Not one dares answer to the proud demand.

Presuming of his force, with sparkling eyes

Already he devours the promis'd prize.

He claims the bull with awless insolence,

And having seiz'd his horns, accosts the prince:

"If none my matchless valor dares oppose,

How long shall Dares wait his dastard foes?

Permit me, chief, permit without delay,

To lead this uncontended gift away."

The crowd assents, and with redoubled cries

For the proud challenger demands the prize.

Acestes, fir'd with just disdain, to see

The palm usurp'd without a victory,

Reproach'd Entellus thus, who sate beside,

And heard and saw, unmov'd, the Trojan's pride:

"Once, but in vain, a champion of renown,

So tamely can you bear the ravish'd crown,

A prize in triumph borne before your sight,

And shun, for fear, the danger of the fight?

Where is our Eryx now, the boasted name,

The god who taught your thund'ring arm the game?

Where now your baffled honor? Where the spoil

That fill'd your house, and fame that fill'd our isle?"

Entellus, thus: "My soul is still the same,

Unmov'd with fear, and mov'd with martial fame;

But my chill blood is curdled in my veins,

And scarce the shadow of a man remains.

O could I turn to that fair prime again,

That prime of which this boaster is so vain,

The brave, who this decrepid age defies,

Should feel my force, without the promis'd prize."

He said; and, rising at the word, he threw

Two pond'rous gauntlets down in open view;

Gauntlets which Eryx wont in fight to wield,

And sheathe his hands with in the listed field.

With fear and wonder seiz'd, the crowd beholds

The gloves of death, with sev'n distinguish'd folds

Of tough bull hides; the space within is spread

With iron, or with loads of heavy lead:

Dares himself was daunted at the sight,

Renounc'd his challenge, and refus'd to fight.

Astonish'd at their weight, the hero stands,

And pois'd the pond'rous engines in his hands.

"What had your wonder," said Entellus, "been,

Had you the gauntlets of Alcides seen,

Or view'd the stern debate on this unhappy green!

These which I bear your brother Eryx bore,

Still mark'd with batter'd brains and mingled gore.

With these he long sustain'd th' Herculean arm;

And these I wielded while my blood was warm,

This languish'd frame while better spirits fed,

Ere age unstrung my nerves, or time o'ersnow'd my head.

But if the challenger these arms refuse,

And cannot wield their weight, or dare not use;

If great Aeneas and Acestes join

In his request, these gauntlets I resign;

Let us with equal arms perform the fight,

And let him leave to fear, since I resign my right."

This said, Entellus for the strife prepares;

Stripp'd of his quilted coat, his body bares;

Compos'd of mighty bones and brawn he stands,

A goodly tow'ring object on the sands.

Then just Aeneas equal arms supplied,

Which round their shoulders to their wrists they tied.

Both on the tiptoe stand, at full extent,

Their arms aloft, their bodies inly bent;

Their heads from aiming blows they bear afar;

With clashing gauntlets then provoke the war.

One on his youth and pliant limbs relies;

One on his sinews and his giant size.

The last is stiff with age, his motion slow;

He heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro,

And clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow.

Yet equal in success, they ward, they strike;

Their ways are diff'rent, but their art alike.

Before, behind, the blows are dealt; around

Their hollow sides the rattling thumps resound.

A storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies,

And errs about their temples, ears, and eyes.

Nor always errs; for oft the gauntlet draws

A sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws.

Heavy with age, Entellus stands his ground,

But with his warping body wards the wound.

His hand and watchful eye keep even pace;

While Dares traverses and shifts his place,

And, like a captain who beleaguers round

Some strong-built castle on a rising ground,

Views all th' approaches with observing eyes:

This and that other part in vain he tries,

And more on industry than force relies.

With hands on high, Entellus threats the foe;

But Dares watch'd the motion from below,

And slipp'd aside, and shunn'd the long descending blow.

Entellus wastes his forces on the wind,

And, thus deluded of the stroke design'd,

Headlong and heavy fell; his ample breast

And weighty limbs his ancient mother press'd.

So falls a hollow pine, that long had stood

On Ida's height, or Erymanthus' wood,

Torn from the roots. The diff'ring nations rise,

And shouts and mingled murmurs rend the skies,

Acestus runs with eager haste, to raise

The fall'n companion of his youthful days.

Dauntless he rose, and to the fight return'd;

With shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burn'd.

Disdain and conscious virtue fir'd his breast,

And with redoubled force his foe he press'd.

He lays on load with either hand, amain,

And headlong drives the Trojan o'er the plain;

Nor stops, nor stays; nor rest nor breath allows;

But storms of strokes descend about his brows,

A rattling tempest, and a hail of blows.

