| |
| ARMS, and the man I sing, who, forc’d by fate, | |
| And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate, | |
| Expell’d and exil’d, left the Trojan shore. | |
| Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore, | |
| And in the doubtful war, before he won | 5 |
| The Latian realm, and built the destin’d town; | |
| His banish’d gods restor’d to rites divine, | |
| And settled sure succession in his line, | |
| From whence the race of Alban fathers come, | |
| And the long glories of majestic Rome. | 10 |
| O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate; | |
| What goddess was provok’d, and whence her hate; | |
| For what offense the Queen of Heav’n began | |
| To persecute so brave, so just a man; | |
| Involv’d his anxious life in endless cares, | 15 |
| Expos’d to wants, and hurried into wars! | |
| Can heav’nly minds such high resentment show, | |
| Or exercise their spite in human woe? | |
| Against the Tiber’s mouth, but far away, | |
| An ancient town was seated on the sea; | 20 |
| A Tyrian colony; the people made | |
| Stout for the war, and studious of their trade: | |
| Carthage the name; belov’d by Juno more | |
| Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore. | |
| Here stood her chariot; here, if Heav’n were kind, | 25 |
| The seat of awful empire she design’d. | |
| Yet she had heard an ancient rumor fly, | |
| (Long cited by the people of the sky,) | |
| That times to come should see the Trojan race | |
| Her Carthage ruin, and her tow’rs deface; | 30 |
| Nor thus confin’d, the yoke of sov’reign sway | |
| Should on the necks of all the nations lay. | |
| She ponder’d this, and fear’d it was in fate; | |
| Nor could forget the war she wag’d of late | |
| For conqu’ring Greece against the Trojan state. | 35 |
| Besides, long causes working in her mind, | |
| And secret seeds of envy, lay behind; | |
| Deep graven in her heart the doom remain’d | |
| Of partial Paris, and her form disdain’d; | |
| The grace bestow’d on ravish’d Ganymed, | 40 |
| Electra’s glories, and her injur’d bed. | |
| Each was a cause alone; and all combin’d | |
| To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind. | |
| For this, far distant from the Latian coast | |
| She drove the remnants of the Trojan host; | 45 |
| And sev’n long years th’ unhappy wand’ring train | |
| Were toss’d by storms, and scatter’d thro’ the main. | |
| Such time, such toil, requir’d the Roman name, | |
| Such length of labor for so vast a frame. | |
| Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars, | 50 |
| Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores, | |
| Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign, | |
| And plowing frothy furrows in the main; | |
| When, lab’ring still with endless discontent, | |
| The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent: | 55 |
| “Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?” said she, | |
| “And must the Trojans reign in Italy? | |
| So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force; | |
| Nor can my pow’r divert their happy course. | |
| Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen, | 60 |
| The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men? | |
| She, for the fault of one offending foe, | |
| The bolts of Jove himself presum’d to throw: | |
| With whirlwinds from beneath she toss’d the ship, | |
| And bare expos’d the bosom of the deep; | 65 |
| Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game, | |
| The wretch, yet hissing with her father’s flame, | |
| She strongly seiz’d, and with a burning wound | |
| Transfix’d, and naked, on a rock she bound. | |
| But I, who walk in awful state above, | 70 |
| The majesty of heav’n, the sister wife of Jove, | |
| For length of years my fruitless force employ | |
| Against the thin remains of ruin’d Troy! | |
| What nations now to Juno’s pow’r will pray, | |
| Or off’rings on my slighted altars lay?” | 75 |
| Thus rag’d the goddess; and, with fury fraught, | |
| The restless regions of the storms she sought, | |
| Where, in a spacious cave of living stone, | |
| The tyrant Æolus, from his airy throne, | |
| With pow’r imperial curbs the struggling winds, | 80 |
| And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds. | |
| This way and that th’ impatient captives tend, | |
| And, pressing for release, the mountains rend. | |
| High in his hall th’ undaunted monarch stands, | |
| And shakes his scepter, and their rage commands; | 85 |
| Which did he not, their unresisted sway | |
| Would sweep the world before them in their way; | |
| Earth, air, and seas thro’ empty space would roll, | |
| And heav’n would fly before the driving soul. | |
| In fear of this, the Father of the Gods | 90 |
| Confin’d their fury to those dark abodes, | |
| And lock’d ’em safe within, oppress’d with mountain loads; | |
| Impos’d a king, with arbitrary sway, | |
| To loose their fetters, or their force allay. | |
| To whom the suppliant queen her pray’rs address’d, | 95 |
| And thus the tenor of her suit express’d: | |
| “O Æolus! for to thee the King of Heav’n | |
| The pow’r of tempests and of winds has giv’n; | |
| Thy force alone their fury can restrain, | |
| And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main— | 100 |
| A race of wand’ring slaves, abhorr’d by me, | |
| With prosp’rous passage cut the Tuscan sea; | |
| To fruitful Italy their course they steer, | |
| And for their vanquish’d gods design new temples there | |
| Raise all thy winds; with night involve the skies; | 105 |
| Sink or disperse my fatal enemies. | |
| Twice sev’n, the charming daughters of the main, | |
| Around my person wait, and bear my train: | |
| Succeed my wish, and second my design; | |
| The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine, | 110 |
| And make thee father of a happy line.” | |
| To this the god: “’T is yours, O queen, to will | |
| The work which duty binds me to fulfil. | |
| These airy kingdoms, and this wide command, | |
| Are all the presents of your bounteous hand: | 115 |
| Yours is my sov’reign’s grace; and, as your guest, | |
| I sit with gods at their celestial feast; | |
| Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue; | |
| Dispose of empire, which I hold from you.” | |
| He said, and hurl’d against the mountain side | 120 |
| His quiv’ring spear, and all the god applied. | |
| The raging winds rush thro’ the hollow wound, | |
| And dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground; | |
| Then, settling on the sea, the surges sweep, | |
| Raise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep. | 125 |
| South, East, and West with mix’d confusion roar, | |
| And roll the foaming billows to the shore. | |
| The cables crack; the sailors’ fearful cries | |
