POEM BY TORSTEN SCHWANKE
CANTO I
In the eleventh year, the month, the day,
The word of God to me was sent to say:
"O son of man, because proud Tyre hath cried:
‘Behold, Jerusalem is crushed, her pride!
The gate of nations broken, mine the gain,
Her ruin yields me wealth, her loss my reign!’—
Therefore," the Lord God said, "I come to thee;
As waves rise high, so nations rise on sea.
Thy towers shall fall, thy ramparts overthrown,
Thy dust I sweep until bare rock is shown.
A rock made naked, spread within the tide,
Where fisher’s nets upon the stones shall bide.
I, saith the Lord, have spoken; thus 'tis done,
And spoil of nations shalt thou be, undone.
Thy daughter towns on land with sword laid low,
Shall learn that I am Lord, who smites the foe.
Lo, Nebuchadnezzar, Babel’s mighty king,
From north shall march, his countless horsemen bring.
He strikes thy daughter towns with flashing sword,
Against thee builds his mound, his shielded ward.
He breaks thy walls with rams, thy towers fall,
His tools shall tear thy strength, thy lofty wall.
The dust of horses darkens o’er thy head,
Thy gates shall quake when warlike hosts have sped.
Thy streets his chargers trample without stay,
Thy people slain, thy monuments decay.
They seize thy wealth, they plunder all thy store,
Thy walls and houses cast into the shore.
Thy songs are silenced, harps shall sound no more,
The naked rock remains along the shore.
No more rebuilt—so speaks the Lord most high;
A ruin stand till ages pass thee by.
The isles shall tremble at thy dreadful fall,
Thy cries and wounded shake the nations all.
Princes of sea cast off their robes in dread,
In horror sit, astonished at thy bed.
They chant a dirge: ‘O city, famed of old,
Thy might is broken, thou no more art bold!
Who ruled the seas, whose terror nations knew,
Now all the isles shall quake for loss of you.’
Thus saith the Lord: ‘Thy end is now decreed,
A city waste, where none shall dwell nor breed.
The floods shall cover thee, the waves shall roar,
I thrust thee down to graves of those before.
Among the dead, in shadows deep to stay,
Thou hast no place among the living day.
Thou art a terror, gone without a sound,
And none shall seek thee, nor be ever found.’"
CANTO II
The word of God once came to me and said,
“O son of man, lament for Tyre, now dead.
Speak to the city seated by the sea,
Whose isles and nations traded wealth with thee:
Thus saith the Lord: O Tyre, thou dost declare,
‘I am most fair, beyond all cities fair.’
Thy builders made thee splendid on the tide,
In seas they placed thee, clothed in stately pride.
From Senir’s height thy beams of cypress came,
And cedars tall from Lebanon gave frame.
From Bashan’s oaks they carved thy heavy oars,
And ivory set in box from Kittim’s shores.
Of woven sails from Egypt bright thy sign,
Thy deck with purple clothed, and scarlet fine.
Sidon and Arvad bent the faithful oar,
Thy pilots, Tyre, were skilled in sea and lore.
The elders wise of Gebal stopped thy seams,
And ships of nations sought thy market dreams.
The Persians, Lydians, Libyans armed thy wall,
Their shields and helms adorned thy towers tall.
Men of Arvad kept watch upon thy height,
And Gammad’s archers crowned thy towers with might.
From Tarshish came the silver, iron, tin,
And lead abundant brought thy merchants in.
From Javan, Tubal, Meshech came the trade,
With slaves and brass thy gain was rich arrayed.
From Togarmah came horses strong and true,
And mules and steeds they brought to dwell with you.
The isles of Rhodes exchanged with ivory fair,
And ebony they laid thy markets bare.
From Edom came the broidered robes of pride,
With coral, rubies, colors multiplied.
From Judah came the wheat of Minnith’s field,
And figs and honey, oil and resin yield.
From Damascus came wine of Helbon’s press,
With wool of Zahar, fabrics numberless.
From Dan and Javan’s coasts of Usal’s land,
Came wrought of iron, spice and sweet command.
From Dedan came the coverings for the steeds,
Arabia sent the flocks of all thy needs.
The lords of Kedar, sheep and rams supplied,
While Saba’s merchants brought their gems and pride.
Haran and Canneh, Eden, Asshur too,
With Median traders brought their wares to you.
They clothed thee richly, purple mantles rare,
Fine woven cords and tapestries most fair.
Thy ships of Tarshish bore thy wealth away,
Thou wast made glorious on the seas that day.
But now thy rowers steered thee far to sea,
The east wind shattered all thy majesty.