But now the prince, who saw the wild increase

Of wounds, commands the combatants to cease,

And bounds Entellus' wrath, and bids the peace.

First to the Trojan, spent with toil, he came,

And sooth'd his sorrow for the suffer'd shame.

"What fury seiz'd my friend? The gods," said he,

"To him propitious, and averse to thee,

Have giv'n his arm superior force to thine.

'T is madness to contend with strength divine."

The gauntlet fight thus ended, from the shore

His faithful friends unhappy Dares bore:

His mouth and nostrils pour'd a purple flood,

And pounded teeth came rushing with his blood.

Faintly he stagger'd thro' the hissing throng,

And hung his head, and trail'd his legs along.

The sword and casque are carried by his train;

But with his foe the palm and ox remain.

The champion, then, before Aeneas came,

Proud of his prize, but prouder of his fame:

"O goddess-born, and you, Dardanian host,

Mark with attention, and forgive my boast;

Learn what I was, by what remains; and know

From what impending fate you sav'd my foe."

Sternly he spoke, and then confronts the bull;

And, on his ample forehead aiming full,

The deadly stroke, descending, pierc'd the skull.

Down drops the beast, nor needs a second wound,

But sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground.

Then, thus: "In Dares' stead I offer this.

Eryx, accept a nobler sacrifice;

Take the last gift my wither'd arms can yield:

Thy gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field."

This done, Aeneas orders, for the close,

The strife of archers with contending bows.

The mast Sergesthus' shatter'd galley bore

With his own hands he raises on the shore.

A flutt'ring dove upon the top they tie,

The living mark at which their arrows fly.

The rival archers in a line advance,

Their turn of shooting to receive from chance.

A helmet holds their names; the lots are drawn:

On the first scroll was read Hippocoon.

The people shout. Upon the next was found

Young Mnestheus, late with naval honors crown'd.

The third contain'd Eurytion's noble name,

Thy brother, Pandarus, and next in fame,

Whom Pallas urg'd the treaty to confound,

And send among the Greeks a feather'd wound.

Acestes in the bottom last remain'd,

Whom not his age from youthful sports restrain'd.

Soon all with vigor bend their trusty bows,

And from the quiver each his arrow chose.

Hippocoon's was the first: with forceful sway

It flew, and, whizzing, cut the liquid way.

Fix'd in the mast the feather'd weapon stands:

The fearful pigeon flutters in her bands,

And the tree trembled, and the shouting cries

Of the pleas'd people rend the vaulted skies.

Then Mnestheus to the head his arrow drove,

With lifted eyes, and took his aim above,

But made a glancing shot, and missed the dove;

Yet miss'd so narrow, that he cut the cord

Which fasten'd by the foot the flitting bird.

The captive thus releas'd, away she flies,

And beats with clapping wings the yielding skies.

His bow already bent, Eurytion stood;

And, having first invok'd his brother god,

His winged shaft with eager haste he sped.

The fatal message reach'd her as she fled:

She leaves her life aloft; she strikes the ground,

And renders back the weapon in the wound.

Acestes, grudging at his lot, remains,

Without a prize to gratify his pains.

Yet, shooting upward, sends his shaft, to show

An archer's art, and boast his twanging bow.

The feather'd arrow gave a dire portent,

And latter augurs judge from this event.

Chaf'd by the speed, it fir'd; and, as it flew,

A trail of following flames ascending drew:

Kindling they mount, and mark the shiny way;

Across the skies as falling meteors play,

And vanish into wind, or in a blaze decay.

The Trojans and Sicilians wildly stare,

And, trembling, turn their wonder into pray'r.

The Dardan prince put on a smiling face,

And strain'd Acestes with a close embrace;

Then, hon'ring him with gifts above the rest,

Turn'd the bad omen, nor his fears confess'd.

"The gods," said he, "this miracle have wrought,

And order'd you the prize without the lot.

Accept this goblet, rough with figur'd gold,

Which Thracian Cisseus gave my sire of old:

This pledge of ancient amity receive,

Which to my second sire I justly give."

He said, and, with the trumpets' cheerful sound,

Proclaim'd him victor, and with laurel-crown'd.

Nor good Eurytion envied him the prize,

Tho' he transfix'd the pigeon in the skies.

Who cut the line, with second gifts was grac'd;

The third was his whose arrow pierc'd the mast.

The chief, before the games were wholly done,

Call'd Periphantes, tutor to his son,

And whisper'd thus: "With speed Ascanius find;

And, if his childish troop be ready join'd,

On horseback let him grace his grandsire's day,

And lead his equals arm'd in just array."

He said; and, calling out, the cirque he clears.

The crowd withdrawn, an open plain appears.

And now the noble youths, of form divine,

Advance before their fathers, in a line;

The riders grace the steeds; the steeds with glory shine.