| Ascend; and sable night involves the skies; | |
| And heav’n itself is ravish’d from their eyes. | 130 |
| Loud peals of thunder from the poles ensue; | |
| Then flashing fires the transient light renew; | |
| The face of things a frightful image bears, | |
| And present death in various forms appears. | |
| Struck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief, | 135 |
| With lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief; | |
| And, “Thrice and four times happy those,” he cried, | |
| “That under Ilian walls before their parents died! | |
| Tydides, bravest of the Grecian train! | |
| Why could not I by that strong arm be slain, | 140 |
| And lie by noble Hector on the plain, | |
| Or great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields | |
| Where Simois rolls the bodies and the shields | |
| Of heroes, whose dismember’d hands yet bear | |
| The dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!” | 145 |
| Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails, | |
| Fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails, | |
| And rent the sheets; the raging billows rise, | |
| And mount the tossing vessel to the skies: | |
| Nor can the shiv’ring oars sustain the blow; | 150 |
| The galley gives her side, and turns her prow; | |
| While those astern, descending down the steep, | |
| Thro’ gaping waves behold the boiling deep. | |
| Three ships were hurried by the southern blast, | |
| And on the secret shelves with fury cast. | 155 |
| Those hidden rocks th’ Ausonian sailors knew: | |
| They call’d them Altars, when they rose in view, | |
| And show’d their spacious backs above the flood. | |
| Three more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood, | |
| Dash’d on the shallows of the moving sand, | 160 |
| And in mid ocean left them moor’d aland. | |
| Orontes’ bark, that bore the Lycian crew, | |
| (A horrid sight!) ev’n in the hero’s view, | |
| From stem to stern by waves was overborne: | |
| The trembling pilot, from his rudder torn, | 165 |
| Was headlong hurl’d; thrice round the ship was toss’d, | |
| Then bulg’d at once, and in the deep was lost; | |
| And here and there above the waves were seen | |
| Arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men. | |
| The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way, | 170 |
| And suck’d thro’ loosen’d planks the rushing sea. | |
| Ilioneus was her chief: Alethes old, | |
| Achates faithful, Abas young and bold, | |
| Endur’d not less; their ships, with gaping seams, | |
| Admit the deluge of the briny streams. | 175 |
| Meantime imperial Neptune heard the sound | |
| Of raging billows breaking on the ground. | |
| Displeas’d, and fearing for his wat’ry reign, | |
| He rear’d his awful head above the main, | |
| Serene in majesty; then roll’d his eyes | 180 |
| Around the space of earth, and seas, and skies. | |
| He saw the Trojan fleet dispers’d, distress’d, | |
| By stormy winds and wintry heav’n oppress’d. | |
| Full well the god his sister’s envy knew, | |
| And what her aims and what her arts pursue. | 185 |
| He summon’d Eurus and the western blast, | |
| And first an angry glance on both he cast; | |
| Then thus rebuk’d: “Audacious winds! from whence | |
| This bold attempt, this rebel insolence? | |
| Is it for you to ravage seas and land, | 190 |
| Unauthoriz’d by my supreme command? | |
| To raise such mountains on the troubled main? | |
| Whom I—but first ’t is fit the billows to restrain; | |
| And then you shall be taught obedience to my reign. | |
| Hence! to your lord my royal mandate bear— | 195 |
| The realms of ocean and the fields of air | |
| Are mine, not his. By fatal lot to me | |
| The liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea. | |
| His pow’r to hollow caverns is confin’d: | |
| There let him reign, the jailer of the wind, | 200 |
| With hoarse commands his breathing subjects call, | |
| And boast and bluster in his empty hall.” | |
| He spoke; and, while he spoke, he smooth’d the sea, | |
| Dispell’d the darkness, and restor’d the day. | |
| Cymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train | 205 |
| Of beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main, | |
| Clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands: | |
| The god himself with ready trident stands, | |
| And opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands; | |
| Then heaves them off the shoals. Where’er he guides | 210 |
| His finny coursers and in triumph rides, | |
| The waves unruffle and the sea subsides. | |
| As, when in tumults rise th’ ignoble crowd, | |
| Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud; | |
| And stones and brands in rattling volleys fly, | 215 |
| And all the rustic arms that fury can supply: | |
| If then some grave and pious man appear, | |
| They hush their noise, and lend a list’ning ear; | |
| He soothes with sober words their angry mood, | |
| And quenches their innate desire of blood: | 220 |
| So, when the Father of the Flood appears, | |
| And o’er the seas his sov’reign trident rears, | |
| Their fury falls: he skims the liquid plains, | |
| High on his chariot, and, with loosen’d reins, | |
| Majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains. | 225 |
| The weary Trojans ply their shatter’d oars | |
| To nearest land, and make the Libyan shores. | |
| Within a long recess there lies a bay: | |
| An island shades it from the rolling sea, | |
| And forms a port secure for ships to ride; | 230 |
| Broke by the jutting land, on either side, | |
| In double streams the briny waters glide. | |
| Betwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene | |
| Appears above, and groves for ever green: | |
| A grot is form’d beneath, with mossy seats, | 235 |
| To rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats. | |
| Down thro’ the crannies of the living walls | |
| The crystal streams descend in murm’ring falls: | |
| No haulsers need to bind the vessels here, | |
| Nor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear. | 240 |
| Sev’n ships within this happy harbor meet, | |
| The thin remainders of the scatter’d fleet. | |
| The Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes, | |
| Leap on the welcome land, and seek their wish’d repose. | |
| First, good Achates, with repeated strokes | 245 |
| Of clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes: | |
| Short flame succeeds; a bed of wither’d leaves | |
| The dying sparkles in their fall receives: | |
| Caught into life, in fiery fumes they rise, | |
| And, fed with stronger food, invade the skies. | 250 |
| The Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around | |
| The cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground: | |
