# Aeneid (Conington 1866)/Book 1

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BOOK I.
Arms and the man I sing, who ﬁrst, By Fate of Ilian realm amerced, To fair Italia onward bore, And landed on Lavinium’s shore:— Long tossing earth and ocean o’er, By violence of heaven, to sate Fell Juno’s unforgetting hate: Much laboured too in battle-ﬁeld, Striving his city’s walls to build, And give his Gods a home: Thence come the hardy Latin brood, The ancient sires of Alba’s blood, And lofty-rampired Rome.
Say, Muse, for godhead how disdained, Or wherefore wroth, Heaven’s queen constrained That soul of piety so long To turn the wheel, to cope with wrong. Can heavenly natures nourish hate So ﬁerce, so blindly passionate?
There stood a city on the sea Manned by a Tyrian colony, Named Carthage, fronting far to south Italia’s coast and Tiber's mouth, Rich in all wealth, all means of rule, And hardened in wars sternest school. ​Men say the place was Juno's pride More than all lands on earth beside; E'en Samos' self not half so dear: Here were her arms, her chariot here: Here, goddess-like, to fix one day The seat of universal sway, Might Fate be wrung to yield assent, E'en then her schemes, her cares were bent. Yet had she heard that sons of Troy
Were born her Carthage to destroy; From those majestic loins should spring A nation like a warrior king, Ordained for Libya's overthrow: The web of Fate was woven so. This was her fear: and fear renewed The memory of that earlier feud, The war at Troy she erst had waged In darling Argos' cause engaged: Nor yet had faded from her view The insults whence those angers grew, Deep in remembrance lives engrained The judgment which her charms disdained, The offspring of adulterous seed, The rape of minion Ganymede: With such resentments brimming o'er She tossed and tossed from shore to shore The Trojan bands, poor relics these Of Achillean victories, Away from Latium: many a year, Fate-driven, they wandered far and near: So vast the labour to create The fabric of the Roman state!
Scarce out of sight of Sicily Troy's crews were spreading sail to sea, Pleased o'er the foam to run, ​When Juno, feeding ever more The vulture at her bosom's core, Thus to herself begun: 'I to give way? has Juno willed, And must her will he unfulfilled? Too weak from Latium's coast to fling Back to the sea this Trojan king? Restrained by Fate? Could Pallas fire The Argive fleet to wreak her ire, And drown the crews, for one offence, Mad Ajax' curst incontinence? She from the clouds Jove's lightning cast, Dispersed the ships, the billows massed, Caught the scathed wretch, whose breast exhaled Fierce flames, and on a rock impaled: I who through heaven its mistress move, The sister and the wife of Jove, With one poor tribe of earth contend Long years revolving without end. Will any Juno's power adore Henceforth, or crown her altars more?'
Such fiery tumult in her mind, She seeks the birthplace of the wind, Æolia, realm for ever rife With turbid elemental life: Here Æolus in a cavern vast With bolt and barrier fetters fast Rebellious storm and howling blast. They with the rock's reverberant roar Chafe blustering round their prison-door: He, throned on high, the sceptre sways, Controls their moods, their wrath allays. Break but that sceptre, sea and land And heaven's etherial deep ​Before them they would whirl like sand, And through the void air sweep. But the great Sire, with prescient fear, Had whelmed them deep in dungeon drear, And o'er the struggling captives thrown Huge masses of primeval stone, Ruled by a monarch who might know To curb them or to let them go: Whom now as suppliant at his knees Juno bespoke in words like these. 'O Æolus! since the Sire of all Has made the wind obey thy call To raise or lay the foam, A race I hate now ploughs the sea, Transporting Troy to Italy And home-gods reft of home: Lash thou thy winds, their ships submerge, Or toss them weltering o'er the surge. Twice seven bright nymphs attend on me, The fairest of them Deiope: Her will I give thee for thine own, The partner of thy heart and throne, With thee to pass unending days And goodly children round thee raise.' The God replies: 'O Queen, 'tis thine
To weigh thy will, to do it mine. Thou givest me this poor kingdom, thou Hast smoothed for me the Thunderer's brow; Givest me to share the Olympian board, And o'er the tempests makest me lord.'
He said, and with his spear struck wide The portals in the mountain side: At once, like soldiers in a band, Forth rush the winds, and scour the land: ​Then lighting heavily on the main, East, South, and West with storms in train, Heave from its depth the watery floor, And roll great billows to the shore. Then come the clamour and the shriek, The sailors shout, the main-ropes creak: All in a moment sun and skies Are blotted from the Trojans' eyes: Black night is brooding o'er the deep, Sharp thunder peals, live lightnings leap: The stoutest warrior holds his breath, And looks as on the face of death. At once Æneas thrilled with dread; Forth from his breast, with hands outspread, These groaning words he drew: 'O happy, thrice and yet again, Who died at Troy like valiant men, E'en in their parents' view! O Diomed, first of Greeks in fray, Why pressed I not the plain that day, Yielding my life to you, Where stretched beneath a Phrygian sky Fierce Hector, tall Sarpedon lie: Where Simois tumbles 'neath his wave Shields, helms, and bodies of the brave?'