Thus marching on in military pride,

Shouts of applause resound from side to side.

Their casques adorn'd with laurel wreaths they wear,

Each brandishing aloft a cornel spear.

Some at their backs their gilded quivers bore;

Their chains of burnish'd gold hung down before.

Three graceful troops they form'd upon the green;

Three graceful leaders at their head were seen;

Twelve follow'd ev'ry chief, and left a space between.

The first young Priam led; a lovely boy,

Whose grandsire was th' unhappy king of Troy;

His race in after times was known to fame,

New honors adding to the Latian name;

And well the royal boy his Thracian steed became.

White were the fetlocks of his feet before,

And on his front a snowy star he bore.

Then beauteous Atys, with Iulus bred,

Of equal age, the second squadron led.

The last in order, but the first in place,

First in the lovely features of his face,

Rode fair Ascanius on a fiery steed,

Queen Dido's gift, and of the Tyrian breed.

Sure coursers for the rest the king ordains,

With golden bits adorn'd, and purple reins.

The pleas'd spectators peals of shouts renew,

And all the parents in the children view;

Their make, their motions, and their sprightly grace,

And hopes and fears alternate in their face.

Th' unfledg'd commanders and their martial train

First make the circuit of the sandy plain

Around their sires, and, at th' appointed sign,

Drawn up in beauteous order, form a line.

The second signal sounds, the troop divides

In three distinguish'd parts, with three distinguish'd guides

Again they close, and once again disjoin;

In troop to troop oppos'd, and line to line.

They meet; they wheel; they throw their darts afar

With harmless rage and well-dissembled war.

Then in a round the mingled bodies run:

Flying they follow, and pursuing shun;

Broken, they break; and, rallying, they renew

In other forms the military shew.

At last, in order, undiscern'd they join,

And march together in a friendly line.

And, as the Cretan labyrinth of old,

With wand'ring ways and many a winding fold,

Involv'd the weary feet, without redress,

In a round error, which denied recess;

So fought the Trojan boys in warlike play,

Turn'd and return'd, and still a diff'rent way.

Thus dolphins in the deep each other chase

In circles, when they swim around the wat'ry race.

This game, these carousels, Ascanius taught;

And, building Alba, to the Latins brought;

Shew'd what he learn'd: the Latin sires impart

To their succeeding sons the graceful art;

From these imperial Rome receiv'd the game,

Which Troy, the youths the Trojan troop, they name.

Thus far the sacred sports they celebrate:

But Fortune soon resum'd her ancient hate;

For, while they pay the dead his annual dues,

Those envied rites Saturnian Juno views;

And sends the goddess of the various bow,

To try new methods of revenge below;

Supplies the winds to wing her airy way,

Where in the port secure the navy lay.

Swiftly fair Iris down her arch descends,

And, undiscern'd, her fatal voyage ends.

She saw the gath'ring crowd; and, gliding thence,

The desart shore, and fleet without defense.

The Trojan matrons, on the sands alone,

With sighs and tears Anchises' death bemoan;

Then, turning to the sea their weeping eyes,

Their pity to themselves renews their cries.

"Alas!" said one, "what oceans yet remain

For us to sail! what labors to sustain!"

All take the word, and, with a gen'ral groan,

Implore the gods for peace, and places of their own.

The goddess, great in mischief, views their pains,

And in a woman's form her heav'nly limbs restrains.

In face and shape old Beroe she became,

Doryclus' wife, a venerable dame,

Once blest with riches, and a mother's name.

Thus chang'd, amidst the crying crowd she ran,

Mix'd with the matrons, and these words began:

"O wretched we, whom not the Grecian pow'r,

Nor flames, destroy'd, in Troy's unhappy hour!

O wretched we, reserv'd by cruel fate,

Beyond the ruins of the sinking state!

Now sev'n revolving years are wholly run,

Since this improsp'rous voyage we begun;

Since, toss'd from shores to shores, from lands to lands,

Inhospitable rocks and barren sands,

Wand'ring in exile thro' the stormy sea,

We search in vain for flying Italy.

Now cast by fortune on this kindred land,

What should our rest and rising walls withstand,

Or hinder here to fix our banish'd band?

O country lost, and gods redeem'd in vain,

If still in endless exile we remain!

Shall we no more the Trojan walls renew,

Or streams of some dissembled Simois view!

Haste, join with me, th' unhappy fleet consume!

Cassandra bids; and I declare her doom.

In sleep I saw her; she supplied my hands

(For this I more than dreamt) with flaming brands:

'With these,' said she, 'these wand'ring ships destroy:

These are your fatal seats, and this your Troy.'

Time calls you now; the precious hour employ:

Slack not the good presage, while Heav'n inspires

Our minds to dare, and gives the ready fires.

