Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Aurora's first young beams to earth were pouring
- as from Tithonus' saffron bed she sprang;
- while from her battlements the wakeful Queen
- watched the sky brighten, saw the mated sails
- push forth to sea, till all her port and strand
- held not an oar or keel. Thrice and four times
- she smote her lovely breast with wrathful hand,
- and tore her golden hair. “Great Jove,” she cries,
- “Shall that departing fugitive make mock
- of me, a queen? Will not my men-at-arms
- draw sword, give chase, from all my city thronging?
- Down from the docks, my ships! Out, out! Begone!
- Take fire and sword! Bend to your oars, ye slaves!
- What have I said? Where am I? What mad thoughts
- delude this ruined mind? Woe unto thee,
- thou wretched Dido, now thy impious deeds
- strike back upon thee. Wherefore struck they not,
- as was most fit, when thou didst fling away
- thy sceptre from thy hand? O Iying oaths!
- O faith forsworn! of him who brings, they boast,
- his father's gods along, and bowed his back
- to lift an age-worn sire! Why dared I not
- seize on him, rend his body limb from limb,
- and hurl him piecemeal on the rolling sea?
- Or put his troop of followers to the sword,
- ascanius too, and set his flesh before
- that father for a feast? Such fearful war
- had been of doubtful issue. Be it so!
- What fears a woman dying? Would I had
- attacked their camp with torches, kindled flame
- from ship to ship, until that son and sire,
- with that whole tribe, were unto ashes burned
- in one huge holocaust—myself its crown!
- Great orb of light whose holy beam surveys
- all earthly deeds! Great Juno, patroness
- of conjugal distress, who knowest all!
- Pale Hecate, whose name the witches cry
- at midnight crossways! O avenging furies!
- O gods that guard Queen Dido's dying breath!
- Give ear, and to my guiltless misery
- extend your power. Hear me what I pray!
- If it be fated that yon creature curst
- drift to the shore and happy haven find,
- if Father Iove's irrevocable word
- such goal decree—there may he be assailed
- by peoples fierce and bold. A banished man,
- from his Iulus' kisses sundered far,
- may his own eyes see miserably slain
- his kin and kind, and sue for alien arms.
- nor when he basely bows him to receive
- terms of unequal peace, shall he be blest
- with sceptre or with life; but perish there
- before his time, and lie without a grave
- upon the barren sand. For this I pray.
- This dying word is flowing from my heart
- with my spilt blood. And—O ye Tyrians! I
- sting with your hatred all his seed and tribe
- forevermore. This is the offering
- my ashes ask. Betwixt our nations twain,
- No Iove! No truce or amity! Arise,
- Out of my dust, unknown Avenger, rise!
- To harry and lay waste with sword and flame
- those Dardan settlers, and to vex them sore,
- to-day, to-morrow, and as long as power
- is thine to use! My dying curse arrays
- shore against shore and the opposing seas
- in shock of arms with arms. May living foes
- pass down from sire to son insatiate war!”