| Some dry their corn, infected with the brine, | |
| Then grind with marbles, and prepare to dine. | |
| Æneas climbs the mountain’s airy brow, | 255 |
| And takes a prospect of the seas below, | |
| If Capys thence, or Antheus he could spy, | |
| Or see the streamers of Caicus fly. | |
| No vessels were in view; but, on the plain, | |
| Three beamy stags command a lordly train | 260 |
| Of branching heads: the more ignoble throng | |
| Attend their stately steps, and slowly graze along. | |
| He stood; and, while secure they fed below, | |
| He took the quiver and the trusty bow | |
| Achates us’d to bear: the leaders first | 265 |
| He laid along, and then the vulgar pierc’d; | |
| Nor ceas’d his arrows, till the shady plain | |
| Sev’n mighty bodies with their blood distain. | |
| For the sev’n ships he made an equal share, | |
| And to the port return’d, triumphant from the war. | 270 |
| The jars of gen’rous wine (Acestes’ gift, | |
| When his Trinacrian shores the navy left) | |
| He set abroach, and for the feast prepar’d, | |
| In equal portions with the ven’son shar’d. | |
| Thus while he dealt it round, the pious chief | 275 |
| With cheerful words allay’d the common grief: | |
| “Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose | |
| To future good our past and present woes. | |
| With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried; | |
| Th’ inhuman Cyclops and his den defied. | 280 |
| What greater ills hereafter can you bear? | |
| Resume your courage and dismiss your care, | |
| An hour will come, with pleasure to relate | |
| Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate. | |
| Thro’ various hazards and events, we move | 285 |
| To Latium and the realms foredoom’d by Jove. | |
| Call’d to the seat (the promise of the skies) | |
| Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise, | |
| Endure the hardships of your present state; | |
| Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate.” | 290 |
| These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart; | |
| His outward smiles conceal’d his inward smart. | |
| The jolly crew, unmindful of the past, | |
| The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste. | |
| Some strip the skin; some portion out the spoil; | 295 |
| The limbs, yet trembling, in the caldrons boil; | |
| Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil. | |
| Stretch’d on the grassy turf, at ease they dine, | |
| Restore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with wine. | |
| Their hunger thus appeas’d, their care attends | 300 |
| The doubtful fortune of their absent friends: | |
| Alternate hopes and fears their minds possess, | |
| Whether to deem ’em dead, or in distress. | |
| Above the rest, Æneas mourns the fate | |
| Of brave Orontes, and th’ uncertain state | 305 |
| Of Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus. | |
| The day, but not their sorrows, ended thus. | |
| When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys | |
| Earth, air, and shores, and navigable seas, | |
| At length on Libyan realms he fix’d his eyes— | 310 |
| Whom, pond’ring thus on human miseries, | |
| When Venus saw, she with a lowly look, | |
| Not free from tears, her heav’nly sire bespoke: | |
| “O King of Gods and Men! whose awful hand | |
| Disperses thunder on the seas and land, | 315 |
| Disposing all with absolute command; | |
| How could my pious son thy pow’r incense? | |
| Or what, alas! is vanish’d Troy’s offense? | |
| Our hope of Italy not only lost, | |
| On various seas by various tempests toss’d, | 320 |
| But shut from ev’ry shore, and barr’d from ev’ry coast. | |
| You promis’d once, a progeny divine | |
| Of Romans, rising from the Trojan line, | |
| In after times should hold the world in awe, | |
| And to the land and ocean give the law. | 325 |
| How is your doom revers’d, which eas’d my care | |
| When Troy was ruin’d in that cruel war? | |
| Then fates to fates I could oppose; but now, | |
| When Fortune still pursues her former blow, | |
| What can I hope? What worse can still succeed? | 330 |
| What end of labors has your will decreed? | |
| Antenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts, | |
| Could pass secure, and pierce th’ Illyrian coasts, | |
| Where, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves | |
| And thro’ nine channels disembogues his waves. | 335 |
| At length he founded Padua’s happy seat, | |
| And gave his Trojans a secure retreat; | |
| There fix’d their arms, and there renew’d their name, | |
| And there in quiet rules, and crown’d with fame. | |
| But we, descended from your sacred line, | 340 |
| Entitled to your heav’n and rites divine, | |
| Are banish’d earth; and, for the wrath of one, | |
| Remov’d from Latium and the promis’d throne. | |
| Are these our scepters? these our due rewards? | |
| And is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards?” | 345 |
| To whom the Father of th’ immortal race, | |
| Smiling with that serene indulgent face, | |
| With which he drives the clouds and clears the skies, | |
| First gave a holy kiss; then thus replies: | |
| “Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire | 350 |
| The fates of thine are fix’d, and stand entire. | |
| Thou shalt behold thy wish’d Lavinian walls; | |
| And, ripe for heav’n, when fate Æneas calls, | |
| Then shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me: | |
| No councils have revers’d my firm decree. | 355 |
| And, lest new fears disturb thy happy state, | |
| Know, I have search’d the mystic rolls of Fate: | |
| Thy son (nor is th’ appointed season far) | |
| In Italy shall wage successful war, | |
| Shall tame fierce nations in the bloody field, | 360 |
| And sov’reign laws impose, and cities build, | |
| Till, after ev’ry foe subdued, the sun | |
| Thrice thro’ the signs his annual race shall run: | |
| This is his time prefix’d. Ascanius then, | |
| Now call’d Iulus, shall begin his reign. | 365 |
| He thirty rolling years the crown shall wear, | |
| Then from Lavinium shall the seat transfer, | |
| And, with hard labor, Alba Longa build. | |
| The throne with his succession shall be fill’d | |
| Three hundred circuits more: then shall be seen | 370 |
| Ilia the fair, a priestess and a queen, | |
| Who, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes, | |
| Shall at a birth two goodly boys disclose. | |
| The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain: | |
| Then Romulus his grandsire’s throne shall gain, | 375 |
| Of martial tow’rs the founder shall become, | |
| The people Romans call, the city Rome. | |
| To them no bounds of empire I assign, | |
| Nor term of years to their immortal line. | |
| Ev’n haughty Juno, who, with endless broils, | 380 |
| Earth, seas, and heav’n, and Jove himself turmoils; | |