Now, howling from the north, the gale, While thus he moans him, strikes his sail: The swelling surges climb the sky; The shattered oars in splinters fly; The prow turns round, and to the tide Lays broad and bare the vessel's side; On comes a billow, mountain-steep, Bears down, and tumbles in a heap. These stagger on the billow's crest; Those to the yawning depth deprest ​See land appearing 'mid the waves, While surf with sand in turmoil raves. Three ships the South has caught and thrown On scarce hid rocks, as Altars known, Ridging the main, a reef of stone. Three more fierce Eurus from the deep, A sight to make the gazer weep, Drives on the shoals, and banks them round With sand, as with a rampire-mound. One, which erewhile from Lycia's shore Orontes and his people bore, E'en in Æneas' anguished sight A sea down crashing from the height Strikes full astern: the pilot, torn From off the helm, is headlong borne: Three turns the foundered vessel gave, Then sank beneath the engulfing wave. There in the vast abyss are seen The swimmers, few and far between, And warriors' arms and shattered wood, And Trojan treasures strew the flood. And now Ilioneus, and now Aletes old and grey, Abas and brave Achates bow Beneath the tempest's sway; Fast drinking in through timbers loose At every pore the fatal ooze, Their sturdy barks give way.
Meantime the turmoil of the main, The tempest loosened from its chain, The waters of the nether deep Upstarting from their tranquil sleep, On Neptune broke: disturbed he hears, And quickened by a monarch's fears, His calm broad brow o'er ocean rears. ​Æneas' fleet he sees dispersed, Whelmed by fierce wave and stormy burst: Nor failed a brother's eye to read Junonian rancour in the deed. Forthwith he summoned East and West, And thus his kingly wrath expressed:— 'How now? presume ye on your birth To blend in chaos skies and earth, And billowy mountains heavenward heave, Bold Winds, without my sovereign leave? Whom I—but rather were it good To pacify yon troubled flood. Offend once more, and ye shall pay Upon a heavier reckoning day. Back to your master instant flee, And tell him, not to him but me The imperial trident of the sea Fell by the lot's award: His is that prison-house of stone, A mansion, Eurus, all your own: There let him lord it to his mind, The jailor-monarch of the wind, But keep its portal barred.'
He said, and, ere his words were done, Allays the surge, brings back the sun: Triton and swift Cymothoe drag The ships from off the pointed crag: He, trident-armed, each dull weight heaves, Through the vast shoals a passage cleaves, Makes smooth the ruffled wave, and rides Calm o'er the surface of the tides. As when sedition oft has stirred In some great town the vulgar herd, And brands and stones already fly— For rage has weapons always nigh— ​Then should some man of worth appear Whose stainless virtue all revere, They hush, they list: his clear voice rules Their rebel wills, their anger cools: So ocean ceased at once to rave, When, calmly looking o'er the wave, Girt with a range of azure sky, The father bids his chariot fly.
The tempest-tossed Æneadæ Strain for the nearest land, And turn their vessels from the sea To Libya's welcome strand. Deep in a bay an island makes A haven by its jutting sides, Whereon each wave from ocean breaks, And parting into hollows glides. High o'er the cove vast rocks extend, A beetling cliff at either end: Beneath their summit far and wide In sheltered silence sleeps the tide, While quivering forests crown the scene, A theatre of glancing green. In front, retiring from the wave, Opes on the view a rock-hung cave, A home that nymphs might call their own, Fresh springs, and seats of living stone: No need of rope or anchor's bite To hold the weary vessel tight. Such haven now Æneas gains, With seven lorn ships, the scant remains Of what was once his fleet; Forth leap the Trojans on the sand, Lay down their brine-drenched limbs on land, And feel the shore is sweet. ​And first from flints together clashed The latent spark Achates flashed, Caught in sere leaves, and deftly nursed Till into flame the fuel burst. Then from the hold the crews o'ertoiled Bring out their grain by ocean spoiled, And gird themselves with fire and quern To parch and grind the rescued corn.
