Aeneas at the sight stood terror-dumb
with choking voice and horror-rising hair.
He fain would fly at once and get him gone
from that voluptuous land, much wondering
at Heaven's wrathful word. Alas! how stir?
What cunning argument can plead his cause
before th' infuriate Queen? How break such news?
Flashing this way and that, his startled mind
makes many a project and surveys them all.
But, pondering well, his final counsel stopped
at this resolve: he summoned to his side
Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus bold,
and bade them fit the fleet, all silently
gathering the sailors and collecting gear,
but carefully dissembling what emprise
such novel stir intends: himself the while
(Since high-born Dido dreamed not love so fond
could have an end) would seek an audience,
at some indulgent time, and try what shift
such matters may require. With joy they heard,
and wrought, assiduous, at their prince's plan.
But what can cheat true love? The Queen foreknew
his stratagem, and all the coming change
perceived ere it began. Her jealous fear
counted no hour secure. That unclean tongue
of Rumor told her fevered heart the fleet
was fitting forth, and hastening to be gone.
Distractedly she raved, and passion-tossed
roamed through her city, like a Maenad roused
by the wild rout of Bacchus, when are heard
the third year's orgies, and the midnight scream
to cold Cithaeron calls the frenzied crew.
Finding Aeneas, thus her plaint she poured:
“Didst hope to hide it, false one, that such crime
was in thy heart,—to steal without farewell
out of my kingdom? Did our mutual joy
not move thee; nor thine own true promise given
once on a time? Nor Dido, who will die
a death of sorrow? Why compel thy ships
to brave the winter stars? Why off to sea
so fast through stormy skies? O, cruelty!
If Troy still stood, and if thou wert not bound
for alien shore unknown, wouldst steer for Troy
through yonder waste of waves? Is it from me
thou takest flight? O, by these flowing tears,
by thine own plighted word (for nothing more
my weakness left to miserable me),
by our poor marriage of imperfect vow,
if aught to me thou owest, if aught in me
ever have pleased thee—O, be merciful
to my low-fallen fortunes! I implore,
if place be left for prayer, thy purpose change!
Because of thee yon Libyan savages
and nomad chiefs are grown implacable,
and my own Tyrians hate me. Yes, for thee
my chastity was slain and honor fair,
by which alone to glory I aspired,
in former days. To whom dost thou in death
abandon me? my guest!—since but this name
is left me of a husband! Shall I wait
till fell Pygmalion, my brother, raze
my city walls? Or the Gaetulian king,
Iarbas, chain me captive to his car? .
O, if, ere thou hadst fled, I might but bear
some pledge of love to thee, and in these halls
watch some sweet babe Aeneas at his play,
whose face should be the memory of thine own —
I were not so forsaken, Iost, undone!”
She said. But he, obeying Jove's decree,
gazed steadfastly away; and in his heart
with strong repression crushed his cruel pain;
then thus the silence broke: “O Queen, not one
of my unnumbered debts so strongly urged
would I gainsay. Elissa's memory
will be my treasure Iong as memory holds,
or breath of life is mine. Hear my brief plea!
'T was not my hope to hide this flight I take,
as thou hast dreamed. Nay, I did never light
a bridegroom's torch, nor gave I thee the vow
of marriage.
Had my destiny decreed,
that I should shape life to my heart's desire,
and at my own will put away the weight
of foil and pain, my place would now be found
in Troy, among the cherished sepulchres
of my own kin, and Priam's mansion proud
were standing still; or these my loyal hands
had rebuilt Ilium for her vanquished sons.
But now to Italy Apollo's power
commands me forth; his Lycian oracles
are loud for Italy. My heart is there,
and there my fatherland. If now the towers
of Carthage and thy Libyan colony
delight thy Tyrian eyes; wilt thou refuse
to Trojan exiles their Ausonian shore?
I too by Fate was driven, not less than thou,
to wander far a foreign throne to find.
Oft when in dewy dark night hides the world,
and flaming stars arise, Anchises' shade
looks on me in my dreams with angered brow.
I think of my Ascanius, and the wrong
to that dear heart, from whom I steal away
Hesperia, his destined home and throne.
But now the winged messenger of Heaven,
sent down by Jove (I swear by thee and me!),
has brought on winged winds his sire's command.
My own eyes with unclouded vision saw
the god within these walls; I have received
with my own ears his word.
No more inflame
with lamentation fond thy heart and mine.
'T is not my own free act seeks Italy.”
She with averted eyes and glance that rolled
speechless this way and that, had listened long
to his reply, till thus her rage broke forth:
“No goddess gave thee birth. No Dardanus
begot thy sires. But on its breast of stone
Caucasus bore thee, and the tigresses
of fell Hyrcania to thy baby lip
their udders gave. Why should I longer show
a lying smile? What worse can I endure?
Did my tears draw one sigh? Did he once drop
his stony stare? or did he yield a tear
to my lament, or pity this fond heart?
Why set my wrongs in order? Juno, now,
and Jove, the son of Saturn, heed no more
where justice lies. No trusting heart is safe
in all this world. That waif and castaway
I found in beggary and gave him share—
fool that I was!—in my own royal glory.
His Iost fleet and his sorry crews I steered
from death away. O, how my fevered soul
unceasing raves! Forsooth Apollo speaks!
His Lycian oracles! and sent by Jove
the messenger of Heaven on fleeting air
the ruthless bidding brings! Proud business
for gods, I trow, that such a task disturbs
their still abodes! I hold thee back no more,
nor to thy cunning speeches give the lie.
Begone! Sail on to Italy, thy throne,
through wind and wave! I pray that, if there be
any just gods of power, thou mayest drink down
death on the mid-sea rocks, and often call
with dying gasps on Dido's name—while I
pursue with vengeful fire. When cold death rends
the body from the breath, my ghost shall sit
forever in thy path. Full penalties
thy stubborn heart shall pay. They'll bring me never
in yon deep gulf of death of all thy woe.”
Abrupt her utterance ceased; and sick at heart
she fled the light of day, as if to shrink
from human eyes, and left Aeneas there
irresolute with horror, while his soul
framed many a vain reply. Her swooning shape
her maidens to a marble chamber bore
and on her couch the helpless limbs reposed.
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