See! Neptune's altars minister their brands:

The god is pleas'd; the god supplies our hands."

Then from the pile a flaming fire she drew,

And, toss'd in air, amidst the galleys threw.

Wrapp'd in amaze, the matrons wildly stare:

Then Pyrgo, reverenc'd for her hoary hair,

Pyrgo, the nurse of Priam's num'rous race:

"No Beroe this, tho' she belies her face!

What terrors from her frowning front arise!

Behold a goddess in her ardent eyes!

What rays around her heav'nly face are seen!

Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!

Beroe but now I left, whom, pin'd with pain,

Her age and anguish from these rites detain,"

She said. The matrons, seiz'd with new amaze,

Roll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze.

They fear, and hope, and neither part obey:

They hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way.

The goddess, having done her task below,

Mounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow.

Struck with the sight, and seiz'd with rage divine,

The matrons prosecute their mad design:

They shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands,

The food of altars; fires and flaming brands.

Green boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste,

And smoking torches, on the ships they cast.

The flame, unstopp'd at first, more fury gains,

And Vulcan rides at large with loosen'd reins:

Triumphant to the painted sterns he soars,

And seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars.

Eumelus was the first the news to bear,

While yet they crowd the rural theater.

Then, what they hear, is witness'd by their eyes:

A storm of sparkles and of flames arise.

Ascanius took th' alarm, while yet he led

His early warriors on his prancing steed,

And, spurring on, his equals soon o'erpass'd;

Nor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste.

Soon as the royal youth appear'd in view,

He sent his voice before him as he flew:

"What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy

The last remainders of unhappy Troy!

Not hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn,

And on your friends your fatal fury turn.

Behold your own Ascanius!" While he said,

He drew his glitt'ring helmet from his head,

In which the youths to sportful arms he led.

By this, Aeneas and his train appear;

And now the women, seiz'd with shame and fear,

Dispers'd, to woods and caverns take their flight,

Abhor their actions, and avoid the light;

Their friends acknowledge, and their error find,

And shake the goddess from their alter'd mind.

Not so the raging fires their fury cease,

But, lurking in the seams, with seeming peace,

Work on their way amid the smold'ring tow,

Sure in destruction, but in motion slow.

The silent plague thro' the green timber eats,

And vomits out a tardy flame by fits.

Down to the keels, and upward to the sails,

The fire descends, or mounts, but still prevails;

Nor buckets pour'd, nor strength of human hand,

Can the victorious element withstand.

The pious hero rends his robe, and throws

To heav'n his hands, and with his hands his vows.

"O Jove," he cried, "if pray'rs can yet have place;

If thou abhorr'st not all the Dardan race;

If any spark of pity still remain;

If gods are gods, and not invok'd in vain;

Yet spare the relics of the Trojan train!

Yet from the flames our burning vessels free,

Or let thy fury fall alone on me!

At this devoted head thy thunder throw,

And send the willing sacrifice below!"

Scarce had he said, when southern storms arise:

From pole to pole the forky lightning flies;

Loud rattling shakes the mountains and the plain;

Heav'n bellies downward, and descends in rain.

Whole sheets of water from the clouds are sent,

Which, hissing thro' the planks, the flames prevent,

And stop the fiery pest. Four ships alone

Burn to the waist, and for the fleet atone.

But doubtful thoughts the hero's heart divide;

If he should still in Sicily reside,

Forgetful of his fates, or tempt the main,

In hope the promis'd Italy to gain.

Then Nautes, old and wise, to whom alone

The will of Heav'n by Pallas was foreshown;

Vers'd in portents, experienc'd, and inspir'd

To tell events, and what the fates requir'd;

Thus while he stood, to neither part inclin'd,

With cheerful words reliev'd his lab'ring mind:

"O goddess-born, resign'd in ev'ry state,

With patience bear, with prudence push your fate.

By suff'ring well, our Fortune we subdue;

Fly when she frowns, and, when she calls, pursue.

Your friend Acestes is of Trojan kind;

To him disclose the secrets of your mind:

Trust in his hands your old and useless train;

Too num'rous for the ships which yet remain:

The feeble, old, indulgent of their ease,

The dames who dread the dangers of the seas,

With all the dastard crew, who dare not stand

The shock of battle with your foes by land.

Here you may build a common town for all,

And, from Acestes' name, Acesta call."

The reasons, with his friend's experience join'd,

Encourag'd much, but more disturb'd his mind.

'T was dead of night; when to his slumb'ring eyes

His father's shade descended from the skies,

And thus he spoke: "O more than vital breath,

Lov'd while I liv'd, and dear ev'n after death;

O son, in various toils and troubles toss'd,

The King of Heav'n employs my careful ghost

On his commands: the god, who sav'd from fire

Your flaming fleet, and heard your just desire.