Meanwhile Æneas scales a height And sweeps the ocean with his sight; Might he perchance a Capys mark, An Antheus in his Phrygian bark, Or trace the arms that wont to deck Caicus in some labouring wreck. No vessel seaward meets his eyes, But on the shore three stags he spies, Close followed by a meaner throng That grazed the winding coasts along. He catches from Achates' hand Quiver and bow, and takes his stand; And first the lordly leaders fall With tree-like antlers branching tall; Then, turning on the multitude, He drives them routed through the wood, Nor stays till his victorious bow Has laid seven goodly bodies low, For his seven ships; then portward fares, And 'mid his crews the quarry shares; The wine which late their princely host, What time they left Trinacria's coast, Bestowed in casks, and freely gave, A brave man's bounty to the brave, With like equality he parts, And comforts their desponding hearts; ​'Comrades and friends! for ours is strength Has brooked the test of woes; O worse-scarred hearts! these wounds at length The Gods will heal, like those. You that have seen grim Scylla rave, And heard her monsters yell, Yon that have looked upon the cave Where savage Cyclops dwell, Come, cheer your souls, your fears forget; This suffering will yield us yet A pleasant tale to tell. Through chance, through peril lies our way To Latium, where the fates display A mansion of abiding stay: There Troy her fallen realm shall raise: Bear up, and live for happier days.'
Such were his words: on brow and tongue Sat hope, while grief his spirit wrung. They for their dainty food prepare, Strip off the hide, the carcase bare, Divide and spit the quivering meat, Dispose the fire, the caldrons heat, Then, stretched on turf, their frames refresh With generous wine and wild deer's flesh. And now, when hunger's rage was ceased, And checked the impatience of the feast, In long discourse they strive to track And bring their missing comrades back. Hope bandies questions with despair, If yet they breathe the upper air, Or down in final durance lie, Deaf to their friends' invoking cry. But chief Æneas fondly yearns, And racks his heart for each by turns, ​Now weeping o'er Orontes' grave, Now claiming Lycus from the wave, Brave Gyas, and Cloanthus brave.
And now an end had come, when Jove, His broad view casting from above, The countries and their people scanned, The sail-fledged sea, the lowly land, Last on the summit of the sky Paused, and on Libya fixed his eye. 'Twas then sad Venus, as he mused, Her starry eyes with tears suffused, Bespoke him: 'Thou whose lightnings awe, Whose will on heaven and earth is law, What has Æneas done, or how Could my poor Trojans cloud thy brow, To suffer as they suffer now? So many deaths the race has died: And now behold them, lest one day To Italy they win their way, Barred from all lands beside! Once didst thou promise with an oath The Romans hence should have their growth, Great chiefs, from Teucer's line renewed, The masters of a world subdued: Fate heard the pledge: what power has wrought To turn the channel of thy thought? That promise oft consoled my woe For Ilium's piteous overthrow, While I could balance, weight with weight, The prosperous with the adverse fate. But now the self-same fortune hounds The lorn survivors yet: And hast thou, mighty King, no bounds To that their misery set? ​Antenor from the Greeks could scape, Mid Hadria's deep recesses shape His dangerous journey, and surmount The perils of Timavus' fount, Where with the limestone's reboant roar Through nine loud mouths the sea-waves pour, And all the fields are deluged o'er: Yet here he built Patavium's town, His nation named, his arms laid down, Now rests in honour and renown: We, thine own race, on whom thy word Olympian glories has conferred, Our vessels lost, O shame untold! Are traitorously bought and sold, Still from Italia kept apart To pacify one jealous heart. Lo! piety with honour graced, A monarch on his throne replaced!'
With that refulgence in his eye Which soothes the humours of the sky Jove on his daughter's lips impressed A gracious kiss, then thus addressed: 'Queen of Cythera! spare thy pain: Thy children's fates unmoved remain: Thine eyes shall have their pledged desire And see Lavinium's walls aspire: Thine arms at length shall bear on high To bright possession in the sky Æneas the high-souled: nor aught Has turned the channel of my thought. He—for I now will speak thee sooth, Vexed as thou art by sorrow's tooth, Will ope the volume and relate The far-off oracles of Fate— Fierce war in Italy shall wage, Shall quell her peoples' patriot rage, ​And give his veterans, worn with strife, A city and a peaceful life, Till summers three have seen him reign, Three winters crowned the dire campaign. But he, the father's darling child, Ascanius, now Iulus styled (Ilus the name the infant bore Ere Ilium's sky was clouded o'er), Shall thirty years of power complete, Then from Lavinium's royal seat Transfer the empire, and make strong The walls of Alba named the Long. Three hundred years in that proud town Shall Hector's children wear the crown, Till Ilia, priestess-princess, bear By Mars' embrace a kingly pair. Then, with his nurse's wolf-skin girt, Shall Romulus the line assert, Invite them to his new raised home, And call the martial city Rome. No date, no goal, I here ordain: Theirs is an endless, boundless reign. Nay Juno's self, whose wild alarms Set ocean, earth, and heaven in arms, Shall change for smiles her moody frown, And vie with me in zeal to crown Rome's sons, the nation of the gown. So stands my will. There comes a day, While Rome's great ages hold their way, When old Assaracus's sons Shall quit them on the Myrmidons, O'er Phthia and Mycenæ reign, And humble Argos to their chain. From Troy's fair stock shall Cæsar rise, The limits of whose victories Are ocean, of his fame the skies; ​Great Julius, proud that style to bear, In name and blood Iulus' heir. Him, at the appointed time, increased With, plunder from the conquered East, Thine arms shall welcome to the sky, And worshippers shall find him nigh. Then battles o'er the world shall cease, Harsh times shall mellow into peace: Then Vesta, Faith, Quirinus, joined With brother Remus, rule mankind: Grim iron bolt and massy bar Shall close the dreadful gates of War: Within unnatural Rage confined, Fast bound with manacles behind, His dark head pillowed on a heap Of clanking armour, not in sleep, Shall gnash his savage teeth, and roar From lips incarnadined with gore.'