| At length aton’d, her friendly pow’r shall join, | |
| To cherish and advance the Trojan line. | |
| The subject world shall Rome’s dominion own, | |
| And, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown. | 385 |
| An age is ripening in revolving fate | |
| When Troy shall overturn the Grecian state, | |
| And sweet revenge her conqu’ring sons shall call, | |
| To crush the people that conspir’d her fall. | |
| Then Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise, | 390 |
| Whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies | |
| Alone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils, | |
| Our heav’n, the just reward of human toils, | |
| Securely shall repay with rites divine; | |
| And incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine. | 395 |
| Then dire debate and impious war shall cease, | |
| And the stern age be soften’d into peace: | |
| Then banish’d Faith shall once again return, | |
| And Vestal fires in hallow’d temples burn; | |
| And Remus with Quirinus shall sustain | 400 |
| The righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain. | |
| Janus himself before his fane shall wait, | |
| And keep the dreadful issues of his gate, | |
| With bolts and iron bars: within remains | |
| Imprison’d Fury, bound in brazen chains; | 405 |
| High on a trophy rais’d, of useless arms, | |
| He sits, and threats the world with vain alarms.” | |
| He said, and sent Cyllenius with command | |
| To free the ports, and ope the Punic land | |
| To Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate, | 410 |
| The queen might force them from her town and state. | |
| Down from the steep of heav’n Cyllenius flies, | |
| And cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies. | |
| Soon on the Libyan shore descends the god, | |
| Performs his message, and displays his rod: | 415 |
| The surly murmurs of the people cease; | |
| And, as the fates requir’d, they give the peace: | |
| The queen herself suspends the rigid laws, | |
| The Trojans pities, and protects their cause. | |
| Meantime, in shades of night Æneas lies: | 420 |
| Care seiz’d his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes. | |
| But, when the sun restor’d the cheerful day, | |
| He rose, the coast and country to survey, | |
| Anxious and eager to discover more. | |
| It look’d a wild uncultivated shore; | 425 |
| But, whether humankind, or beasts alone | |
| Possess’d the new-found region, was unknown. | |
| Beneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides: | |
| Tall trees surround the mountain’s shady sides; | |
| The bending brow above a safe retreat provides. | 430 |
| Arm’d with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends, | |
| And true Achates on his steps attends. | |
| Lo! in the deep recesses of the wood, | |
| Before his eyes his goddess mother stood: | |
| A huntress in her habit and her mien; | 435 |
| Her dress a maid, her air confess’d a queen. | |
| Bare were her knees, and knots her garments bind; | |
| Loose was her hair, and wanton’d in the wind; | |
| Her hand sustain’d a bow; her quiver hung behind. | |
| She seem’d a virgin of the Spartan blood: | 440 |
| With such array Harpalyce bestrode | |
| Her Thracian courser and outstripp’d the rapid flood. | |
| “Ho, strangers! have you lately seen,” she said, | |
| “One of my sisters, like myself array’d, | |
| Who cross’d the lawn, or in the forest stray’d? | 445 |
| A painted quiver at her back she bore; | |
| Varied with spots, a lynx’s hide she wore; | |
| And at full cry pursued the tusky boar.” | |
| Thus Venus: thus her son replied again: | |
| “None of your sisters have we heard or seen, | 450 |
| O virgin! or what other name you bear | |
| Above that style—O more than mortal fair! | |
| Your voice and mien celestial birth betray! | |
| If, as you seem, the sister of the day, | |
| Or one at least of chaste Diana’s train, | 455 |
| Let not an humble suppliant sue in vain; | |
| But tell a stranger, long in tempests toss’d, | |
| What earth we tread, and who commands the coast? | |
| Then on your name shall wretched mortals call, | |
| And offer’d victims at your altars fall.” | 460 |
| “I dare not,” she replied, “assume the name | |
| Of goddess, or celestial honors claim: | |
| For Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear, | |
| And purple buskins o’er their ankles wear. | |
| Know, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are— | 465 |
| A people rude in peace, and rough in war. | |
| The rising city, which from far you see, | |
| Is Carthage, and a Tyrian colony. | |
| Phœnician Dido rules the growing state, | |
| Who fled from Tyre, to shun her brother’s hate. | 470 |
| Great were her wrongs, her story full of fate; | |
| Which I will sum in short. Sichaeus, known | |
| For wealth, and brother to the Punic throne, | |
| Possess’d fair Dido’s bed; and either heart | |
| At once was wounded with an equal dart. | 475 |
| Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid; | |
| Pygmalion then the Tyrian scepter sway’d: | |
| One who contemn’d divine and human laws. | |
| Then strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause. | |
| The monarch, blinded with desire of wealth, | 480 |
| With steel invades his brother’s life by stealth; | |
| Before the sacred altar made him bleed, | |
| And long from her conceal’d the cruel deed. | |
| Some tale, some new pretense, he daily coin’d, | |
| To soothe his sister, and delude her mind. | 485 |
| At length, in dead of night, the ghost appears | |
| Of her unhappy lord: the specter stares, | |
| And, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares. | |
| The cruel altars and his fate he tells, | |
| And the dire secret of his house reveals, | 490 |
| Then warns the widow, with her household gods, | |
| To seek a refuge in remote abodes. | |
| Last, to support her in so long a way, | |
| He shows her where his hidden treasure lay. | |
| Admonish’d thus, and seiz’d with mortal fright, | 495 |
| The queen provides companions of her flight: | |
| They meet, and all combine to leave the state, | |
| Who hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate. | |
| They seize a fleet, which ready rigg’d they find; | |
| Nor is Pygmalion’s treasure left behind. | 500 |
| The vessels, heavy laden, put to sea | |
| With prosp’rous winds; a woman leads the way. | |
| I know not, if by stress of weather driv’n, | |
| Or was their fatal course dispos’d by Heav’n; | |
| At last they landed, where from far your eyes | 505 |
| May view the turrets of new Carthage rise; | |
| There bought a space of ground, which (Byrsa call’d, | |
| From the bull’s hide) they first inclos’d, and wall’d. | |
| But whence are you? what country claims your birth? | |