Thy riches, sailors, pilots, men of war,
All sank beneath the waves to rise no more.
The isles shall quake to hear thy pilots’ cry,
Thy mariners shall wail, descend, and die.
They cast their dust, they roll in ash and grief,
They shave their heads, in sackcloth find relief.
They raise a dirge: “What city like to thee,
So silent fallen in the boundless sea?”
When thou didst trade, the nations thou didst feed,
The kings grew wealthy from thy goods indeed.
But now thou sinkest, broken in the deep,
Thy treasures drowned, thy people none to keep.
The isles are stricken, kings with fear abide,
The merchants hiss, their faces torn with pride.
A terror art thou, vanished without end,
Forever lost, no hope remains to mend.”
CANTO III
The word of God then came to me again:
"Son, speak to Tyre’s proud and haughty men.
Say to the prince: ‘Thus speaks the Lord most high:
Your heart is proud; you claim a throne in sky.
You say: I sit as God upon the sea,
Yet you are man, not God, in vanity.
You think yourself more wise than Daniel’s mind,
As though no secret could remain behind.
By craft you gathered silver, gold, and store,
By trade you grew in riches more and more.
Your wisdom turned to pride, your power great,
And haughty grew your soul through lofty state.
Therefore the Lord declares: since pride is thine,
Strangers shall come, the fiercest of mankind.
Their swords shall pierce thy wisdom, rend thy pride,
Thy shining glory shall be cast aside.
They’ll thrust thee down into the pit of gloom,
And slay thee in the sea, thy final tomb.
Wilt thou then say before the slayers’ rod,
I am a god? — when thou art man, not God?
By strangers’ hand the uncircumcised shall fall;
I, says the Lord, have spoken this to all.
Again God’s word came down to me, and said:
"Raise up a lamentation for the dead.
Thou wast the seal of beauty, wisdom crowned,
Full fair of form, with matchless splendor found.
In Eden’s garden, precious stones were thine,
Sardius, jasper, emeralds did shine.
Of gold thy settings wrought on every side,
Prepared the day that thou wert sanctified.
A cherub bright, appointed thou to stand
On holy mount, mid fiery stones and land.
Blameless thy ways from thy created day,
Till sin within thy trading found its way.
With violence filled, in sin thy soul was cast,
From God’s high mount thy shining fell at last.
Thy heart was lifted up for beauty’s sake,
Thy wisdom spoiled, thy glory put to break.
I cast thee down before the kings’ proud sight,
To be a spectacle, a ruined plight.
A fire arose within, consumed thy frame,
And ashes left upon the earth thy name.
All nations gazed and trembled at thy fall;
Thy end has come, and thou art lost to all.
The word then came: "Set face to Sidon’s land,
Proclaim my wrath, the judgment of my hand.
I’ll show my glory in her streets of strife,
By sword and pestilence I’ll take her life.
The slain shall lie within her ways forlorn,
Till all shall know the Lord whom they have scorned.
No pricking thorn shall Israel vex again,
No briar from her foes to cause her pain.
Thus speaks the Lord: When I my flock restore,
From nations scattered to their land once more,
They’ll dwell secure, build houses, plant the vine,
Their enemies destroyed by hand divine.
They’ll know I am their God, the Lord of grace,
Who sanctifies his people in their place."
CANTO IV
The queen, long wounded by consuming fire,
Feeds love’s deep wound with blood of her desire.
His noble birth, his courage, haunt her breast,
His words, his face, in restless thought are pressed.
Love grants no peace, no quiet to her frame;
Each hour she burns, yet hides the hidden flame.
When Dawn with Phoebus lit the earth anew,
And from the sky dispersed the dripping dew,
She cried to Anna, dearest of her heart:
“Sister, what dreams of fear and dread impart!
What guest is this who walks beneath our roof,
What mind, what warlike soul, of godlike proof!
No empty boast — his goddess-birth is clear,
For craven hearts alone betray their fear.
Alas, what trials test him, what fierce fight,
What woes he told endured by sea and night!
Had I not sworn, immovably, to stay
Unwed, since Love first lured my heart away —
Betrayed by death, when Sychaeus fell slain,
His blood profaned by my own brother’s stain —
Perhaps I now might yield to such a flame,
For he alone revives that ancient claim.
Yet earth may yawn, or Father Jove destroy,
And hurl me down to Erebus’ dark joy,
Before I shame my vows, or break Love’s laws:
The dead first claimed me — let them keep the cause.”
She spoke — her tears broke forth in swelling tide,
Her sister Anna tenderly replied:
“O dearest more than sunlight to my soul,
Will youth waste on the grief you can’t control?