He said, and hastes from heaven to send The son of Maia down; Bids Carthage open to befriend The Teucrians, realm and town, Lest Dido, ignorant of fate, Should drive the wanderers from her gate. Swift Mercury cuts with feathered oar The sky, and lights on Libya's shore. At once he does the Sire's behest, Each Tyrian smooths his rugged breast, And chief the queen has thoughts of grace And pity to the Teucrian race.
But good Æneas, through the night Revolving many a care, Determines with the dawn of light Forth from the port to fare, ​Explore the stranger clime, and find What land is his, by stress of wind, By what inhabitants possessed (For waste he sees it), man or beast, And back the tidings bear. Within a hollowed rock's retreat, Deep in the wood, he hides his fleet, Defended by a leafy screen Of forestry and quivering green: Then with Achates moves along, Wielding two spears, steel-tipped and strong: When in the bosom of the wood Before him, lo, his mother stood, In mien and gear a Spartan maid, Or like Harpalyce arrayed, Who tires fleet coursers in the chase, And heads the swiftest streams of Thrace. Slung from her shoulders hangs a bow; Loose to the wind her tresses flow; Bare was her knee; her mantle's fold The gathering of a knot controlled. And 'Saw ye, youths,' she asks them, 'say, One of my sisters here astray, A silvan quiver at her side, And for a scarf a lynx's hide, Or pressing on the wild boar's track With upraised dart and voiceful pack?'
Thus Venus: Venus' son replied: 'No sister we of thine have spied: What name to call thee, beauteous maid? That look, that voice the God betrayed; Can it be Phœbus' sister bright, Or some fair Nymph, has crossed our sight? Be gracious, whosoe'er thou art, And lift this burden from our heart; ​Instruct us, 'neath what sky at last, Upon what shore, our lot is cast; We wander here, by tempest blown, The people and the place unknown. O say! and many a victim's life Before thy shrine shall stain my knife.'
Then Venus: 'Nay, I would not claim A goddess' venerable name: The quiver and the buskin's braid But designate a Tyrian maid. The Punic state is this you see, Agenor's Tyrian colony: But all around the Libyans dwell, A race in war untamed and fell. The sceptre here queen Dido sways, Who fled from Tyre in other days, To 'scape a brother's frenzy: long And dark the story of her wrong; To thread each tangle time would fail, So learn the summits of the tale. Sychæus was her husband once, The wealthiest of Phœnicia's sons: She loved him; nor her sire denied, But made her his, a virgin bride. But soon there filled the ruler's place Her brother, worst of human race, Pygmalion: 'twixt the kinsmen came Fierce hatred, like a withering flame. With avarice blind, by stealthy blow The monster laid Sychæus low, E'en at the altar, recking nought What passion in his sister wrought: Long time he hid the foul offence, And, feigning many a base pretence, Beguiled her love-sick innocence. ​But, as she slept, before her eyes She saw in pallid ghastly guise Her lord's unburied semblance rise; The murderous altar he revealed, The death-wound, gaping and unhealed, And all the crime the house concealed: Then bids her fly without delay, And shows, to aid her on her way, His buried treasures, stores untold Of silver and of massy gold. She heard, and, quickened by affright, Provides her friends and means of flight. Each malcontent her summons hears, Who hates the tyrant, or who fears; The ships that in the haven rode They seize, and with the treasures load: Pygmalion's stores o'er ocean speed, And woman's daring wrought the deed. The spot they reached where now your eyes See Carthage-towers in beauty rise: There bought them soil, such space of ground As one bull's hide could compass round; There fixed their site; and Byrsa's name Preserves the action fresh in fame. But who are you? to whom allied? Whence bound and whither?' Deep he sighed, And thus with labouring speech replied:
'Fair Goddess! should thy suppliants show From first to last their tale of woe, Or ere it ceased the day were done, And closed the palace of the sun. We from old Troy, if Tyrian ear Have chanced the name of Troy to hear, Driven o'er all seas, are thrown at last On Libya's coast by chance-sent blast. ​Æneas I, who bear on board My home-gods, rescued from the sword: Men call me good; and vulgar fame Above the stars exalts my name. My quest is Italy, the place That nursed my Jove-descended race. My ships were twenty when I gave My fortunes to the Phrygian wave; My goddess-mother lent me light, And oracles prescribed my flight: And now scarce seven survive the strain Of boisterous wind and billowy main. I wander o'er your Libyan waste, From Europe and from Asia chased, Unfriended and unknown.' No more His plaint of anguish Venus bore, But interrupts ere yet 'tis o'er:
'Whoe'er you are, I cannot deem Unloved of heaven you drink the beam Of sunlight; else had never Fate Conveyed you to a Tyrian's gate. Take heart and follow on the road, Still making for the queen's abode. You yet shall witness, mark my word, Your friends returned, your fleet restored: The winds are changed, and all are brought To port, or augury is naught, And vain the lore my parents taught. Mark those twelve swans, that hold their way In seemly jubilant array, Whom late, down swooping from on high, Jove's eagle scattered through the sky: Now see them o'er the land extend Or hover, ready to descend: They, rallying, sport on noisy wing, And circle round the heaven, and sing: ​E'en so your ships, your martial train, Have gained the port, or stand to gain. Then pause not further, but proceed Still following where the road shall lead.'