| What seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?” | 510 |
| To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes, | |
| And deeply sighing, thus her son replies: | |
| “Could you with patience hear, or I relate, | |
| O nymph, the tedious annals of our fate! | |
| Thro’ such a train of woes if I should run, | 515 |
| The day would sooner than the tale be done! | |
| From ancient Troy, by force expell’d, we came— | |
| If you by chance have heard the Trojan name. | |
| On various seas by various tempests toss’d, | |
| At length we landed on your Libyan coast. | 520 |
| The good Æneas am I call’d—a name, | |
| While Fortune favor’d, not unknown to fame. | |
| My household gods, companions of my woes, | |
| With pious care I rescued from our foes. | |
| To fruitful Italy my course was bent; | 525 |
| And from the King of Heav’n is my descent. | |
| With twice ten sail I cross’d the Phrygian sea; | |
| Fate and my mother goddess led my way. | |
| Scarce sev’n, the thin remainders of my fleet, | |
| From storms preserv’d, within your harbor meet. | 530 |
| Myself distress’d, an exile, and unknown, | |
| Debarr’d from Europe, and from Asia thrown, | |
| In Libyan desarts wander thus alone.” | |
| His tender parent could no longer bear; | |
| But, interposing, sought to soothe his care. | 535 |
| “Whoe’er you are—not unbelov’d by Heav’n, | |
| Since on our friendly shore your ships are driv’n— | |
| Have courage: to the gods permit the rest, | |
| And to the queen expose your just request. | |
| Now take this earnest of success, for more: | 540 |
| Your scatter’d fleet is join’d upon the shore; | |
| The winds are chang’d, your friends from danger free; | |
| Or I renounce my skill in augury. | |
| Twelve swans behold in beauteous order move, | |
| And stoop with closing pinions from above; | 545 |
| Whom late the bird of Jove had driv’n along, | |
| And thro’ the clouds pursued the scatt’ring throng: | |
| Now, all united in a goodly team, | |
| They skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream. | |
| As they, with joy returning, clap their wings, | 550 |
| And ride the circuit of the skies in rings; | |
| Not otherwise your ships, and ev’ry friend, | |
| Already hold the port, or with swift sails descend. | |
| No more advice is needful; but pursue | |
| The path before you, and the town in view.” | 555 |
| Thus having said, she turn’d, and made appear | |
| Her neck refulgent, and dishevel’d hair, | |
| Which, flowing from her shoulders, reach’d the ground. | |
| And widely spread ambrosial scents around: | |
| In length of train descends her sweeping gown; | 560 |
| And, by her graceful walk, the Queen of Love is known. | |
| The prince pursued the parting deity | |
| With words like these: “Ah! whither do you fly? | |
| Unkind and cruel! to deceive your son | |
| In borrow’d shapes, and his embrace to shun; | 565 |
| Never to bless my sight, but thus unknown; | |
| And still to speak in accents not your own.” | |
| Against the goddess these complaints he made, | |
| But took the path, and her commands obey’d. | |
| They march, obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds | 570 |
| With mists their persons, and involves in clouds, | |
| That, thus unseen, their passage none might stay, | |
| Or force to tell the causes of their way. | |
| This part perform’d, the goddess flies sublime | |
| To visit Paphos and her native clime; | 575 |
| Where garlands, ever green and ever fair, | |
| With vows are offer’d, and with solemn pray’r: | |
| A hundred altars in her temple smoke; | |
| A thousand bleeding hearts her pow’r invoke. | |
| They climb the next ascent, and, looking down, | 580 |
| Now at a nearer distance view the town. | |
| The prince with wonder sees the stately tow’rs, | |
| Which late were huts and shepherds’ homely bow’rs, | |
| The gates and streets; and hears, from ev’ry part, | |
| The noise and busy concourse of the mart. | 585 |
| The toiling Tyrians on each other call | |
| To ply their labor: some extend the wall; | |
| Some build the citadel; the brawny throng | |
| Or dig, or push unwieldly stones along. | |
| Some for their dwellings choose a spot of ground, | 590 |
| Which, first design’d, with ditches they surround. | |
| Some laws ordain; and some attend the choice | |
| Of holy senates, and elect by voice. | |
| Here some design a mole, while others there | |
| Lay deep foundations for a theater; | 595 |
| From marble quarries mighty columns hew, | |
| For ornaments of scenes, and future view. | |
| Such is their toil, and such their busy pains, | |
| As exercise the bees in flow’ry plains, | |
| When winter past, and summer scarce begun, | 600 |
| Invites them forth to labor in the sun; | |
| Some lead their youth abroad, while some condense | |
| Their liquid store, and some in cells dispense; | |
| Some at the gate stand ready to receive | |
| The golden burthen, and their friends relieve; | 605 |
| All with united force, combine to drive | |
| The lazy drones from the laborious hive: | |
| With envy stung, they view each other’s deeds; | |
| The fragrant work with diligence proceeds. | |
| “Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!” | 610 |
| Æneas said, and view’d, with lifted eyes, | |
| Their lofty tow’rs; then, ent’ring at the gate, | |
| Conceal’d in clouds (prodigious to relate) | |
| He mix’d, unmark’d, among the busy throng, | |
| Borne by the tide, and pass’d unseen along. | 615 |
| Full in the center of the town there stood, | |
| Thick set with trees, a venerable wood. | |
| The Tyrians, landing near this holy ground, | |
| And digging here, a prosp’rous omen found: | |
| From under earth a courser’s head they drew, | 620 |
| Their growth and future fortune to foreshew. | |
| This fated sign their foundress Juno gave, | |
| Of a soil fruitful, and a people brave. | |
| Sidonian Dido here with solemn state | |
| Did Juno’s temple build, and consecrate, | 625 |
| Enrich’d with gifts, and with a golden shrine; | |
| But more the goddess made the place divine. | |
| On brazen steps the marble threshold rose, | |
| And brazen plates the cedar beams inclose: | |
| The rafters are with brazen cov’rings crown’d; | 630 |
| The lofty doors on brazen hinges sound. | |
| What first Æneas in this place beheld, | |
| Reviv’d his courage, and his fear expell’d. | |
| For while, expecting there the queen, he rais’d | |
| His wond’ring eyes, and round the temple gaz’d, | 635 |
| Admir’d the fortune of the rising town, | |
| The striving artists, and their arts’ renown; | |
| He saw, in order painted on the wall, | |
| Whatever did unhappy Troy befall: | |
| The wars that fame around the world had blown, | 640 |
| All to the life, and ev’ry leader known. | |
| There Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies, | |