Shall Venus’ gifts, her children, never bless,
While widowed sorrow clings with bitterness?
Will ashes, shades, regard the tears you shed,
Or cold sepulchral spirits praise the dead?
So many suitors came, of high degree —
Iarbas scorned, and lords of Libyan sea —
Yet now, against a pleasing love you strive,
When Troy itself has sailed to keep you alive.
Recall what savage tribes beset this land:
Gaetulian hosts, Numidia’s fiery band,
The Syrtis wild, the desert’s raging race,
Your brother’s threats, and Tyre’s embattled face.
But Troy has come — with heaven’s favor sure,
With Juno’s help their voyage was secure.
What city here, what kingdom shall arise,
What glory Punic arms shall seize as prize!
Seek aid of gods, with sacrifice implore,
Indulge your guest, and find delay once more,
While wintry storms with Orion vex the main,
And hostile skies forbid the ships again.”
By speaking thus she fans the queen’s desire,
And feeds her anxious heart with hope’s sweet fire.
Her shame grows weak, her longing stronger still;
They haste to shrines, and seek the gods’ good will.
The victims fall in sacrifice with prayer,
To Ceres, Phoebus, Lycaeus, and Juno’s care;
For she above all keeps the marriage ties,
And Dido pours libations, suppliant, wise.
She lifts the cup, a heifer stands snow-white,
The horns receive the stream with holy rite.
To altars rich she moves with reverent tread,
And reads the entrails of the victims spread.
But vain are vows, and blind the seers remain;
What use are shrines to hearts consumed with pain?
The wound within her breast is burning deep,
A silent fever robs her nights of sleep.
Like some poor deer, unwary in the glade,
By Cretan shaft in secret ambush laid,
The steel remains though far the huntsman strays;
She roams through Dicte’s woods in frenzied ways.
Now round her walls she leads her Trojan guest,
And shows the wealth her Sidon home possessed;
She speaks, then falters, lost in half a word,
Or longs for banquet where his tale is heard.
By night she lies upon the couch forlorn,
And clasps Ascanius, likeness of his sire, in scorn;
She feeds her flame with phantoms of the boy,
Deceiving passion with a borrowed joy.
No towers ascend, no youth with ardor strive,
No harbour grows, no battlements survive;
The mighty works unfinished, useless, stand,
Half-built, half-hanging, waiting hand to hand.
But Juno, when she marked the queen’s distress,
And saw her honor yielding to excess,
Addressed fair Venus thus with mocking air:
“You and your son have triumphed in this snare.
A woman trapped by gods—what grand display!
Yet do you fear my Carthage day by day?
Why not agree to peace, to concord’s chain,
And bind our peoples in a lasting reign?
Dido is burning, passion fills her frame;
Let Trojan wed her, and the Tyrians claim.
With equal rule we’ll bind their fates as one,
And share the scepter you so dearly won.”
To this spoke Venus, well she knew the guile,
Yet answered softly with a cautious smile:
“Who would refuse such bonds, or wish for strife,
If fate permits and Jupiter gives life?
But can we know the Thunderer’s full intent?
You, as his consort, test where his will is bent.
If he approves, I yield without delay—
Do you but lead, and Venus will obey.”
Then Juno said: “Attend, and hear my plan:
Tomorrow’s dawn shall see the hunt began.
While beaters close the thickets, nets are laid,
I’ll loose a storm with thunder-clouds arrayed.
The host will scatter; lost in sudden night,
The queen and Trojan seek the cave in fright.
There I shall join them, wed in Juno’s name,
And bind their marriage with immortal flame.
So shall this be their nuptial day at last.”
And Venus, smiling, let the counsel pass.
Meanwhile the Dawn from out the ocean springs,
And golden light across the water flings.
The chosen men pour forth through Carthage’ gate,
Massylian horsemen, eager for the chase.
With hunting-spears, and nets of ample thread,
And keen-scent hounds that by the leaders led.
The queen delays within her stately room,
While Punic princes wait amid the gloom.
Her horse, adorned with purple cloth and gold,
Champs on the foaming bit, impatient, bold.
At last she comes, attended by her train,
In Sidon’s robe with embroidered hem in grain.
Her quiver glitters, wrought of solid gold,
Her hair with golden knots is firmly rolled.
Her purple tunic clasped with brooch of fire,
Reveals the queen that many hearts desire.
With her are Trojans, Iulus full of joy,
And Aeneas, peerless, beauty’s boy.