She turned, and flashed upon their view Her stately neck's purpureal hue; Ambrosial tresses round her head A more than earthly fragrance shed: Her falling robe her footprints swept, And showed the goddess as she stept; While he, at length his mother known, Pursues her with complaining tone: 'And art thou cruel like the rest? Why cheat so oft thy son's fond eyes? Why cannot hand in hand be pressed, And speech exchanged without disguise?' So ring the words of fond regret While toward the town his face is set. But Venus either traveller shrouds With thickest panoply of clouds, That none may see them, touch, nor stay, Nor, idly asking, breed delay.
She through the sky to Paphos moves, And seeks the temple of her loves, Where from a hundred altars rise Rich steam and flowerets' odorous sighs.
Meantime, the path itself their clue, With speed their journey they pursue; And now they climb the hill, whose frown On the tall towers looks lowering down, And beetles o'er the fronting town. Æneas marvelling views the pile Of stately structures, huts erewhile, ​Marvelling, the lofty gates surveys, The pavements, and the loud highways. On press the Tyrians, each and all: Some raise aloft the city's wall, Or at the fortress' base of rock Toil, heaving up the granite block: While some for dwellings mark the ground, Select a site and trench it round, Or choose the rulers and the law, And the young senate clothe with awe. They hollow out the haven; they The theatre's foundations lay, And fashion from the quarry's side Tall columns, germs of scenic pride. So bees, when spring-time is begun, Ply their warm labour in the sun, What time along the flowery mead Their nation's infant hope they lead; Or with clear honey charge each cell, And make the hive with sweetness swell, The workers of their loads relieve, Or chase the drones, that gorge and thieve: With toil the busy scene ferments, And fragrance breathes from thymy scents. 'O happy they,' Æneas cries, As to the roofs he lifts his eyes, 'Whose promised walls already rise!' Then enters, 'neath his misty screen, And threads the crowd, of all unseen.
Midway within the city stood A spreading grove of hallowed wood, The spot where first the Punic train, Fresh from the shock of storm and main, The token Juno bad foretold Dug up, the head of charger bold: ​Sign of a nation formed for strife And born to years of plenteous life. A temple there began to tower To Juno, rich, with many a dower Of human wealth and heavenly power, The oblation of the queen: Brass was the threshold of the gate, The posts were sheathed with brazen plate, And brass the valves between. First in that spot once more appears A sight to soothe the traveller's fears, Illumes with hope Æneas' eye, And bids him trust his destiny. As, waiting for the queen, he gazed Around the fane with eyes upraised, Much marvelling at a lot so blessed, At art by rival hands expressed, And labour's mastery confessed, O wonder! there is Ilium's war, And all those battles blazed afar: Here stands Atrides, Priam here, And chafed Achilles, either's fear. He starts: the tears rain fast and hot: And 'Is there, friend,' he cries, 'a spot That knows not Troy's unhappy lot? See Priam! aye, praise waits on worth E'en in this corner of the earth; E'en here the tear of pity springs, And hearts are touched by human things. Dismiss your fear: we sure may claim To find some safety in our fame.' He said; and feeds his hungry heart With shapes of unsubstantial art, In fond remembrance groaning deep, While briny floods his visage steep. ​There spreads and broadens on his sight The portraiture of Greece in flight, Pressed by the Trojan youth; while here Troy flies, Achilles in her rear. Not far removed with tears he knows The tents of Rhesus, white as snows, Through which, by sleep's first breath betrayed. Tydides makes his murderous raid, And camp-ward drives the fiery brood Of coursers, ere on Trojan food They browse, or drink of Xanthus' flood. Here Troilus, shield and lance let go, Poor youth, Achilles' ill-matched foe, Fallen backward from the chariot seat, Whirls on, yet clinging by his feet, Still grasps the reins: his hair, his neck Trail o'er the ground in helpless wreck, And the loose spear he wont to wield Makes dusty scoring on the field. Meantime to partial Pallas' fane Moved with slow steps a matron train, With smitten breasts, dishevelled, pale, Beseechingly they bore the veil: She motionless as stone remained, Her cruel eyes to earth enchained. Thrice, to Achilles' chariot bound, Had Hector circled Ilium round, And now the satiate victor sold His mangled enemy for gold. Deep groaned the gazer to survey The spoils, the arms, the lifeless clay, And Priam, with weak hands outspread In piteous pleading for the dead. Himself too in the press he knows, Mixed with the foremost line of foes, And swarthy Memnon, armed for war, With followers from the morning star. ​Penthesilea leads afield The sisters of the moony shield, One naked breast conspicuous shown By looping of her golden zone, And burns with all the battle's heat, A maid, the shock of men to meet.