The wholesome counsel of your friend receive,

And here the coward train and woman leave:

The chosen youth, and those who nobly dare,

Transport, to tempt the dangers of the war.

The stern Italians will their courage try;

Rough are their manners, and their minds are high.

But first to Pluto's palace you shall go,

And seek my shade among the blest below:

For not with impious ghosts my soul remains,

Nor suffers with the damn'd perpetual pains,

But breathes the living air of soft Elysian plains.

The chaste Sibylla shall your steps convey,

And blood of offer'd victims free the way.

There shall you know what realms the gods assign,

And learn the fates and fortunes of your line.

But now, farewell! I vanish with the night,

And feel the blast of heav'n's approaching light."

He said, and mix'd with shades, and took his airy flight.

"Whither so fast?" the filial duty cried;

"And why, ah why, the wish'd embrace denied?"

He said, and rose; as holy zeal inspires,

He rakes hot embers, and renews the fires;

His country gods and Vesta then adores

With cakes and incense, and their aid implores.

Next, for his friends and royal host he sent,

Reveal'd his vision, and the gods' intent,

With his own purpose. All, without delay,

The will of Jove, and his desires obey.

They list with women each degenerate name,

Who dares not hazard life for future fame.

These they cashier: the brave remaining few,

Oars, banks, and cables, half consum'd, renew.

The prince designs a city with the plow;

The lots their sev'ral tenements allow.

This part is nam'd from Ilium, that from Troy,

And the new king ascends the throne with joy;

A chosen senate from the people draws;

Appoints the judges, and ordains the laws.

Then, on the top of Eryx, they begin

A rising temple to the Paphian queen.

Anchises, last, is honor'd as a god;

A priest is added, annual gifts bestow'd,

And groves are planted round his blest abode.

Nine days they pass in feasts, their temples crown'd;

And fumes of incense in the fanes abound.

Then from the south arose a gentle breeze

That curl'd the smoothness of the glassy seas;

The rising winds a ruffling gale afford,

And call the merry mariners aboard.

Now loud laments along the shores resound,

Of parting friends in close embraces bound.

The trembling women, the degenerate train,

Who shunn'd the frightful dangers of the main,

Ev'n those desire to sail, and take their share

Of the rough passage and the promis'd war:

Whom good Aeneas cheers, and recommends

To their new master's care his fearful friends.

On Eryx's altars three fat calves he lays;

A lamb new-fallen to the stormy seas;

Then slips his haulsers, and his anchors weighs.

High on the deck the godlike hero stands,

With olive crown'd, a charger in his hands;

Then cast the reeking entrails in the brine,

And pour'd the sacrifice of purple wine.

Fresh gales arise; with equal strokes they vie,

And brush the buxom seas, and o'er the billows fly.

Meantime the mother goddess, full of fears,

To Neptune thus address'd, with tender tears:

"The pride of Jove's imperious queen, the rage,

The malice which no suff'rings can assuage,

Compel me to these pray'rs; since neither fate,

Nor time, nor pity, can remove her hate:

Ev'n Jove is thwarted by his haughty wife;

Still vanquish'd, yet she still renews the strife.

As if 't were little to consume the town

Which aw'd the world, and wore th' imperial crown,

She prosecutes the ghost of Troy with pains,

And gnaws, ev'n to the bones, the last remains.

Let her the causes of her hatred tell;

But you can witness its effects too well.

You saw the storm she rais'd on Libyan floods,

That mix'd the mounting billows with the clouds;

When, bribing Aeolus, she shook the main,

And mov'd rebellion in your wat'ry reign.

With fury she possess'd the Dardan dames,

To burn their fleet with execrable flames,

And forc'd Aeneas, when his ships were lost,

To leave his foll'wers on a foreign coast.

For what remains, your godhead I implore,

And trust my son to your protecting pow'r.

If neither Jove's nor Fate's decree withstand,

Secure his passage to the Latian land."

Then thus the mighty Ruler of the Main:

"What may not Venus hope from Neptune's reign?

My kingdom claims your birth; my late defense

Of your indanger'd fleet may claim your confidence.

Nor less by land than sea my deeds declare

How much your lov'd Aeneas is my care.

Thee, Xanthus, and thee, Simois, I attest.

Your Trojan troops when proud Achilles press'd,

And drove before him headlong on the plain,

And dash'd against the walls the trembling train;

When floods were fill'd with bodies of the slain;

When crimson Xanthus, doubtful of his way,

Stood up on ridges to behold the sea;

(New heaps came tumbling in, and chok'd his way;)

When your Aeneas fought, but fought with odds

Of force unequal, and unequal gods;

I spread a cloud before the victor's sight,

Sustain'd the vanquish'd, and secur'd his flight;

Ev'n then secur'd him, when I sought with joy

The vow'd destruction of ungrateful Troy.