| And fierce Achilles, who both kings defies. | |
| He stopp’d, and weeping said: “O friend! ev’n here | |
| The monuments of Trojan woes appear! | 645 |
| Our known disasters fill ev’n foreign lands: | |
| See there, where old unhappy Priam stands! | |
| Ev’n the mute walls relate the warrior’s fame, | |
| And Trojan griefs the Tyrians’ pity claim.” | |
| He said (his tears a ready passage find), | 650 |
| Devouring what he saw so well design’d, | |
| And with an empty picture fed his mind: | |
| For there he saw the fainting Grecians yield, | |
| And here the trembling Trojans quit the field, | |
| Pursued by fierce Achilles thro’ the plain, | 655 |
| On his high chariot driving o’er the slain. | |
| The tents of Rhesus next his grief renew, | |
| By their white sails betray’d to nightly view; | |
| And wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword | |
| The sentries slew, nor spar’d their slumb’ring lord, | 660 |
| Then took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food | |
| Of Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood. | |
| Elsewhere he saw where Troilus defied | |
| Achilles, and unequal combat tried; | |
| Then, where the boy disarm’d, with loosen’d reins, | 665 |
| Was by his horses hurried o’er the plains, | |
| Hung by the neck and hair, and dragg’d around: | |
| The hostile spear, yet sticking in his wound, | |
| With tracks of blood inscrib’d the dusty ground. | |
| Meantime the Trojan dames, oppress’d with woe, | 670 |
| To Pallas’ fane in long procession go, | |
| In hopes to reconcile their heav’nly foe. | |
| They weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair, | |
| And rich embroider’d vests for presents bear; | |
| But the stern goddess stands unmov’d with pray’r. | 675 |
| Thrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew | |
| The corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew. | |
| Here Priam sues; and there, for sums of gold, | |
| The lifeless body of his son is sold. | |
| So sad an object, and so well express’d, | 680 |
| Drew sighs and groans from the griev’d hero’s breast, | |
| To see the figure of his lifeless friend, | |
| And his old sire his helpless hand extend. | |
| Himself he saw amidst the Grecian train, | |
| Mix’d in the bloody battle on the plain; | 685 |
| And swarthy Memnon in his arms he knew, | |
| His pompous ensigns, and his Indian crew. | |
| Penthisilea there, with haughty grace, | |
| Leads to the wars an Amazonian race. | |
| In their right hands a pointed dart they wield; | 690 |
| The left, for ward, sustains the lunar shield. | |
| Athwart her breast a golden belt she throws, | |
| Amidst the press alone provokes a thousand foes, | |
| And dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose. | |
| Thus while the Trojan prince employs his eyes, | 695 |
| Fix’d on the walls with wonder and surprise, | |
| The beauteous Dido, with a num’rous train | |
| And pomp of guards, ascends the sacred fane. | |
| Such on Eurotas’ banks, or Cynthus’ height, | |
| Diana seems; and so she charms the sight, | 700 |
| When in the dance the graceful goddess leads | |
| The choir of nymphs, and overtops their heads: | |
| Known by her quiver, and her lofty mien, | |
| She walks majestic, and she looks their queen; | |
| Latona sees her shine above the rest, | 705 |
| And feeds with secret joy her silent breast. | |
| Such Dido was; with such becoming state, | |
| Amidst the crowd, she walks serenely great. | |
| Their labor to her future sway she speeds, | |
| And passing with a gracious glance proceeds; | 710 |
| Then mounts the throne, high plac’d before the shrine: | |
| In crowds around, the swarming people join. | |
| She takes petitions, and dispenses laws, | |
| Hears and determines ev’ry private cause; | |
| Their tasks in equal portions she divides, | 715 |
| And, where unequal, there by lots decides. | |
| Another way by chance Æneas bends | |
| His eyes, and unexpected sees his friends, | |
| Antheus, Sergestus grave, Cloanthus strong, | |
| And at their backs a mighty Trojan throng, | 720 |
| Whom late the tempest on the billows toss’d, | |
| And widely scatter’d on another coast. | |
| The prince, unseen, surpris’d with wonder stands, | |
| And longs, with joyful haste, to join their hands; | |
| But, doubtful of the wish’d event, he stays, | 725 |
| And from the hollow cloud his friends surveys, | |
| Impatient till they told their present state, | |
| And where they left their ships, and what their fate, | |
| And why they came, and what was their request; | |
| For these were sent, commission’d by the rest, | 730 |
| To sue for leave to land their sickly men, | |
| And gain admission to the gracious queen. | |
| Ent’ring, with cries they fill’d the holy fane; | |
| Then thus, with lowly voice, Ilioneus began: | |
| “O queen! indulg’d by favor of the gods | 735 |
| To found an empire in these new abodes, | |
| To build a town, with statutes to restrain | |
| The wild inhabitants beneath thy reign, | |
| We wretched Trojans, toss’d on ev’ry shore, | |
| From sea to sea, thy clemency implore. | 740 |
| Forbid the fires our shipping to deface! | |
| Receive th’ unhappy fugitives to grace, | |
| And spare the remnant of a pious race! | |
| We come not with design of wasteful prey, | |
| To drive the country, force the swains away: | 745 |
| Nor such our strength, nor such is our desire; | |
| The vanquish’d dare not to such thoughts aspire. | |
| A land there is, Hesperia nam’d of old; | |
| The soil is fruitful, and the men are bold— | |
| Th’ OEnotrians held it once—by common fame | 750 |
| Now call’d Italia, from the leader’s name. | |
| To that sweet region was our voyage bent, | |
| When winds and ev’ry warring element | |
| Disturb’d our course, and, far from sight of land, | |
| Cast our torn vessels on the moving sand: | 755 |
| The sea came on; the South, with mighty roar, | |
| Dispers’d and dash’d the rest upon the rocky shore. | |
| Those few you see escap’d the storm, and fear, | |
| Unless you interpose, a shipwreck here. | |
| What men, what monsters, what inhuman race, | 760 |
| What laws, what barb’rous customs of the place, | |
| Shut up a desart shore to drowning men, | |
| And drive us to the cruel seas again? | |
| If our hard fortune no compassion draws, | |
| Nor hospitable rights, nor human laws, | 765 |
| The gods are just, and will revenge our cause. | |
| Æneas was our prince: a juster lord, | |
| Or nobler warrior, never drew a sword; | |
| Observant of the right, religious of his word. | |
| If yet he lives, and draws this vital air, | 770 |
| Nor we, his friends, of safety shall despair; | |
| Nor you, great queen, these offices repent, | |
| Which he will equal, and perhaps augment. | |