While thus with passionate amaze Æneas stood in one set gaze, Queen Dido with a warrior train In beauty's pride approached the fane. As when upon Eurotas' banks Or Cynthus' summits high Diana leads the Oread ranks In choric revelry, Girt with her quiver, straight and tall, Though all be gods, she towers o'er all; Latona's mild maternal eyes Beam with unspoken ecstasies: So Dido looked; so 'mid the throng With joyous step she moved along, As pressing on to antedate The birthday of her nascent state. Then, 'neath the temple's roofing shell, On stairs that mount the inner cell, Throned on a chair of queenly state, Hemmed round by glittering arms, she sate. Thus circled by religious awe She gives the gathered people law, By chance-drawn lot or studious care Assigning each his labour's share. When lo! a concourse to the fane: He looks: amid the shouting train Lost Antheus and Sergestus pressed, And brave Cloanthus, and the rest, Driven by fierce gales the water o'er, And landed on a different shore. ​Astounded stand twixt fear and joy Achates and the chief of Troy: They burn to hail them and salute, But wildering wonder keeps them mute. So, peering through their cloudy screen, They strive the broken tale to glean, Where rest the vessels and the crew, And wherefore thus they come to sue: For every ship her chief had sent, And clamouring towards the fane they went.
Then, audience granted by the queen, Ilioneus spoke with placid mien: 'Lady, whom gracious Jove has willed A city in the waste to build, And minds of savage temper school By justice' humanizing rule, We, tempest-tost on every wave, Poor Trojans, your compassion crave From hideous flame our barks to save: Commiserate our wretched case, And war not on a pious race. We come not, we, to spoil and slay Your Libyan households, sweep the prey Off to the shore, then haste away: Meek grows the heart by misery cowed, And vanquished souls are not so proud. A land there is, by Greece of old Known as Hesperia, rich its mould, Its children brave and free: Œnotrians were its planters: Fame Now gives the race their leader's name, And calls it Italy. There lay our course, when, grief to tell, Orion, rising with a swell, ​Hurled us on shoals, and scattered wide O'er pathless rocks along the tide 'Mid swirling billows: thence our crew Drifts to your coast, a rescued few. What tribe of human kind is here? What barbarous region yields such cheer? E'en the cold welcome of the sand To travellers is barred and banned: Ere earth we touch, they draw the sword, And drive us from the bare sea-board. If men and mortal arms ye slight, Know there are Gods who watch o'er right. Æneas was our king, than who The breath of being none e'er drew, More brave, more pious, or more true: If he still looks upon the sun, No spectre yet, our fears are done, Nor need you doubt to assume the lead In rivalry of generous deed. Sicilia too, no niggard field, Has towns to hold us, arms to shield, And king Acestes, brave and good, In heart a Trojan, as in blood. Give leave to draw our ships ashore, There smooth the plank and shape the oar: So, should our friends, our king survive, For Italy we yet may strive: But, if our hopes are quenched, and thee, Best father of the sons of Troy, Death hides beneath the Libyan sea, Nor spares to us thy princely boy, Yet may we seek Sicania's land, Her mansions ready to our hand, And dwell where we were guests so late, The subjects of Acestes' state.' ​So spoke Ilioneus: and the rest With shouts their loud assent expressed.
Then, looking downward, Dido said: 'Discharge you, Trojans, of your dread: An infant realm and fortune hard Compel me thus my shores to guard. Who knows not of Æneas' name, Of Troy, her fortune and her fame, And that devouring war? Our Punic hearts have more of fire, Nor all so retrograde from Tyre Doth Phœbus yoke his car. Whate'er your choice, the Hesperian plain, Or Eryx and Acestes' reign, My arms shall guard you in your way, My treasuries your needs purvey. Or would a home on Libya's shores Allure you more? this town is yours: Lay up your vessels: Tyre and Troy Alike shall Dido's thoughts employ. And would we had your monarch too, Driven hither by the blast, like you, The great Æneas! I will send And search the coast from end to end, If haply, wandering up and down, He bide in woodland or in town.'
In breathless eagerness of joy Achates and the chief of Troy Were yearning long the cloud to burst; And thus Achates spoke the first: 'What now, my chief, the thoughts that rise Within you? see, before your eyes Your fleet, your friends restored; ​Save one, who sank beneath, the tide E'en in our presence: all beside Confirms your mother's word.'
Scarce had he said, the mist gives way And purges brightening into day; Æneas stood, to sight confest, A very God in face and chest: For Venus round her darling's head A length of clustering locks had spread, Crowned him with youth's purpureal light, And made his eyes gleam glad and bright: Such loveliness the hands of art To ivory's native hues impart: So 'mid the gold around it placed Shines silver pale or marble chaste. Then in a moment, unforeseen Of all, he thus bespeaks the queen: 'Lo, him you ask for! I am he, Æneas, saved from Libya's sea. O, only heart that deigns to mourn For Ilium's cruel care! That bids e'en us, poor relics, torn From Danaan fury, all outworn By earth and ocean, all forlorn, Its home, its city share! We cannot thank you; no, nor they, Our brethren of the Dardan race, Who, driven from their ancestral place, Throughout the wide world stray. May Heaven, if virtue claim its thought, If justice yet avail for aught, Heaven, and the sense of conscious right, With worthier meed your acts requite! ​What happy ages gave you birth? What glorious sires begat such worth? While rivers run into the deep, While shadows o'er the hillside sweep, While stars in heaven's fair pasture graze, Shall live your honour, name, and praise, Whate'er my destined home.' He ends, And turns him to his Trojan friends; Ilioneus with his right hand greets, And with the left Serestus meets; Then to the rest like welcome gave, Brave Gyas and Cloauthus brave.
Thus as she listened, first his mien, His sorrow next, entranced the queen, And 'Say,' cries she, 'what cruel wrong Pursued you, goddess-born, so long? What violence has your navy driven On this rude coast, of all 'neath heaven? And are you he, on Simois' shore Whom Venus to Anchises bore, Æneas? Well I mind the name, Since Teucer first to Sidon came, Driven from his home, in hope to gain By Belus' aid another reign, What time my father ruled the land Of Cyprus with a conqueror's hand. Then first the fall of Troy I knew, And heard of Grecia's kings, and you. Oft, I remember, would he glow In praise of Troy, albeit her foe; Oft would he boast, Avith generous pride, Himself to Troy's old line allied. Then enter, chiefs, these friendly doors; I too have had my fate, like yours, ​Which, many a suffering overpast, Has willed to fix me here at last. Myself not ignorant of woe, Compassion I have learned to show.' She speaks, and speaking leads the way To where her palace stands, And through the fanes a solemn day Of sacrifice commands. Nor yet unmindful of his friends, Her bounty to the shore she sends, A hundred bristly swine, A herd of twenty beeves, of lambs A hundred, with their fleecy dams, And spirit-cheering wine.
And now the palace they array With all the state that kings display, And through the central breadth of hall Prepare the sumptuous festival: There, wrought with many a fair design, Rich coverlets of purple shine: Bright silver loads the boards, and gold Where deeds of hero-sires are told, From chief to chief in sequence drawn, E'en from proud Sidon's earliest dawn.
Meantime Æneas, loth to lose The father in the king, Sends down Achates to his crews: 'Haste, to Ascanius bear the news, Himself to Carthage bring.' A father's care, a father's joy All centre in the darling boy. Rich presents too he bids be brought, Scarce saved when Troy's last fight was fought, A pall with stiffening gold inwrought, ​A veil, the marvel of the loom, Edged with acanthus' saffron bloom; These Leda once to Helen gave, And Helen from Mycenæ bore, What time to Troy she crossed the wave With that her unblessed paramour; The sceptre Priam's eldest fair, Ilione, was wont to bear; Her necklace, and her coronet With gold and gems in circle set. Such mandate hastening to obey, Achates takes his shore-ward way.
