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 sh.o.r.e: 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 G.o.ds, 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 suit so 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 sh.o.r.e.

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 G.o.d, 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 Ma.s.sylian 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 G.o.ds, 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 s.p.a.ces 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 h.o.a.ry 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, a.s.sisting 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 grat.i.tude 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 sh.o.r.e?

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 pa.s.s'd the night; And order'd all things for his early flight.

To whom once more the winged G.o.d appears; His former youthful mien and shape he wears, And with this new alarm invades his ears: "Sleep'st thou, O G.o.ddess-born! and canst thou drown Thy needful cares, so near a hostile town, Beset with foes; nor hear'st the western gales Invite thy pa.s.sage, 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 sh.o.r.e.

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 G.o.d 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 s.n.a.t.c.h; they rush into the main.

With headlong haste they leave the desert sh.o.r.es, 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?