Aeneid

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!”

She said. From point to point her purpose flew,

seeking without delay to quench the flame

of her loathed life. Brief bidding she addressed

to Barce then, Sichaeus' nurse (her own

lay dust and ashes in a lonely grave

beside the Tyrian shore), “Go, nurse, and call

my sister Anna! Bid her quickly bathe

her limbs in living water, and procure

due victims for our expiating fires.

bid her make haste. Go, bind on thy own brow

the sacred fillet. For to Stygian Jove

it is my purpose now to consummate

the sacrifice ordained, ending my woe,

and touch with flame the Trojan's funeral pyre.”

The aged crone to do her bidding ran

with trembling zeal. But Dido (horror-struck

at her own dread design, unstrung with fear,

her bloodshot eyes wide-rolling, and her cheek

twitching and fever-spotted, her cold brow

blanched with approaching death)—sped past the doors

into the palace garden; there she leaped,

a frenzied creature, on the lofty pyre

and drew the Trojan's sword; a gift not asked

for use like this! When now she saw the garb

of Ilian fashion, and the nuptial couch

she knew too well, she lingered yet awhile

for memory and tears, and, falling prone

on that cold bed, outpoured a last farewell:

“Sweet relics! Ever dear when Fate and Heaven

upon me smiled, receive my parting breath,

and from my woe set free! My life is done.

I have accomplished what my lot allowed;

and now my spirit to the world of death

in royal honor goes. The founder I

of yonder noble city, I have seen

walls at my bidding rise. I was avenged

for my slain husband: I chastised the crimes

of our injurious brother. Woe is me!

Blest had I been, beyond deserving blest,

if but the Trojan galleys ne'er had moored

upon my kingdom's bound!”So saying, she pressed

one last kiss on the couch. “Though for my death

no vengeance fall, O, give me death!” she cried.

“O thus! O thus! it is my will to take

the journey to the dark. From yonder sea

may his cold Trojan eyes discern the flames

that make me ashes! Be this cruel death

his omen as he sails!” She spoke no more.

But almost ere she ceased, her maidens all

thronged to obey her cry, and found their Queen

prone fallen on the sword, the reeking steel

still in her bloody hands. Shrill clamor flew

along the lofty halls; wild rumor spread

through the whole smitten city: Ioud lament,

groans and the wail of women echoed on

from roof to roof, and to the dome of air

the noise of mourning rose. Such were the cry

if a besieging host should break the walls

of Carthage or old Tyre, and wrathful flames

o'er towers of kings and worshipped altars roll.

Her sister heard. Half in a swoon, she ran

with trembling steps, where thickest was the throng,

beating her breast, while with a desperate hand

she tore at her own face, and called aloud

upon the dying Queen. “Was it for this

my own true sister used me with such guile?

O, was this horrid deed the dire intent

of altars, Iofty couch, and funeral fires?

What shall I tell for chiefest of my woes?

Lost that I am! Why, though in death, cast off

thy sister from thy heart? Why not invite

one mortal stroke for both, a single sword,

one agony together? But these hands

built up thy pyre; and my voice implored

the blessing of our gods, who granted me

that thou shouldst perish thus—and I not know!

In thy self-slaughter, sister, thou hast slain

myself, thy people, the grave counsellors

of Sidon, and yon city thou didst build

to be thy throne!—Go, fetch me water, there!

That I may bathe those gashes! If there be

one hovering breath that stays, let my fond lips

discover and receive!” So saying, she sprang up

from stair to stair, and, clasping to her breast

her sister's dying form, moaned grievously,

and staunched the dark blood with her garment's fold.

Vainly would Dido lift her sinking eyes,

but backward fell, while at her heart the wound