Like Phoebus, leaving Lycia’s frozen plain,
And visiting Delos with his mother’s train,
Where Cretans, Dryopes, and painted bands,
Surround his altar with their lifted hands.
He strides on Cynthus, wreaths upon his hair,
Gold clasps secure the flowing tresses there.
His arrows rattle as he stalks the height—
So moves Aeneas, noble, fair, and bright.
They climb the mountain’s pathless rocky ground,
The startled goats go bounding down the mound.
The deer in terror fill the open plain,
A dusty herd that streams across the grain.
Ascanius meanwhile spurs his steed with glee,
And passes riders, shouting merrily.
He prays some foaming boar may meet the spear,
Or tawny lion from the mountain lair.
But lo! The heavens rumble, black with rain,
And hail comes driving on the startled train.
The Tyrians scatter, Trojans flee for cover,
While torrents streaming from the hills run over.
To selfsame cave the Trojan chief is pressed,
And Dido joins him, trembling yet caressed.
Earth gives the sign, and Juno seals the vow,
While heaven flashes lightnings o’er the brow.
The mountain nymphs cry out their dreadful song—
That day was first of ruin, death, and wrong.
No longer Dido hides her secret flame,
But calls it marriage, giving sin a name.
Swift Rumour flies through Libya’s towns amain,
No other creature moves with such a strain.
She thrives by motion, waxing as she speeds,
At first through fear, then higher still she leads.
She walks the earth, her head amid the skies,
Half hid in cloud, yet flashing countless eyes.
Earth, angered with the gods, her last did bear,
A monstrous birth, most terrible and rare.
As many feathers clothe her body vast,
So many watchful eyes she holds steadfast;
So many tongues that babble day and night,
So many ears that drink in each delight.
By dark she shrieks between the earth and sky,
Nor yields to sleep, nor lets her eyelids lie.
By day she perches high on roofs or towers,
And terrifies the cities with her powers.
As prone to spread the false as tell the true,
She mingles both and makes them seem as new.
She filled men’s ears with endless, foul report,
With songs of fact and fiction mixed for sport.
“Aeneas comes, of Trojan blood and fame,
And Dido joins her honor to his name.
The winter long they revel, lost in lust,
Their kingdoms spurned, their duty turned to dust.”
So Rumour, vile, with poisoned tongue and breath,
Inflamed Iarbas’ soul with rage and death.
He, sprung from Ammon’s seed, by rape begot,
On Garamantian nymph, forgot not Jove’s lot.
A hundred shrines he raised, with blazing fires,
Where smoke of victims fed the gods’ desires.
The floors ran red with blood of slaughtered kine,
The thresholds wreathed with garlands fresh and fine.
There often, hands outstretched, the suppliant prayed,
While rumor’s sting his furious spirit swayed:
“O father Jove, whose bolts affright the skies,
Do we in vain behold thy fires arise?
Do thunders mock, and empty lightnings fly,
To shake our minds, yet harmless fade and die?
A wandering woman, who within my land
But lately gained a petty town unplanned,
To whom we granted fields to plough and sow,
Rejects my marriage, spurns the gifts I show.
She takes Aeneas, foreign prince, as lord,
And grants him honors she to me ignored.
Now Paris-like, with eunuchs at his side,
A Phrygian cap beneath his tresses tied,
He steals my realm, while I to temples bear
Vain gifts to gods, who leave my prayers in air.”
Thus clasping altars, poured he forth his moan,
Till Jove looked down from high Olympian throne.
He turned his gaze to lovers lost in flame,
Forgetful both of honor and of name.
Then straight to Maia’s son the thunderer said:
“Go, Mercury, on wings of swiftness sped!
Fly to the Trojan lingering still in Tyre,
Who wastes the time that fates and gods require.
This was not promised by his goddess-mother,
Who twice preserved him from the sword and slaughter.
He was ordained Italia’s throne to gain,
To rule with empire stretching o’er the plain.
From Teucer’s stock a martial race to breed,
And law to curb the nations in their need.
If glory moves him not, nor honor’s fame,
Let Ascanius’ rights his bosom claim.
Why stays he here, forgetting destined lands,
And Lavinian fields that wait his guiding hands?
Let him depart: convey my mandate clear,
And urge the winds to speed his course from here.”
He spoke. The herald of the gods obeyed,
His golden sandals on his feet he laid.
Swift-borne o’er land and sea his pinions fly,
As storms that sweep across the darkened sky.
His wand he grasped, that calls pale shades to rise,
Or lulls to sleep, or wakes the dead to eyes.
With this he cleaves the storm, the clouds divide,
And down from Atlas’ lofty crown he hied.