| We want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts, | |
| Where King Acestes Trojan lineage boasts. | 775 |
| Permit our ships a shelter on your shores, | |
| Refitted from your woods with planks and oars, | |
| That, if our prince be safe, we may renew | |
| Our destin’d course, and Italy pursue. | |
| But if, O best of men, the Fates ordain | 780 |
| That thou art swallow’d in the Libyan main, | |
| And if our young Iulus be no more, | |
| Dismiss our navy from your friendly shore, | |
| That we to good Acestes may return, | |
| And with our friends our common losses mourn.” | 785 |
| Thus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew | |
| With cries and clamors his request renew. | |
| The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes, | |
| Ponder’d the speech; then briefly thus replies: | |
| “Trojans, dismiss your fears; my cruel fate, | 790 |
| And doubts attending an unsettled state, | |
| Force me to guard my coast from foreign foes. | |
| Who has not heard the story of your woes, | |
| The name and fortune of your native place, | |
| The fame and valor of the Phrygian race? | 795 |
| We Tyrians are not so devoid of sense, | |
| Nor so remote from Phœbus’ influence. | |
| Whether to Latian shores your course is bent, | |
| Or, driv’n by tempests from your first intent, | |
| You seek the good Acestes’ government, | 800 |
| Your men shall be receiv’d, your fleet repair’d, | |
| And sail, with ships of convoy for your guard: | |
| Or, would you stay, and join your friendly pow’rs | |
| To raise and to defend the Tyrian tow’rs, | |
| My wealth, my city, and myself are yours. | 805 |
| And would to Heav’n, the storm, you felt, would bring | |
| On Carthaginian coasts your wand’ring king. | |
| My people shall, by my command, explore | |
| The ports and creeks of ev’ry winding shore, | |
| And towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest | 810 |
| Of so renown’d and so desir’d a guest.” | |
| Rais’d in his mind the Trojan hero stood, | |
| And long’d to break from out his ambient cloud: | |
| Achates found it, and thus urg’d his way: | |
| “From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay? | 815 |
| What more can you desire, your welcome sure, | |
| Your fleet in safety, and your friends secure? | |
| One only wants; and him we saw in vain | |
| Oppose the storm, and swallow’d in the main. | |
| Orontes in his fate our forfeit paid; | 820 |
| The rest agrees with what your mother said.” | |
| Scarce had be spoken, when the cloud gave way, | |
| The mists flew upward and dissolv’d in day. | |
| The Trojan chief appear’d in open sight, | |
| August in visage, and serenely bright. | 825 |
| His mother goddess, with her hands divine, | |
| Had form’d his curling locks, and made his temples shine, | |
| And giv’n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace, | |
| And breath’d a youthful vigor on his face; | |
| Like polish’d iv’ry, beauteous to behold, | 830 |
| Or Parian marble, when enchas’d in gold: | |
| Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke, | |
| And thus with manly modesty he spoke: | |
| “He whom you seek am I; by tempests toss’d, | |
| And sav’d from shipwreck on your Libyan coast; | 835 |
| Presenting, gracious queen, before your throne, | |
| A prince that owes his life to you alone. | |
| Fair majesty, the refuge and redress | |
| Of those whom fate pursues, and wants oppress, | |
| You, who your pious offices employ | 840 |
| To save the relics of abandon’d Troy; | |
| Receive the shipwreck’d on your friendly shore, | |
| With hospitable rites relieve the poor; | |
| Associate in your town a wand’ring train, | |
| And strangers in your palace entertain: | 845 |
| What thanks can wretched fugitives return, | |
| Who, scatter’d thro’ the world, in exile mourn? | |
| The gods, if gods to goodness are inclin’d; | |
| If acts of mercy touch their heav’nly mind, | |
| And, more than all the gods, your gen’rous heart, | 850 |
| Conscious of worth, requite its own desert! | |
| In you this age is happy, and this earth, | |
| And parents more than mortal gave you birth. | |
| While rolling rivers into seas shall run, | |
| And round the space of heav’n the radiant sun; | 855 |
| While trees the mountain tops with shades supply, | |
| Your honor, name, and praise shall never die. | |
| Whate’er abode my fortune has assign’d, | |
| Your image shall be present in my mind.” | |
| Thus having said, he turn’d with pious haste, | 860 |
| And joyful his expecting friends embrac’d: | |
| With his right hand Ilioneus was grac’d, | |
| Serestus with his left; then to his breast | |
| Cloanthus and the noble Gyas press’d; | |
| And so by turns descended to the rest. | 865 |
| The Tyrian queen stood fix’d upon his face, | |
| Pleas’d with his motions, ravish’d with his grace; | |
| Admir’d his fortunes, more admir’d the man; | |
| Then recollected stood, and thus began: | |
| “What fate, O goddess-born; what angry pow’rs | 870 |
| Have cast you shipwrack’d on our barren shores? | |
| Are you the great Æneas, known to fame, | |
| Who from celestial seed your lineage claim? | |
| The same Æneas whom fair Venus bore | |
| To fam’d Anchises on th’ Idaean shore? | 875 |
| It calls into my mind, tho’ then a child, | |
| When Teucer came, from Salamis exil’d, | |
| And sought my father’s aid, to be restor’d: | |
| My father Belus then with fire and sword | |
| Invaded Cyprus, made the region bare, | 880 |
| And, conqu’ring, finish’d the successful war. | |
| From him the Trojan siege I understood, | |
| The Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood. | |
| Your foe himself the Dardan valor prais’d, | |
| And his own ancestry from Trojans rais’d. | 885 |
| Enter, my noble guest, and you shall find, | |
| If not a costly welcome, yet a kind: | |
| For I myself, like you, have been distress’d, | |
| Till Heav’n afforded me this place of rest; | |
| Like you, an alien in a land unknown, | 890 |
| I learn to pity woes so like my own.” | |
| She said, and to the palace led her guest; | |
| Then offer’d incense, and proclaim’d a feast. | |
| Nor yet less careful for her absent friends, | |
| Twice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends; | 895 |
| Besides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs, | |
| With bleating cries, attend their milky dams; | |
| And jars of gen’rous wine and spacious bowls | |
| She gives, to cheer the sailors’ drooping souls. | |
| Now purple hangings clothe the palace walls, | 900 |
| And sumptuous feasts are made in splendid halls: | |
| On Tyrian carpets, richly wrought, they dine; | |
| With loads of massy plate the sideboards shine, | |
| And antique vases, all of gold emboss’d | |
| (The gold itself inferior to the cost), | 905 |