My will's the same: fair goddess, fear no more,

Your fleet shall safely gain the Latian shore;

Their lives are giv'n; one destin'd head alone

Shall perish, and for multitudes atone."

Thus having arm'd with hopes her anxious mind,

His finny team Saturnian Neptune join'd,

Then adds the foamy bridle to their jaws,

And to the loosen'd reins permits the laws.

High on the waves his azure car he guides;

Its axles thunder, and the sea subsides,

And the smooth ocean rolls her silent tides.

The tempests fly before their father's face,

Trains of inferior gods his triumph grace,

And monster whales before their master play,

And choirs of Tritons crowd the wat'ry way.

The marshal'd pow'rs in equal troops divide

To right and left; the gods his better side

Inclose, and on the worse the Nymphs and Nereids ride.

Now smiling hope, with sweet vicissitude,

Within the hero's mind his joys renew'd.

He calls to raise the masts, the sheets display;

The cheerful crew with diligence obey;

They scud before the wind, and sail in open sea.

Ahead of all the master pilot steers;

And, as he leads, the following navy veers.

The steeds of Night had travel'd half the sky,

The drowsy rowers on their benches lie,

When the soft God of Sleep, with easy flight,

Descends, and draws behind a trail of light.

Thou, Palinurus, art his destin'd prey;

To thee alone he takes his fatal way.

Dire dreams to thee, and iron sleep, he bears;

And, lighting on thy prow, the form of Phorbas wears.

Then thus the traitor god began his tale:

"The winds, my friend, inspire a pleasing gale;

The ships, without thy care, securely sail.

Now steal an hour of sweet repose; and I

Will take the rudder and thy room supply."

To whom the yawning pilot, half asleep:

"Me dost thou bid to trust the treach'rous deep,

The harlot smiles of her dissembling face,

And to her faith commit the Trojan race?

Shall I believe the Siren South again,

And, oft betray'd, not know the monster main?"

He said: his fasten'd hands the rudder keep,

And, fix'd on heav'n, his eyes repel invading sleep.

The god was wroth, and at his temples threw

A branch in Lethe dipp'd, and drunk with Stygian dew:

The pilot, vanquish'd by the pow'r divine,

Soon clos'd his swimming eyes, and lay supine.

Scarce were his limbs extended at their length,

The god, insulting with superior strength,

Fell heavy on him, plung'd him in the sea,

And, with the stern, the rudder tore away.

Headlong he fell, and, struggling in the main,

Cried out for helping hands, but cried in vain.

The victor daemon mounts obscure in air,

While the ship sails without the pilot's care.

On Neptune's faith the floating fleet relies;

But what the man forsook, the god supplies,

And o'er the dang'rous deep secure the navy flies;

Glides by the Sirens' cliffs, a shelfy coast,

Long infamous for ships and sailors lost,

And white with bones. Th' impetuous ocean roars,

And rocks rebellow from the sounding shores.

The watchful hero felt the knocks, and found

The tossing vessel sail'd on shoaly ground.

Sure of his pilot's loss, he takes himself

The helm, and steers aloof, and shuns the shelf.

Inly he griev'd, and, groaning from the breast,

Deplor'd his death; and thus his pain express'd:

"For faith repos'd on seas, and on the flatt'ring sky,

Thy naked corpse is doom'd on shores unknown to lie."

BOOK VI

He said, and wept; then spread his sails before

The winds, and reach'd at length the Cumaean shore:

Their anchors dropp'd, his crew the vessels moor.

They turn their heads to sea, their sterns to land,

And greet with greedy joy th' Italian strand.

Some strike from clashing flints their fiery seed;

Some gather sticks, the kindled flames to feed,

Or search for hollow trees, and fell the woods,

Or trace thro' valleys the discover'd floods.

Thus, while their sev'ral charges they fulfil,

The pious prince ascends the sacred hill

Where Phoebus is ador'd; and seeks the shade

Which hides from sight his venerable maid.

Deep in a cave the Sibyl makes abode;

Thence full of fate returns, and of the god.

Thro' Trivia's grove they walk; and now behold,

And enter now, the temple roof'd with gold.

When Daedalus, to fly the Cretan shore,

His heavy limbs on jointed pinions bore,

(The first who sail'd in air,) 't is sung by Fame,

To the Cumaean coast at length he came,

And here alighting, built this costly frame.

Inscrib'd to Phoebus, here he hung on high

The steerage of his wings, that cut the sky:

Then o'er the lofty gate his art emboss'd

Androgeos' death, and off'rings to his ghost;

Sev'n youths from Athens yearly sent, to meet

The fate appointed by revengeful Crete.