The mountain vast supports the starry sphere,
Its pine-clad summit wreathed in tempests drear.
Snow clothes his shoulders, icy streams descend,
While frozen beard with frosty bristles blend.
There first the god his balanced pinions stayed,
Then downward through the waves his journey made.
So skims a bird along the foaming sea,
By rocks and shores, in quest of fish to be.
Thus Mercury flew, between the earth and sky,
Till Libya’s sandy coast beneath him lie.
At once he spied Aeneas, busy found,
With towers and roofs half-risen from the ground.
His sword with jasper starred, his robe aglow,
A Tyrian gift, with golden thread inwove.
Then spoke the god: “For love dost thou delay,
To build proud Carthage, waste thy fate away?
The king of gods himself hath sent me here,
From high Olympus through the shining sphere.
What seek’st thou, lingering on a foreign strand?
What hope detains thee in a stranger’s land?
If glory move thee not, nor honor’s flame,
Think of Ascanius, think of Iulus’ name!
For him the realm of Rome and Latium waits,
For him Italia opens wide her gates.”
He said, and vanished swiftly from their sight,
Dissolved in air, and melted into light.
Aeneas, dumb with awe, stood struck with dread,
Cold terror raised his hair, his voice was dead.
He burned to fly, to quit that pleasant shore,
Shocked by the omen and command he bore.
Alas! What words could soothe a queen betrayed?
What opening speech for love so sorely swayed?
His restless mind he turned on every side,
Debating all, by counsel unsupplied.
At last he judged the safest course to be
To call Mnestheus, Serestus, and Sergestë:
“Arm all the fleet in silence, men, make haste,
Conceal our purpose, let no moment waste.
Prepare the tackle, gather on the strand;
The cause I’ll mask till time lends better hand.
Meanwhile, since Dido dreams not of her loss,
I’ll watch my chance to break the heavy cross;
With gentlest words, at season fit and kind,
Reveal the fates that press upon my mind.”
They gladly heard, and straight obeyed command,
Each man made ready, busy at the strand.
But Dido saw through love what tricks were meant—
What lover’s guile escapes a heart’s intent?
Dark Rumour, that unholy fiend, she hears:
“They trim the fleet, they plot their voyage near!”
Her soul distraught, she raves in blind despair,
As Bacchic maenads leap with streaming hair;
When nightly Cithaeron shouts its holy cries,
She storms the streets with frenzy in her eyes.
At last she stands, reproach upon her tongue,
And thus to faithless Aeneas speaks her wrong:
“Deceiver! Did you hope by stealth to part,
And hide such guilt from my foreboding heart?
Does love not bind you, nor the vow you swore,
Nor thought that Dido dies to see you more?
Even in winter, cruel, do you try
To tempt the raging seas, the northern sky?
Why? Were Troy living still, her towers the same,
Would you, through storms, still chase her perished name?
’Tis me you flee! By tears that vainly flow,
By this right hand that once you prized, I vow,
By our false union, by the nuptial flame,
If ever kindness or desert I claim,
Pity this house, now ruined by your will,
And, if for prayer some slender place lies still,
Turn back! For you my Tyrians’ love is lost,
For you I brave Numidian hatred’s cost;
For you my honour perished with my fame,
My starry hope lies buried with my shame.
O guest—since “husband” now I dare not say—
To whom, undone, betrayed, am I a prey?
Shall I wait on till Pygmalion strikes me dead,
Or Iarbas drags me captive to his bed?
If only I had borne your child, to see
A little Aeneas sport upon my knee,
Whose face might bring your memory to my sight,
I should not feel so utterly despised.”
She ceased. But he, unmoved, with steadfast mind,
Kept Jupiter’s command in heart confined.
At last he spoke: “O queen, I must declare,
All praise is yours, beyond what words can bear.
Nor while I breathe shall Elissa’s form depart,
Or fade from memory written in my heart.
Hear then the truth: I never sought disguise,
Nor claimed the marriage torch before your eyes.
Had fate allowed my choice, my will, my way,
Troy’s towers would rise, and Priam’s roofs would stay.
Pergama’s walls these hands would build anew,
And home, not exile, be the path I drew.
But now Italia calls; Apollo’s word,
The Lycian lots, the will of heaven I’ve heard.
That is my land, my country and my home,
Not Libya’s towers, though yours they seem to Rome.
If you love Carthage, if your walls are dear,
Why grudge the Trojans fields in Latium’s sphere?
Each night Anchises haunts me in my dream,
And chides my wrong to young Ascanius’ scheme—
His destined crown, his fields by fate assigned,
I rob by lingering here with love confined.
