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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,
Defrauded of his fate, and destin'd reign.
E'en now the herald of the gods appear'd-
Waking I saw him, and his message heard.
From Jove he came commission'd, heavenly
bright

With radiant beams, and manifest to sight
(The sender and the sent I both attest:)
These walls he enter'd, and these words ex-
press'd.

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:
[place,
By these my pray'rs, if pray'rs may yet have
Pity the fortune 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 honour, 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 Iarbas 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 Eneas 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 favours, 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 defence-
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.
And now the Delphian oracle commands,
And Fate invites me to the Latian lands.

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 forbore:
"False as thou art, and more than false, for-
sworn!

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 lend 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 't is 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 shipwreck'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.
1
rave, I rave! a god's command he pleads,
And makes heav'n accessory 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
But go! thy flight no longer I detain [fate.
Go! seek thy promis'd kingdom through the

main!

Yet, if the heav'ns will hear my pious vow, The faithless waves, not half so false as thou,

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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 imbodied 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 burden 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-powerful 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 canvass, 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 of 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 dangerous flight delay?
Wait better winds, and hope a calmer sea.
The nuptials, he disclaims, I urge no more:
Let him pursue the promis'd Latin shore.
A short delay is all I ask him now-
A pause of grief, an interval from wo,
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 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

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And loathes to live. Then dire portents she The yawning earth rebellows to her call;

sees,

Pale ghosts ascend; and mountain ashes fall.
Witness, ye gods, and thou my better part,
How loath 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 further speech forbears.
A mortal palenses 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 Sichæus 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 Hecat with her hundred names,
And three Dianas: next she sprinkles round,
With feign'd Avernian drops, the hallow'd
ground;

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 e'en her sister, she conceal'd.

A marble temple stood within the grove,
Sacred to death, and to her murder'd love;
That honour'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 Æneas in her dreams appears,
Disdainful as by day: she seems alone,
To wander in her sleep, through ways unknown,
Guideless and dark; or, in a desert 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 Orestus, 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 vigour 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 Æthiopian climates run:
There a Massylian priestess I have found,
Honour'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 un-
bind

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.

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 new-born 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 heavens and planets, conscious of her death,
And ev'ry pow'r, if any rules above,
Who minds or who revenges injur'd love.

'Twas dead of night,when weary bodies close
Their eyes in balmy sleep, and soft repose:
The winds no longer whisper through 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 partycolour'd fowl
Which haunt the woods or swim the weedy pool,
Stretch'd on the quiet earth, securely lay,
Forgetting the past labours 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 succour can I find?
Become a suppliant to Iarbas' 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, who scarce before
I drew reluctant from their native shore?
Will they again embark at my desire,
Once more sustain the seas, and quit their se-
cond 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 savage 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

Prevent her rage, while night obscures the skies;

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 harbours in her heart a furious hate,
(And thou shalt find the dire effects too late,)
Fix'd on revenge, and obstinate to die.
[fly.
Haste swiftly hence, while thou hast pow'r to
The sea with ships will soon be cover'd o'er,
And blazing firebrands kindle all the shore.

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'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 through the flame, Preserv'd his gods, and to the Phrygian shore The burden of his feeble father bore!

I should have torn him piece-meal-strew'd in floods

His scatter'd limbs, or left expos'd in woods-
Destroy'd his friends and son-and from the
fire
Have sent the reeking boy before the sire.

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Events are doubtful, which on battle 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 Hecat, 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, and 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 succour 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 Sichæus' 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 passion 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
[breath;
Ghastly she gaz'd; with pain she drew her
And nature shiver'd at approaching death.

pace:

Then swiftly to the fatal place she pass'd, And mounts the fun'ral pile with furious haste; Unsheaths the sword the Trojan left behind, (Not for so dire an enterprise design'd.) But when she view'd the garments loosely spread, [bed, Which once he wore, and saw the conscious 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,

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