And next to those the dreadful urn was plac'd,

In which the destin'd names by lots were cast:

The mournful parents stand around in tears,

And rising Crete against their shore appears.

There too, in living sculpture, might be seen

The mad affection of the Cretan queen;

Then how she cheats her bellowing lover's eye;

The rushing leap, the doubtful progeny,

The lower part a beast, a man above,

The monument of their polluted love.

Not far from thence he grav'd the wondrous maze,

A thousand doors, a thousand winding ways:

Here dwells the monster, hid from human view,

Not to be found, but by the faithful clew;

Till the kind artist, mov'd with pious grief,

Lent to the loving maid this last relief,

And all those erring paths describ'd so well

That Theseus conquer'd and the monster fell.

Here hapless Icarus had found his part,

Had not the father's grief restrain'd his art.

He twice assay'd to cast his son in gold;

Twice from his hands he dropp'd the forming mold.

All this with wond'ring eyes Aeneas view'd;

Each varying object his delight renew'd:

Eager to read the rest- Achates came,

And by his side the mad divining dame,

The priestess of the god, Deiphobe her name.

"Time suffers not," she said, "to feed your eyes

With empty pleasures; haste the sacrifice.

Sev'n bullocks, yet unyok'd, for Phoebus choose,

And for Diana sev'n unspotted ewes."

This said, the servants urge the sacred rites,

While to the temple she the prince invites.

A spacious cave, within its farmost part,

Was hew'd and fashion'd by laborious art

Thro' the hill's hollow sides: before the place,

A hundred doors a hundred entries grace;

As many voices issue, and the sound

Of Sybil's words as many times rebound.

Now to the mouth they come. Aloud she cries:

"This is the time; enquire your destinies.

He comes; behold the god!" Thus while she said,

(And shiv'ring at the sacred entry stay'd,)

Her color chang'd; her face was not the same,

And hollow groans from her deep spirit came.

Her hair stood up; convulsive rage possess'd

Her trembling limbs, and heav'd her lab'ring breast.

Greater than humankind she seem'd to look,

And with an accent more than mortal spoke.

Her staring eyes with sparkling fury roll;

When all the god came rushing on her soul.

Swiftly she turn'd, and, foaming as she spoke:

"Why this delay?" she cried- "the pow'rs invoke!

Thy pray'rs alone can open this abode;

Else vain are my demands, and dumb the god."

She said no more. The trembling Trojans hear,

O'erspread with a damp sweat and holy fear.

The prince himself, with awful dread possess'd,

His vows to great Apollo thus address'd:

"Indulgent god, propitious pow'r to Troy,

Swift to relieve, unwilling to destroy,

Directed by whose hand the Dardan dart

Pierc'd the proud Grecian's only mortal part:

Thus far, by fate's decrees and thy commands,

Thro' ambient seas and thro' devouring sands,

Our exil'd crew has sought th' Ausonian ground;

And now, at length, the flying coast is found.

Thus far the fate of Troy, from place to place,

With fury has pursued her wand'ring race.

Here cease, ye pow'rs, and let your vengeance end:

Troy is no more, and can no more offend.

And thou, O sacred maid, inspir'd to see

Th' event of things in dark futurity;

Give me what Heav'n has promis'd to my fate,

To conquer and command the Latian state;

To fix my wand'ring gods, and find a place

For the long exiles of the Trojan race.

Then shall my grateful hands a temple rear

To the twin gods, with vows and solemn pray'r;

And annual rites, and festivals, and games,

Shall be perform'd to their auspicious names.

Nor shalt thou want thy honors in my land;

For there thy faithful oracles shall stand,

Preserv'd in shrines; and ev'ry sacred lay,

Which, by thy mouth, Apollo shall convey:

All shall be treasur'd by a chosen train

Of holy priests, and ever shall remain.

But O! commit not thy prophetic mind

To flitting leaves, the sport of ev'ry wind,

Lest they disperse in air our empty fate;

Write not, but, what the pow'rs ordain, relate."

Struggling in vain, impatient of her load,

And lab'ring underneath the pond'rous god,

The more she strove to shake him from her breast,

With more and far superior force he press'd;

Commands his entrance, and, without control,

Usurps her organs and inspires her soul.

Now, with a furious blast, the hundred doors

Ope of themselves; a rushing whirlwind roars

Within the cave, and Sibyl's voice restores:

"Escap'd the dangers of the wat'ry reign,

Yet more and greater ills by land remain.

The coast, so long desir'd (nor doubt th' event),

Thy troops shall reach, but, having reach'd, repent.

Wars, horrid wars, I view- a field of blood,

And Tiber rolling with a purple flood.