Even Jove’s own herald, flying on the gale,
Has brought command no mortal may curtail.
I swear I saw the god in open light,
I heard his voice resound upon my sight.
So cease, O queen, to vex with vain desire:
I seek not Italy through self-willed fire.”
As thus he spoke, she eyed him with disdain,
Her glances roved, her silence full of pain.
At last, inflamed, her voice broke forth in fire:
“Deceiver! sprung not of a heavenly sire,
No goddess bore thee, nor did Dardan’s seed
Beget thy race, but rocks of savage breed.
Harsh Caucasus begot thee, tigers wild
Of Hyrcan fed thee, fury’s ruthless child!
Why should I wait for worse? why still restrain?
He never groaned to hear my weeping pain,
Nor bent his eyes on mine, nor pitied me,
Nor shed one tear in conquered sympathy.
What more remains? Not Juno’s power above,
Nor Saturn’s son regards thee now with love.
Truth lives no more. I sheltered thee forlorn,
A beggar, wrecked, to whom my realm was sworn.
Thy fleet I saved, thy comrades snatched from fate,
My kingdom shared, my throne made desolate.
Now Furies drive me; raging, all afire,
Apollo’s voice, and Lycian gods conspire.
A messenger from Jove himself takes wing,
And speaks the mandates of the Thunderer’s king.
This is their care! To vex me thus they deign,
To trouble heaven with a woman’s pain!
Go then! I will not check, nor still detain:
Seek Latium’s crown, Italia’s shore to gain.
Yet if the righteous gods have power to see,
I hope thou drain the dregs of misery.
On rocks and waves may Dido’s name resound,
Her ghost pursue thee, and her curse be found.
Absent, I’ll follow still with flames of night,
And haunt thy dreams, a terror to thy sight.
Thou shalt be punished, cruel one! and I,
Though dead, shall hear the tale in realms on high.”
She ceased mid-speech, and turned away in woe,
Fled from his sight, her cheeks with anguish glow.
Her maidens bore her fainting limbs to bed,
And on her marble couch they laid her head.
But pious Aeneas, though with sighs oppressed,
And torn by love that labored in his breast,
Still bowed to heaven’s command, his task obeyed,
And to his fleet with heavy heart he strayed.
The Trojans labored, launching ships anew,
The resinous keels upon the waters flew.
Tall oars they shaped from trunks of untrimmed wood,
And all the shore with busy tumult stood.
Like ants that plunder grain with ceaseless care,
And bear their burdens home through fields of air,
Some heave with shoulders bent, some urge the throng,
The path with living motion moves along.
So swarmed the Trojans; and from Dido’s height,
She saw the scene, and sickened at the sight.
“What sighs were thine, O queen, what pangs of soul,
To see the shore alive, the billows roll!
O Love, what madness dost thou not command,
What tears, what prayers, what last imploring hand!
‘Anna,’ she cries, ‘behold them on the shore,
Their sails are garlanded, their hopes once more.
The breezes call, the joyous crews prepare;
What grief I saw, I now must learn to bear.
Yet do this kindness, sister, in my need:
Thou only wert his friend, his trust, his heed.
Go, plead for me: I never swore the oaths,
Nor joined the Greeks, nor wronged his father’s growth.
Why spurns he me? Why scorns my suppliant breath?
Let him but wait for winds, not haste to death.
I crave not Latium, nor his kingdom fair,
I ask but little time to learn despair.
Grant me this boon: when paid, I’ll gladly die;
Pity thy sister, hear her latest cry!’”
But prayers were vain; no tears could move his ear,
For Fate was stern, and gods forbade to hear.
As Alpine winds a rooted oak assail,
It groans, it shakes, its lofty branches fail,
Yet to the rock its clinging fibres run,
As deep in Tartarus as high toward sun:
So stood the hero, shaken, yet unbent;
His tears fell useless, firm remained his bent.
Then Dido, shaken by her fated state,
Implored for death, and wearied, cursed her fate.
When incense burned, and holy flames were bright,
She sought to cast away her hold on light.
Yet, dreadful omen! as she poured the wine,
It thickened, clotted, into blood malign.
The water blackened—ah, she told no one,
Not even Anna, sister, what was done.
A shrine of marble to her spouse was reared,
With fleeces decked, and festive garlands cheered;
There voices called her, Sychaeus seemed to speak
When midnight’s shadow veiled the silent peak.
An owl lamented on the rooftree’s height,
Its cries ill-omened through the silent night.
Prophets of old with visions struck her sore,
And even in sleep fierce Aeneas warred once more:
Alone, abandoned, wandering she strayed,
A Tyrian outcast, through a barren glade.
