“Scarce had the rising sun the day reveal’d,Scarce had his heat the pearly dews dispell’d,When from the woods there bolts, before our sight,Somewhat betwixt a mortal and a sprite,So thin, so ghastly meager, and so wan,So bare of flesh, he scarce resembled man.This thing, all tatter’d, seem’d from far t’imploreOur pious aid, and pointed to the shore.We look behind, then view his shaggy beard;His clothes were tagg’d with thorns, and filth his limbs besmear’d;The rest, in mien, in habit, and in face,Appear’d a Greek, and such indeed he was.He cast on us, from far, a frightful view,Whom soon for Trojans and for foes he knew;Stood still, and paus’d; then all at once beganTo stretch his limbs, and trembled as he ran.Soon as approach’d, upon his knees he falls,And thus with tears and sighs for pity calls:‘Now, by the pow’rs above, and what we shareFrom Nature’s common gift, this vital air,O Trojans, take me hence! I beg no more;But bear me far from this unhappy shore.’Tis true, I am a Greek, and farther own,Among your foes besieg’d th’ imperial town.For such demerits if my death be due,No more for this abandon’d life I sue;This only favour let my tears obtain,To throw me headlong in the rapid main:Since nothing more than death my crime demands,I die content, to die by human hands.’He said, and on his knees my knees embrac’d:I bade him boldly tell his fortune past,His present state, his lineage, and his name,Th’ occasion of his fears, and whence he came.The good Anchises rais’d him with his hand;Who, thus encourag’d, answer’d our demand:‘From Ithaca, my native soil, I cameTo Troy; and Achaemenides my name.Me my poor father with Ulysses sent;(O had I stay’d, with poverty content!)But, fearful for themselves, my countrymenLeft me forsaken in the Cyclops’ den.The cave, tho’ large, was dark; the dismal floorWas pav’d with mangled limbs and putrid gore.Our monstrous host, of more than human size,Erects his head, and stares within the skies;Bellowing his voice, and horrid is his hue.Ye gods, remove this plague from mortal view!The joints of slaughter’d wretches are his food;And for his wine he quaffs the streaming blood.These eyes beheld, when with his spacious handHe seiz’d two captives of our Grecian band;Stretch’d on his back, he dash’d against the stonesTheir broken bodies, and their crackling bones:With spouting blood the purple pavement swims,While the dire glutton grinds the trembling limbs.
“‘Not unreveng’d Ulysses bore their fate,Nor thoughtless of his own unhappy state;For, gorg’d with flesh, and drunk with human wineWhile fast asleep the giant lay supine,Snoring aloud, and belching from his mawHis indigested foam, and morsels raw;We pray; we cast the lots, and then surroundThe monstrous body, stretch’d along the ground:Each, as he could approach him, lends a handTo bore his eyeball with a flaming brand.Beneath his frowning forehead lay his eye;For only one did the vast frame supply;But that a globe so large, his front it fill’d,Like the sun’s disk or like a Grecian shield.The stroke succeeds; and down the pupil bends:This vengeance follow’d for our slaughter’d friends.But haste, unhappy wretches, haste to fly!Your cables cut, and on your oars rely!Such, and so vast as Polypheme appears,A hundred more this hated island bears:Like him, in caves they shut their woolly sheep;Like him, their herds on tops of mountains keep;Like him, with mighty strides, they stalk from steep to steepAnd now three moons their sharpen’d horns renew,Since thus, in woods and wilds, obscure from view,I drag my loathsome days with mortal fright,And in deserted caverns lodge by night;Oft from the rocks a dreadful prospect seeOf the huge Cyclops, like a walking tree:From far I hear his thund’ring voice resound,And trampling feet that shake the solid ground.Cornels and salvage berries of the wood,And roots and herbs, have been my meager food.While all around my longing eyes I cast,I saw your happy ships appear at last.On those I fix’d my hopes, to these I run;’Tis all I ask, this cruel race to shun;What other death you please, yourselves bestow.’
“Scarce had he said, when on the mountain’s browWe saw the giant shepherd stalk beforeHis following flock, and leading to the shore:A monstrous bulk, deform’d, depriv’d of sight;His staff a trunk of pine, to guide his steps aright.His pond’rous whistle from his neck descends;His woolly care their pensive lord attends:This only solace his hard fortune sends.Soon as he reach’d the shore and touch’d the waves,From his bor’d eye the gutt’ring blood he laves:He gnash’d his teeth, and groan’d; thro’ seas he strides,And scarce the topmost billows touch’d his sides.
“Seiz’d with a sudden fear, we run to sea,The cables cut, and silent haste away;The well-deserving stranger entertain;Then, buckling to the work, our oars divide the main.The giant harken’d to the dashing sound:But, when our vessels out of reach he found,He strided onward, and in vain essay’dTh’ Ionian deep, and durst no farther wade.With that he roar’d aloud: the dreadful cryShakes earth, and air, and seas; the billows flyBefore the bellowing noise to distant Italy.The neighb’ring Aetna trembling all around,The winding caverns echo to the sound.His brother Cyclops hear the yelling roar,And, rushing down the mountains, crowd the shore.We saw their stern distorted looks, from far,And one-eyed glance, that vainly threaten’d war:A dreadful council, with their heads on high;(The misty clouds about their foreheads fly;)Not yielding to the tow’ring tree of Jove,Or tallest cypress of Diana’s grove.New pangs of mortal fear our minds assail;We tug at ev’ry oar, and hoist up ev’ry sail,And take th’ advantage of the friendly gale.Forewarn’d by Helenus, we strive to shunCharybdis’ gulf, nor dare to Scylla run.An equal fate on either side appears:We, tacking to the left, are free from fears;For, from Pelorus’ point, the North arose,And drove us back where swift Pantagias flows.His rocky mouth we pass, and make our wayBy Thapsus and Megara’s winding bay.This passage Achaemenides had shown,Tracing the course which he before had run.
“Right o’er against Plemmyrium’s wat’rsquo;ry strand,There lies an isle once call’d th’ Ortygian land.Alpheus, as old fame reports, has foundFrom Greece a secret passage under ground,By love to beauteous Arethusa led;And, mingling here, they roll in the same sacred bed.As Helenus enjoin’d, we next adoreDiana’s name, protectress of the shore.With prosp’rous gales we pass the quiet soundsOf still Elorus, and his fruitful bounds.Then, doubling Cape Pachynus, we surveyThe rocky shore extended to the sea.The town of Camarine from far we see,And fenny lake, undrain’d by fate’s decree.In sight of the Geloan fields we pass,And the large walls, where mighty Gela was;Then Agragas, with lofty summits crown’d,Long for the race of warlike steeds renown’d.We pass’d Selinus, and the palmy land,And widely shun the Lilybaean strand,Unsafe, for secret rocks and moving sand.At length on shore the weary fleet arriv’d,Which Drepanum’s unhappy port receiv’d.Here, after endless labours, often toss’dBy raging storms, and driv’n on ev’ry coast,My dear, dear father, spent with age, I lost:Ease of my cares, and solace of my pain,Sav’d thro’ a thousand toils, but sav’d in vainThe prophet, who my future woes reveal’d,Yet this, the greatest and the worst, conceal’d;And dire Celaeno, whose foreboding skillDenounc’d all else, was silent of the ill.This my last labour was. Some friendly godFrom thence convey’d us to your blest abode.”
Thus, to the list’ning queen, the royal guestHis wand’ring course and all his toils express’d;And here concluding, he retir’d to rest.
BOOK IV
THE ARGUMENT.
Dido discovers to her sister her passion for Aeneas, and her thoughts of marrying him. She prepares a hunting match for his entertainment. Juno, by Venus’ consent, raises a storm, which separates the hunters, and drives Aeneas and Dido into the same cave, where their marriage is supposed to be completed. Jupiter despatches Mercury to Aeneas, to warn him from Carthage. Aeneas secretly prepares for his voyage. Dido finds out his design, and, to put a stop to it, makes use of her own and her sister’s entreaties, and discovers all the variety of passions that are incident to a neglected lover. When nothing could prevail upon him, she contrives her own death, with which this book concludes.
But anxious cares already seiz’d the queen:She fed within her veins a flame unseen;The hero’s valour, acts, and birth inspireHer soul with love, and fan the secret fire.His words, his looks, imprinted in her heart,Improve the passion, and increase the smart.Now, when the purple morn had chas’d awayThe dewy shadows, and restor’d the day,Her sister first with early care she sought,And thus in mournful accents eas’d her thought:
“My dearest Anna, what new dreams affrightMy lab’ring soul! what visions of the nightDisturb my quiet, and distract my breastWith strange ideas of our Trojan guest!His worth, his actions, and majestic air,A man descended from the gods declare.Fear ever argues a degenerate kind;His birth is well asserted by his mind.Then, what he suffer’d, when by Fate betray’d!What brave attempts for falling Troy he made!Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke,That, were I not resolv’d against the yokeOf hapless marriage, never to be curstWith second love, so fatal was my first,To this one error I might yield again;For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain,This only man is able to subvertThe fix’d foundations of my stubborn heart.And, to confess my frailty, to my shame,Somewhat I find within, if not the same,Too like the sparkles of my former flame.But first let yawning earth a passage rend,And let me thro’ the dark abyss descend;First let avenging Jove, with flames from high,Drive down this body to the nether sky,Condemn’d with ghosts in endless night to lie,Before I break the plighted faith I gave!No! he who had my vows shall ever have;For, whom I lov’d on earth, I worship in the grave.”
She said: the tears ran gushing from her eyes,And stopp’d her speech. Her sister thus replies:“O dearer than the vital air I breathe,Will you to grief your blooming years bequeath,Condemn’d to waste in woes your lonely life,Without the joys of mother or of wife?Think you these tears, this pompous train of woe,Are known or valued by the ghosts below?I grant that, while your sorrows yet were green,It well became a woman, and a queen,The vows of Tyrian princes to neglect,To scorn Hyarbas, and his love reject,With all the Libyan lords of mighty name;But will you fight against a pleasing flame!This little spot of land, which Heav’n bestows,On ev’ry side is hemm’d with warlike foes;Gaetulian cities here are spread around,And fierce Numidians there your frontiers bound;Here lies a barren waste of thirsty land,And there the Syrtes raise the moving sand;Barcaean troops besiege the narrow shore,And from the sea Pygmalion threatens more.Propitious Heav’n, and gracious Juno, leadThis wand’ring navy to your needful aid:How will your empire spread, your city rise,From such a union, and with such allies?Implore the favour of the pow’rs above,And leave the conduct of the rest to love.Continue still your hospitable way,And still invent occasions of their stay,Till storms and winter winds shall cease to threat,And planks and oars repair their shatter’d fleet.”
These words, which from a friend and sister came,With ease resolv’d the scruples of her fame,And added fury to the kindled flame.Inspir’d with hope, the project they pursue;On ev’ry altar sacrifice renew:A chosen ewe of two years old they payTo Ceres, Bacchus, and the God of Day;Preferring Juno’s pow’r, for Juno tiesThe nuptial knot and makes the marriage joys.The beauteous queen before her altar stands,And holds the golden goblet in her hands.A milk-white heifer she with flow’rs adorns,And pours the ruddy wine betwixt her horns;And, while the priests with pray’r the gods invoke,She feeds their altars with Sabaean smoke,With hourly care the sacrifice renews,And anxiously the panting entrails views.What priestly rites, alas! what pious art,What vows avail to cure a bleeding heart!A gentle fire she feeds within her veins,Where the soft god secure in silence reigns.
Sick with desire, and seeking him she loves,From street to street the raving Dido roves.So when the watchful shepherd, from the blind,Wounds with a random shaft the careless hind,Distracted with her pain she flies the woods,Bounds o’er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods,With fruitless care; for still the fatal dartSticks in her side, and rankles in her heart.And now she leads the Trojan chief alongThe lofty walls, amidst the busy throng;Displays her Tyrian wealth, and rising town,Which love, without his labour, makes his own.This pomp she shows, to tempt her wand’ring guest;Her falt’ring tongue forbids to speak the rest.When day declines, and feasts renew the night,Still on his face she feeds her famish’d sight;She longs again to hear the prince relateHis own adventures and the Trojan fate.He tells it o’er and o’er; but still in vain,For still she begs to hear it once again.The hearer on the speaker’s mouth depends,And thus the tragic story never ends.
Then, when they part, when Phoebe’s paler lightWithdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite,She last remains, when ev’ry guest is gone,Sits on the bed he press’d, and sighs alone;Absent, her absent hero sees and hears;Or in her bosom young Ascanius bears,And seeks the father’s image in the child,If love by likeness might be so beguil’d.
Meantime the rising tow’rs are at a stand;No labours exercise the youthful band,Nor use of arts, nor toils of arms they know;The mole is left unfinish’d to the foe;The mounds, the works, the walls, neglected lie,Short of their promis’d heighth, that seem’d to threat the sky,
But when imperial Juno, from above,Saw Dido fetter’d in the chains of love,Hot with the venom which her veins inflam’d,And by no sense of shame to be reclaim’d,With soothing words to Venus she begun:“High praises, endless honours, you have won,And mighty trophies, with your worthy son!Two gods a silly woman have undone!Nor am I ignorant, you both suspectThis rising city, which my hands erect:But shall celestial discord never cease?’Tis better ended in a lasting peace.You stand possess’d of all your soul desir’d:Poor Dido with consuming love is fir’d.Your Trojan with my Tyrian let us join;So Dido shall be yours, Aeneas mine:One common kingdom, one united line.Eliza shall a Dardan lord obey,And lofty Carthage for a dow’r convey.”Then Venus, who her hidden fraud descried,Which would the scepter of the world misguideTo Libyan shores, thus artfully replied:“Who, but a fool, would wars with Juno choose,And such alliance and such gifts refuse,If Fortune with our joint desires comply?The doubt is all from Jove and destiny;Lest he forbid, with absolute command,To mix the people in one common land.Or will the Trojan and the Tyrian lineIn lasting leagues and sure succession join?But you, the partner of his bed and throne,May move his mind; my wishes are your own.”
“Mine,” said imperial Juno, “be the care;Time urges, now, to perfect this affair:Attend my counsel, and the secret share.When next the Sun his rising light displays,And gilds the world below with purple rays,The queen, Aeneas, and the Tyrian courtShall to the shady woods, for sylvan game, resort.There, while the huntsmen pitch their toils around,And cheerful horns from side to side resound,A pitchy cloud shall cover all the plainWith hail, and thunder, and tempestuous rain;The fearful train shall take their speedy flight,Dispers’d, and all involv’d in gloomy night;One cave a grateful shelter shall affordTo the fair princess and the Trojan lord.I will myself the bridal bed prepare,If you, to bless the nuptials, will be there:So shall their loves be crown’d with due delights,And Hymen shall be present at the rites.”The Queen of Love consents, and closely smilesAt her vain project, and discover’d wiles.