| Of curious work, where on the sides were seen | |
| The fights and figures of illustrious men, | |
| From their first founder to the present queen. | |
| The good Æneas, whose paternal care | |
| Iulus’ absence could no longer bear, | 910 |
| Dispatch’d Achates to the ships in haste, | |
| To give a glad relation of the past, | |
| And, fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy, | |
| Snatch’d from the ruins of unhappy Troy: | |
| A robe of tissue, stiff with golden wire; | 915 |
| An upper vest, once Helen’s rich attire, | |
| From Argos by the fam’d adultress brought, | |
| With golden flow’rs and winding foliage wrought, | |
| Her mother Leda’s present, when she came | |
| To ruin Troy and set the world on flame; | 920 |
| The scepter Priam’s eldest daughter bore, | |
| Her orient necklace, and the crown she wore; | |
| Of double texture, glorious to behold, | |
| One order set with gems, and one with gold. | |
| Instructed thus, the wise Achates goes, | 925 |
| And in his diligence his duty shows. | |
| But Venus, anxious for her son’s affairs, | |
| New counsels tries, and new designs prepares: | |
| That Cupid should assume the shape and face | |
| Of sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace; | 930 |
| Should bring the presents, in her nephew’s stead, | |
| And in Eliza’s veins the gentle poison shed: | |
| For much she fear’d the Tyrians, double-tongued, | |
| And knew the town to Juno’s care belong’d. | |
| These thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke, | 935 |
| And thus alarm’d, to winged Love she spoke: | |
| “My son, my strength, whose mighty pow’r alone | |
| Controls the Thund’rer on his awful throne, | |
| To thee thy much-afflicted mother flies, | |
| And on thy succor and thy faith relies. | 940 |
| Thou know’st, my son, how Jove’s revengeful wife, | |
| By force and fraud, attempts thy brother’s life; | |
| And often hast thou mourn’d with me his pains. | |
| Him Dido now with blandishment detains; | |
| But I suspect the town where Juno reigns. | 945 |
| For this ’t is needful to prevent her art, | |
| And fire with love the proud Phœnician’s heart: | |
| A love so violent, so strong, so sure, | |
| As neither age can change, nor art can cure. | |
| How this may be perform’d, now take my mind: | 950 |
| Ascanius by his father is design’d | |
| To come, with presents laden, from the port, | |
| To gratify the queen, and gain the court. | |
| I mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep, | |
| And, ravish’d, in Idalian bow’rs to keep, | 955 |
| Or high Cythera, that the sweet deceit | |
| May pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat. | |
| Take thou his form and shape. I beg the grace | |
| But only for a night’s revolving space: | |
| Thyself a boy, assume a boy’s dissembled face; | 960 |
| That when, amidst the fervor of the feast, | |
| The Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast, | |
| And with sweet kisses in her arms constrains, | |
| Thou may’st infuse thy venom in her veins.” | |
| The God of Love obeys, and sets aside | 965 |
| His bow and quiver, and his plumy pride; | |
| He walks Iulus in his mother’s sight, | |
| And in the sweet resemblance takes delight. | |
| The goddess then to young Ascanius flies, | |
| And in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes: | 970 |
| Lull’d in her lap, amidst a train of Loves, | |
| She gently bears him to her blissful groves, | |
| Then with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head, | |
| And softly lays him on a flow’ry bed. | |
| Cupid meantime assum’d his form and face, | 975 |
| Foll’wing Achates with a shorter pace, | |
| And brought the gifts. The queen already sate | |
| Amidst the Trojan lords, in shining state, | |
| High on a golden bed: her princely guest | |
| Was next her side; in order sate the rest. | 980 |
| Then canisters with bread are heap’d on high; | |
| Th’ attendants water for their hands supply, | |
| And, having wash’d, with silken towels dry. | |
| Next fifty handmaids in long order bore | |
| The censers, and with fumes the gods adore: | 985 |
| Then youths, and virgins twice as many, join | |
| To place the dishes, and to serve the wine. | |
| The Tyrian train, admitted to the feast, | |
| Approach, and on the painted couches rest. | |
| All on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze, | 990 |
| But view the beauteous boy with more amaze, | |
| His rosy-color’d cheeks, his radiant eyes, | |
| His motions, voice, and shape, and all the god’s disguise; | |
| Nor pass unprais’d the vest and veil divine, | |
| Which wand’ring foliage and rich flow’rs entwine. | 995 |
| But, far above the rest, the royal dame, | |
| (Already doom’d to love’s disastrous flame,) | |
| With eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy, | |
| Beholds the presents, and admires the boy. | |
| The guileful god about the hero long, | 1000 |
| With children’s play, and false embraces, hung; | |
| Then sought the queen: she took him to her arms | |
| With greedy pleasure, and devour’d his charms. | |
| Unhappy Dido little thought what guest, | |
| How dire a god, she drew so near her breast; | 1005 |
| But he, not mindless of his mother’s pray’r, | |
| Works in the pliant bosom of the fair, | |
| And molds her heart anew, and blots her former care. | |
| The dead is to the living love resign’d; | |
| And all Æneas enters in her mind. | 1010 |
| Now, when the rage of hunger was appeas’d, | |
| The meat remov’d, and ev’ry guest was pleas’d, | |
| The golden bowls with sparkling wine are crown’d, | |
| And thro’ the palace cheerful cries resound. | |
| From gilded roofs depending lamps display | 1015 |
| Nocturnal beams, that emulate the day. | |
| A golden bowl, that shone with gems divine, | |
| The queen commanded to be crown’d with wine: | |
| The bowl that Belus us’d, and all the Tyrian line. | |
| Then, silence thro’ the hall proclaim’d, she spoke: | 1020 |
| “O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke, | |
| With solemn rites, thy sacred name and pow’r; | |
| Bless to both nations this auspicious hour! | |
| So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line | |
| In lasting concord from this day combine. | 1025 |
| Thou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer, | |
| And gracious Juno, both be present here! | |
| And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address | |
| To Heav’n with mine, to ratify the peace.” | |
| The goblet then she took, with nectar crown’d | 1030 |
| (Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,) | |
| And rais’d it to her mouth with sober grace; | |
| Then, sipping, offer’d to the next in place. | |
| ’T was Bitias whom she call’d, a thirsty soul; | |
| He took the challenge, and embrac’d the bowl, | |