Like Pentheus raving, seeing double Thebes,
Or Orestes fleeing torch and snakes in dreams,
She bore the Furies’ visions in her breast,
Till death itself seemed mercy, peace, and rest.
Then cold resolve her raging heart possessed;
She weighed the means, the hour that pleased her best.
Calm-faced, to Anna went, concealing guile,
With hope upon her brow, and artful smile:
“Sister, rejoice! At last a charm I’ve found,
To bind him back—or free me from love’s wound.
Far where the Ocean laps its final shore,
And Atlas turns the starry heavens o’er,
There dwells a priestess of the Hesperides,
Who fed the dragon, guarded golden trees.
Her chants can loose or shackle whom she will,
Stay rivers’ flow, or bid the stars stand still.
She wakes the dead; earth yawns beneath her spell,
And ash-trees march from hilltops where they dwell.
I seek her art, though loath, to ease my pain,
Build me a pyre, where sky may still remain.
There place his sword, his garments, and his bed,
All tokens of that impious man I wed.”
She spoke, then paleness overran her face;
But Anna knew not yet her direful case,
And, dreaming nothing graver than of old,
Prepared the rites her sister bade, and told.
The pyre was raised with oak and pine on high,
Adorned with garlands, wreaths, and greenery dry.
There stood his sword, his image, and his dress,
The relics of their ruinous caress.
Around were altars set; the priestess cried
To gods of chaos, darkness, triple-tide.
She sprinkled water drawn from Stygian springs,
Cut moonlit herbs with brazen sickle’s rings.
She tore the foal’s first caul from mother’s womb,
Foretelling love’s denial, grief, and doom.
Dido herself, with loosened robes, one bare
Unshackled foot, let down her streaming hair,
Called gods and stars, invoked her fate at last,
And prayed for vengeance on a faithless past.
But night lay soft on sea and land and plain;
All creatures slept—but Dido raved in pain.
Her breast was restless, torn by grief anew,
And passion like a rising tempest grew.
Alone she mused: “What course remains for me?
Shall I be mocked by Numidians, bend the knee?
Shall I pursue the Trojans’ scornful band,
Who scorn my love, yet flourish by my hand?
Who now would take me, hated, on their deck?
Ah, lost one—know you not Laomedon’s wreck?
Shall I return to Tyrians, force once more
My people to abandon their own shore?
No—rather perish! end with steel the strife;
Thus flee my sorrows with the price of life.
Sister, by pity moved, you urged me on,
You bound me to my foe—my freedom gone.
I might have lived unwed, in peace, apart,
Free of such torments, and a blameless heart.
I broke my vow to Sychaeus, to the grave,
And now no fate remains me but the glaive.”
So did she speak, while midnight heard her moan,
Her soul lamenting, and her fate her own.
Now all was ready, all his purpose set,
Aeneas sought the stern, and slept as yet.
Then came the dream, the vision known before,
Like Mercury in voice and form he bore:
His golden hair, his limbs with youth aflame,
And thus in urgent tones the phantom came:
“Son of the Goddess! Can you idly sleep,
When round your ships the hostile tempests creep?
Madman! Not see the danger hemming near,
Nor hear the west wind singing flight and cheer?
Resolved to die, she plots deceit and sin,
Her raging soul is tossed with storms within.
Why linger here? Haste, haste while flight is free!
Soon shall the shore with fire and weapons be.
The waves will swarm with hostile oars and flame,
If morning finds you still upon this frame.
Delay no more! For woman’s heart is vain,
Fickle as air, unstable to retain.”
He spoke, and vanished in the shade of night;
Aeneas woke, and shivered with affright.
At once he calls: “Awake, my men, arise!
Man every bench, and spread the canvas skies.
A god commands us, sent from heaven above,
He bids us fly, he warns us with his love.
Once more we follow, sacred is thy hand;
Protect us, guide us with the stars at hand.”
He drew his sword, and with one flashing wound,
The hawsers loosed and left the mooring ground.
At once they rushed, they seized their goods in flight,
The ships were thronged, the waves were white with might.
They drove their oars, they split the foaming sea,
And sped rejoicing, glad from land to flee.
But now Aurora from her saffron bed
Poured light, and o’er the waking nations spread.
The queen, from towered height, the sails espied,
The harbor bare, the empty waves descried.
She smote her breast, her golden locks she tore,
And cried: “O Jove! He mocks our realm once more?
Shall strangers scorn us, leave our coasts in pride,
While Tyrian swords hang idle at their side?
Arm, arm! Bring fire! Unmoor each resting keel!
Drive forth the oars, the fleeing traitor steal!
Ah, wretched Dido! Now the hour is late,
You gave him crown and sceptre, gave him state.
Is this the man, they say, who gods upbore,
Who bore his aged sire through flames before?
Why did I not his treacherous frame dispart,
And strew the waves with fragments of his heart?
Ascanius too—his body on my fire—
To glut his father’s feast, my vengeful ire!
Yes—had I perished, what had been my loss?
I should have crowned the flames with him across.
Now hear me, Sun! And Juno, source of woe!
You, Furies black, who hunt mankind below!
You, gods who mark Elissa’s dying breath,
Attend my curse, and sanctify my death.
If Fate must bear him to Italia’s shore,
If Jove ordains, and gods decree it more,
Yet torn in war, in exile let him roam,
Far from his child, far from his native home.
Let him implore, let shame and slaughter meet,
And see his people perish at his feet.
Cut off from empire, cheated of his reign,
Let death untimely cast him on the plain.
This is my prayer, with my last blood I pour,
And Tyrians, hate his race for evermore!
No love, no league, between our nations be;
War, war unending, blood and enmity!
Rise, some avenger, from my ashes rise,
Pursue the Dardan seed with flaming eyes!
Let shore with shore, and sea with sea contend,
Weapon with weapon clash till time shall end!”
She spoke, and restless turned her thoughts to fate,
What means to end her loathèd life create.
Then called to Barce, nurse of her first lord,
Whose tomb lay hidden by his native sward:
“Go, fetch my sister Anna; bid her haste,
And purify with stream the sacred waste.
Bring hallowed victims, noble gifts prepare,
And veil thy consecrated brow with care.
For I would end the rites of Stygian Jove,
Which I began, obedient to the grove.
The Trojan’s relics to the flames consign,
And with the final torch my grief resign.”
The matron hasted at her queen’s command,
While Dido raved with deathful thoughts at hand.
Her bloodshot eyes rolled wild with fierce despair,
Her cheeks now flushed, now pale with deadly care.
She rushed within the house, through secret ways,
And climbed the lofty pyre in frenzied blaze.
She seized the Trojan sword, his fatal gift,
By fate intended for no such mischief.
She saw the Ilian robes, the couch she knew,
And paused with tears that gushed as fresh as dew.
Then on the bed she fell, her voice outpoured,
The last sad accents of her broken word:
“O relics sweet, while gods and fate were kind,
Receive my soul, and ease my tortured mind.
I’ve lived, and Fortune’s course at last is run;
My noble spirit to the shades is gone.
A city raised, its shining towers I see,
A husband’s death avenged on tyranny.
Happy, thrice happy, had the Trojan sails
Not cursed these coasts, nor roused these fatal wails.”
She spoke, and pressed her weeping face below:
“I die unvenged—but let me die!”—and so,
She cried: “This fire shall meet the Trojan’s eyes,
And bear the omen o’er the cruel seas.”
She said, and pierced herself; the steel ran red,
The sword foamed blood, and trembling servants fled.
A cry resounded through the lofty hall,
Rumour went raving, and the city’s thrall.
From house to house the lamentations pour,
As if Tyre’s towers or Carthage blazed in war.
Her sister, wild with grief, the tidings heard,
And through the crowd with bleeding cheeks she spurred.
She beat her breast, and cried with bitter breath:
“So this was meant, O sister? Such thy death?
The pyre, the altars, all prepared for me?
And was I cheated of such company?
O cruel! had we shared the selfsame knife,
One hour had joined us in the selfsame life.
I built the pyre, I called our fathers’ gods,
Yet absent stood, while death thy spirit shrouds.
You’ve slain yourself, your sister, and your race,
Your city, and Sidonia’s ancient grace.
O let me bathe your wounds, your breath receive,
And kiss what dying accents lips may leave.”
She climbed the pyre, and clasped her fading side,
Her robe with streaming blood was darkly dyed.
Thrice Dido strove to lift her heavy eyes,
Thrice fell, and sought the light with gasping sighs.
But Juno, pitying her long-drawn pain,
Sent Iris down to cut the fatal chain.
For since no doom of fate had marked her breath,
Nor Proserpine assigned the hour of death,
The golden lock still bound her struggling soul,
Nor Stygian spirits claimed her from their roll.
Down flew the goddess on her saffron wings,
With thousand hues she trailed the solar rings.
She stood above her head: “To Dis I bear
This offering due, I loose thee from thy care.”
She cut the lock: the vital warmth withdrew,
And life dissolved upon the yielding blue.