But Cytherea's anxious mind New arts, new stratagems designed, That Cupid, changed in mien and face, Should come in sweet Ascanius' place, Fire with his gifts the royal dame, And thread each leaping vein with flame. The palace of deceit she fears, The double tongues of Tyre; Fell Juno's form at night appears, And burns her like a fire. So to her will she seeks to move The winged deity of Love: 'My son, my strength, my virtue born, Who laugh'st Jove's Titan bolts to scorn, To thee for succour I repair, And breathe the voice of suppliant prayer. How Juno drives from coast to coast Thy Trojan brother, this thou know'st, And oft hast bid thy sorrows flow With mine in pity of his woe. Him now this Tyrian entertains, And with soft speech his stay constrains: ​But I, I cannot brook with ease Junonian hospitalities; Nor, where our fortunes hinge and turn, Can she long rest in unconcern. Fain would I first ensnare the dame, And wrap her leaguered heart in flame. So, ere she change by power malign, Æneas' love shall bind her mine. Such triumph how thou mayst achieve, The issue of my thought receive. To Sidon's town the princely heir, The darling motive of my care, Sets out at summons of his sire, With presents, saved from flood and fire. Him, in the bands of slumber tied, In high Cythera I will hide, Or blest Idalia, safe and far, Lest he perceive the plot, or mar. Thou for one night supply his room, Thyself a boy, the boy assume; That when the queen, with rapture glowing, While boards blaze rich, and wine is flowing, Shall make thee nestle in her breast, And to thy lips her lips are prest, The stealthy plague thou mayst inspire, And thrill her with contagious fire.
Young Love obeyed, his plumage stripped, And, laughing, like Iulus tripped. But Venus on her grandson strows The dewy softness of repose, And laps him in her robe, and bears To tall Idalia's fragrant airs, Where soft amaracus receives And gently curtains him with leaves: ​While Cupid, tutored to obey, Beside Achates takes his way, And bears the presents, blithe and gay. Arrived, he finds the Tyrian queen On tapestry laid of gorgeous sheen, In central place, her guests between. There lies Æneas, there his train, All stretched at ease on purple grain. Slaves o'er their hands clear water pour, Deal round the bread from basket-store, And napkins thick with wool: Within full fifty maids supply Fresh food, and make the hearths blaze high: A hundred more of equal age, Each with her fellow, girl and page, Serve to the gathered company The meats and goblets full. The invited Tyrians throng the hall, And on the broidered couches fall. They marvel as the gifts they view, They marvel at the bringer too, The features where the God shines through, The tones his mimic voice assumes, The pall, the veil with saffron blooms. But chiefly Dido, doomed to ill, Her soul with gazing cannot fill, And, kindling with delirious fires, Admires the boy, the gifts admires. He, having hung a little space Clasped in Æneas' warm embrace And satisfied the fond desire Of that his counterfeited sire, Turns him to Dido. Heart and eye She clings, she cleaves, she makes him lie Lapped in her breast, nor knows, lost fair, How dire a God sits heavy there. ​But he, too studious to fulfil His Acidalian mother's will, Begins to cancel trace by trace The imprint of Sychæus' face, And bids a living passion steal On senses long unused to feel.
Soon as the feast begins to lull, And boards are cleared away, They place the bowls, all brimming full, And wreathe with garlands gay. Up to the rafters mounts the din, And voices swell and heave within: From the gilt roof hang cressets bright, And flambeau-fires put out the night. The queen gives charge: a cup is brought With massy gold and jewels wrought, Whence ancient Belus quaffed his wine, And all the kings of Belus' line. Then silence reigns: 'Great Jove, who know'st The mutual rights of guest and host, O make this day a day of joy Alike to Tyre and wandering Troy, And may our children's children feel The blessing of the bond we seal! Be Bacchus, giver of glad cheer, And bounteous Juno, present here! And Tyrians, you with frank good will Our courteous purposes fulfil.' She spoke, and on the festal board The meed of due libation poured, Touched with her lip the goblet's edge, Then challenged Bitias to the pledge. He grasped the cup with eager hold, And drenched him with the foaming gold. ​The rest succeed. Iopas takes His gilded lyre, its chords awakes, The long-haired bard, rehearsing sweet The descant learned at Atlas' feet. He sings the wanderings of the moon, The sun eclipsed in deadly swoon, Whence human kind and cattle came, And whence the rain-spout and the flame, Arcturus and the two bright Bears, And Hyads weeping showery tears, Why winter suns so swiftly go, And why the weary nights move slow. With plaudits Tyre the minstrel greets, And Troy the loud acclaim repeats. And now discourse succeeds to song: Poor Dido makes the gay night long, Still drinking love-draughts, deep and strong: Much of great Priam asks the dame, Much of his greater son: Now of Tydides' steeds of flame, Now in what armour Memnon came, Now how Achilles shone. 'Nay, guest ' she cries 'vouchsafe a space The tale of Danaan fraud to trace, The dire misfortunes of your race, These wanderings of your own: For since you first 'gan wander o'er Yon homeless world of sea and shore, Seven summers nigh have flown.'