Yet, if the heav'ns will hear my pious vow, The faithless waves, not half so false as thou, Or secret sands, shall sepulchers afford To thy proud vessels, and their perjur'd lord.
Then shalt thou call on injur'd Dido's name:
Dido shall come in a black sulph'ry flame, When death has once dissolv'd her mortal frame;Shall smile to see the traitor vainly weep:
Her angry ghost, arising from the deep, Shall haunt thee waking, and disturb thy sleep.
At least my shade thy punishment shall know, And Fame shall spread the pleasing news below."Abruptly here she stops; then turns away Her loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day.
Amaz'd he stood, revolving in his mind What speech to frame, and what excuse to find.
Her fearful maids their fainting mistress led, And softly laid her on her ivory bed.
But good Aeneas, tho' he much desir'd To give that pity which her grief requir'd;Tho' much he mourn'd, and labor'd with his love, Resolv'd at length, obeys the will of Jove;Reviews his forces: they with early care Unmoor their vessels, and for sea prepare.
The fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride, And well-calk'd galleys in the harbor ride.
Then oaks for oars they fell'd; or, as they stood, Of its green arms despoil'd the growing wood, Studious of flight.The beach is cover'd o'er With Trojan bands, that blacken all the shore:
On ev'ry side are seen, descending down, Thick swarms of soldiers, loaden from the town.
Thus, in battalia, march embodied ants, Fearful of winter, and of future wants, T' invade the corn, and to their cells convey The plunder'd forage of their yellow prey.
The sable troops, along the narrow tracks, Scarce bear the weighty burthen on their backs:
Some set their shoulders to the pond'rous grain;Some guard the spoil; some lash the lagging train;All ply their sev'ral tasks, and equal toil sustain.
What pangs the tender breast of Dido tore, When, from the tow'r, she saw the cover'd shore, And heard the shouts of sailors from afar, Mix'd with the murmurs of the wat'ry war!
All-pow'rful Love! what changes canst thou cause In human hearts, subjected to thy laws!
Once more her haughty soul the tyrant bends:
To pray'rs and mean submissions she descends.
No female arts or aids she left untried, Nor counsels unexplor'd, before she died.
"Look, Anna! look! the Trojans crowd to sea;They spread their canvas, and their anchors weigh.
The shouting crew their ships with garlands bind, Invoke the sea gods, and invite the wind.
Could I have thought this threat'ning blow so near, My tender soul had been forewarn'd to bear.
But do not you my last request deny;
With yon perfidious man your int'rest try, And bring me news, if I must live or die.
You are his fav'rite; you alone can find The dark recesses of his inmost mind:
In all his trusted secrets you have part, And know the soft approaches to his heart.
Haste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe;Tell him, I did not with the Grecians go, Nor did my fleet against his friends employ, Nor swore the ruin of unhappy Troy, Nor mov'd with hands profane his father's dust:
Why should he then reject a just!
Whom does he shun, and whither would he fly!
Can he this last, this only pray'r deny!
Let him at least his dang'rous flight delay, Wait better winds, and hope a calmer sea.
The nuptials he disclaims I urge no more:
Let him pursue the promis'd Latian shore.
A short delay is all I ask him now;
A pause of grief, an interval from woe, Till my soft soul be temper'd to sustain Accustom'd sorrows, and inur'd to pain.
If you in pity grant this one request, My death shall glut the hatred of his breast."This mournful message pious Anna bears, And seconds with her own her sister's tears:
But all her arts are still employ'd in vain;Again she comes, and is refus'd again.
His harden'd heart nor pray'rs nor threat'nings move;Fate, and the god, had stopp'd his ears to love.
As, when the winds their airy quarrel try, Justling from ev'ry quarter of the sky, This way and that the mountain oak they bend, His boughs they shatter, and his branches rend;With leaves and falling mast they spread the ground;The hollow valleys echo to the sound:
Unmov'd, the royal plant their fury mocks, Or, shaken, clings more closely to the rocks;Far as he shoots his tow'ring head on high, So deep in earth his fix'd foundations lie.
No less a storm the Trojan hero bears;
Thick messages and loud complaints he hears, And bandied words, still beating on his ears.
Sighs, groans, and tears proclaim his inward pains;But the firm purpose of his heart remains.
The wretched queen, pursued by cruel fate, Begins at length the light of heav'n to hate, And loathes to live.Then dire portents she sees, To hasten on the death her soul decrees:
Strange to relate! for when, before the shrine, She pours in sacrifice the purple wine, The purple wine is turn'd to putrid blood, And the white offer'd milk converts to mud.
This dire presage, to her alone reveal'd, From all, and ev'n her sister, she conceal'd.
A marble temple stood within the grove, Sacred to death, and to her murther'd love;That honor'd chapel she had hung around With snowy fleeces, and with garlands crown'd:
Oft, when she visited this lonely dome, Strange voices issued from her husband's tomb;She thought she heard him summon her away, Invite her to his grave, and chide her stay.
Hourly 't is heard, when with a boding note The solitary screech owl strains her throat, And, on a chimney's top, or turret's height, With songs obscene disturbs the silence of the night.
Besides, old prophecies augment her fears;And stern Aeneas in her dreams appears, Disdainful as by day: she seems, alone, To wander in her sleep, thro' ways unknown, Guideless and dark; or, in a desart plain, To seek her subjects, and to seek in vain:
