Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Aeneas at the sight stood terror-dumb
- with choking voice and horror-rising hair.
- He fain would fly at once and get him gone
- from that voluptuous land, much wondering
- at Heaven's wrathful word. Alas! how stir?
- What cunning argument can plead his cause
- before th' infuriate Queen? How break such news?
- Flashing this way and that, his startled mind
- makes many a project and surveys them all.
- But, pondering well, his final counsel stopped
- at this resolve: he summoned to his side
- Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus bold,
- and bade them fit the fleet, all silently
- gathering the sailors and collecting gear,
- but carefully dissembling what emprise
- such novel stir intends: himself the while
- (Since high-born Dido dreamed not love so fond
- could have an end) would seek an audience,
- at some indulgent time, and try what shift
- such matters may require. With joy they heard,
- and wrought, assiduous, at their prince's plan.
- But what can cheat true love? The Queen foreknew
- his stratagem, and all the coming change
- perceived ere it began. Her jealous fear
- counted no hour secure. That unclean tongue
- of Rumor told her fevered heart the fleet
- was fitting forth, and hastening to be gone.
- Distractedly she raved, and passion-tossed
- roamed through her city, like a Maenad roused
- by the wild rout of Bacchus, when are heard
- the third year's orgies, and the midnight scream
- to cold Cithaeron calls the frenzied crew.
- Finding Aeneas, thus her plaint she poured:
- “Didst hope to hide it, false one, that such crime
- was in thy heart,—to steal without farewell
- out of my kingdom? Did our mutual joy
- not move thee; nor thine own true promise given
- once on a time? Nor Dido, who will die
- a death of sorrow? Why compel thy ships
- to brave the winter stars? Why off to sea
- so fast through stormy skies? O, cruelty!
- If Troy still stood, and if thou wert not bound
- for alien shore unknown, wouldst steer for Troy
- through yonder waste of waves? Is it from me
- thou takest flight? O, by these flowing tears,
- by thine own plighted word (for nothing more
- my weakness left to miserable me),
- by our poor marriage of imperfect vow,
- if aught to me thou owest, if aught in me
- ever have pleased thee—O, be merciful
- to my low-fallen fortunes! I implore,
- if place be left for prayer, thy purpose change!
- Because of thee yon Libyan savages
- and nomad chiefs are grown implacable,
- and my own Tyrians hate me. Yes, for thee
- my chastity was slain and honor fair,
- by which alone to glory I aspired,
- in former days. To whom dost thou in death
- abandon me? my guest!—since but this name
- is left me of a husband! Shall I wait
- till fell Pygmalion, my brother, raze
- my city walls? Or the Gaetulian king,
- Iarbas, chain me captive to his car? .
- O, if, ere thou hadst fled, I might but bear
- some pledge of love to thee, and in these halls
- watch some sweet babe Aeneas at his play,
- whose face should be the memory of thine own —
- I were not so forsaken, Iost, undone!”