Simois nor Xanthus shall be wanting there:

A new Achilles shall in arms appear,

And he, too, goddess-born. Fierce Juno's hate,

Added to hostile force, shall urge thy fate.

To what strange nations shalt not thou resort,

Driv'n to solicit aid at ev'ry court!

The cause the same which Ilium once oppress'd;

A foreign mistress, and a foreign guest.

But thou, secure of soul, unbent with woes,

The more thy fortune frowns, the more oppose.

The dawnings of thy safety shall be shown

From whence thou least shalt hope, a Grecian town."

Thus, from the dark recess, the Sibyl spoke,

And the resisting air the thunder broke;

The cave rebellow'd, and the temple shook.

Th' ambiguous god, who rul'd her lab'ring breast,

In these mysterious words his mind express'd;

Some truths reveal'd, in terms involv'd the rest.

At length her fury fell, her foaming ceas'd,

And, ebbing in her soul, the god decreas'd.

Then thus the chief: "No terror to my view,

No frightful face of danger can be new.

Inur'd to suffer, and resolv'd to dare,

The Fates, without my pow'r, shall be without my care.

This let me crave, since near your grove the road

To hell lies open, and the dark abode

Which Acheron surrounds, th' innavigable flood;

Conduct me thro' the regions void of light,

And lead me longing to my father's sight.

For him, a thousand dangers I have sought,

And, rushing where the thickest Grecians fought,

Safe on my back the sacred burthen brought.

He, for my sake, the raging ocean tried,

And wrath of Heav'n, my still auspicious guide,

And bore beyond the strength decrepid age supplied.

Oft, since he breath'd his last, in dead of night

His reverend image stood before my sight;

Enjoin'd to seek, below, his holy shade;

Conducted there by your unerring aid.

But you, if pious minds by pray'rs are won,

Oblige the father, and protect the son.

Yours is the pow'r; nor Proserpine in vain

Has made you priestess of her nightly reign.

If Orpheus, arm'd with his enchanting lyre,

The ruthless king with pity could inspire,

And from the shades below redeem his wife;

If Pollux, off'ring his alternate life,

Could free his brother, and can daily go

By turns aloft, by turns descend below-

Why name I Theseus, or his greater friend,

Who trod the downward path, and upward could ascend?

Not less than theirs from Jove my lineage came;

My mother greater, my descent the same."

So pray'd the Trojan prince, and, while he pray'd,

His hand upon the holy altar laid.

Then thus replied the prophetess divine:

"O goddess-born of great Anchises' line,

The gates of hell are open night and day;

Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:

But to return, and view the cheerful skies,

In this the task and mighty labor lies.

To few great Jupiter imparts this grace,

And those of shining worth and heav'nly race.

Betwixt those regions and our upper light,

Deep forests and impenetrable night

Possess the middle space: th' infernal bounds

Cocytus, with his sable waves, surrounds.

But if so dire a love your soul invades,

As twice below to view the trembling shades;

If you so hard a toil will undertake,

As twice to pass th' innavigable lake;

Receive my counsel. In the neighb'ring grove

There stands a tree; the queen of Stygian Jove

Claims it her own; thick woods and gloomy night

Conceal the happy plant from human sight.

One bough it bears; but (wondrous to behold!)

The ductile rind and leaves of radiant gold:

This from the vulgar branches must be torn,

And to fair Proserpine the present borne,

Ere leave be giv'n to tempt the nether skies.

The first thus rent a second will arise,

And the same metal the same room supplies.

Look round the wood, with lifted eyes, to see

The lurking gold upon the fatal tree:

Then rend it off, as holy rites command;

The willing metal will obey thy hand,

Following with ease, if favor'd by thy fate,

Thou art foredoom'd to view the Stygian state:

If not, no labor can the tree constrain;

And strength of stubborn arms and steel are vain.

Besides, you know not, while you here attend,

Th' unworthy fate of your unhappy friend:

Breathless he lies; and his unburied ghost,

Depriv'd of fun'ral rites, pollutes your host.

Pay first his pious dues; and, for the dead,

Two sable sheep around his hearse be led;

Then, living turfs upon his body lay:

This done, securely take the destin'd way,

To find the regions destitute of day."

She said, and held her peace. Aeneas went

Sad from the cave, and full of discontent,

Unknowing whom the sacred Sibyl meant.

Achates, the companion of his breast,

Goes grieving by his side, with equal cares oppress'd.

Walking, they talk'd, and fruitlessly divin'd

What friend the priestess by those words design'd.

But soon they found an object to deplore:

Misenus lay extended the shore;

Son of the God of Winds: none so renown'd

The warrior trumpet in the field to sound;

With breathing brass to kindle fierce alarms,

And rouse to dare their fate in honorable arms.

He serv'd great Hector, and was ever near,

Not with his trumpet only, but his spear.