BOOK I

 THE ARGUMENT.


      The Trojans, after a seven years voyage, set sail for Italy, but
      are overtaken by a dreadful storm, which Aeolus raises at the
      request of Juno. The tempest sinks one, and scatters the rest.
      Neptune drives off the winds, and calms the sea. Aeneas, with his
      own ship and six more, arrives safe at an African port. Venus
      complains to Jupiter of her sons misfortunes. Jupiter comforts
      her, and sends Mercury to procure him a kind reception among the
      Carthaginians. Aeneas, going out to discover the country, meets
      his mother in the shape of a huntress, who conveys him in a cloud
      to Carthage, where he sees his friends whom he thought lost, and
      receives a kind entertainment from the queen. Dido, by device of
      Venus, begins to have a passion for him, and, after some
      discourse with him, desires the history of his adventures since
      the siege of Troy, which is the subject of the two following
      books.


      Arms, and the man I sing, who, forcd by fate,
      And haughty Junos unrelenting hate,
      Expelld and exild, left the Trojan shore.
      Long labours, both by sea and land, he bore,
      And in the doubtful war, before he won
      The Latian realm, and built the destind town;
      His banishd gods restord to rites divine,
      And settled sure succession in his line,
      From whence the race of Alban fathers come,
      And the long glories of majestic Rome.
      O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
      What goddess was provokd, and whence her hate;
      For what offence the Queen of Heavn began
      To persecute so brave, so just a man;
      Involvd his anxious life in endless cares,
      Exposd to wants, and hurried into wars!
      Can heavnly minds such high resentment show,
      Or exercise their spite in human woe?

      Against the Tibers mouth, but far away,
      An ancient town was seated on the sea;
      A Tyrian colony; the people made
      Stout for the war, and studious of their trade:
      Carthage the name; belovd by Juno more
      Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore.
      Here stood her chariot; here, if Heavn were kind,
      The seat of awful empire she designd.
      Yet she had heard an ancient rumour fly,
      (Long cited by the people of the sky,)
      That times to come should see the Trojan race
      Her Carthage ruin, and her towrs deface;
      Nor thus confind, the yoke of sovreign sway
      Should on the necks of all the nations lay.
      She ponderd this, and feard it was in fate;
      Nor could forget the war she wagd of late
      For conquring Greece against the Trojan state.
      Besides, long causes working in her mind,
      And secret seeds of envy, lay behind;
      Deep graven in her heart the doom remaind
      Of partial Paris, and her form disdaind;
      The grace bestowd on ravishd Ganymed,
      Electras glories, and her injurd bed.
      Each was a cause alone; and all combind
      To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.
      For this, far distant from the Latian coast
      She drove the remnants of the Trojan host;
      And sevn long years th unhappy wandring train
      Were tossd by storms, and scatterd thro the main.
      Such time, such toil, requird the Roman name,
      Such length of labour for so vast a frame.

      Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars,
      Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores,
      Entring with cheerful shouts the watry reign,
      And plowing frothy furrows in the main;
      When, labring still with endless discontent,
      The Queen of Heavn did thus her fury vent:

      Then am I vanquishd? must I yield? said she,
      And must the Trojans reign in Italy?
      So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force;
      Nor can my powr divert their happy course.
      Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen,
      The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?
      She, for the fault of one offending foe,
      The bolts of Jove himself presumd to throw:
      With whirlwinds from beneath she tossd the ship,
      And bare exposd the bosom of the deep;
      Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game,
      The wretch, yet hissing with her fathers flame,
      She strongly seizd, and with a burning wound
      Transfixd, and naked, on a rock she bound.
      But I, who walk in awful state above,
      The majesty of heavn, the sister wife of Jove,
      For length of years my fruitless force employ
      Against the thin remains of ruind Troy!
      What nations now to Junos powr will pray,
      Or offrings on my slighted altars lay?

      Thus ragd the goddess; and, with fury fraught.
      The restless regions of the storms she sought,
      Where, in a spacious cave of living stone,
      The tyrant Aeolus, from his airy throne,
      With powr imperial curbs the struggling winds,
      And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds.
      This way and that th impatient captives tend,
      And, pressing for release, the mountains rend.
      High in his hall th undaunted monarch stands,
      And shakes his scepter, and their rage commands;
      Which did he not, their unresisted sway
      Would sweep the world before them in their way;
      Earth, air, and seas thro empty space would roll,
      And heavn would fly before the driving soul.
      In fear of this, the Father of the Gods
      Confind their fury to those dark abodes,
      And lockd em safe within, oppressd with mountain loads;
      Imposd a king, with arbitrary sway,
      To loose their fetters, or their force allay.
      To whom the suppliant queen her prayrs addressd,
      And thus the tenor of her suit expressd:

      O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heavn
      The powr of tempests and of winds has givn;
      Thy force alone their fury can restrain,
      And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main.
      A race of wandring slaves, abhorrd by me,
      With prosprous passage cut the Tuscan sea;
      To fruitful Italy their course they steer,
      And for their vanquishd gods design new temples there.
      Raise all thy winds; with night involve the skies;
      Sink or disperse my fatal enemies.
      Twice sevn, the charming daughters of the main,
      Around my person wait, and bear my train:
      Succeed my wish, and second my design;
      The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine,
      And make thee father of a happy line.

      To this the god: Tis yours, O queen, to will
      The work which duty binds me to fulfil.
      These airy kingdoms, and this wide command,
      Are all the presents of your bounteous hand:
      Yours is my sovreigns grace; and, as your guest,
      I sit with gods at their celestial feast;
      Raise tempests at your pleasure, or subdue;
      Dispose of empire, which I hold from you.

      He said, and hurld against the mountain side
      His quivring spear, and all the god applied.
      The raging winds rush thro the hollow wound,
      And dance aloft in air, and skim along the ground;
      Then, settling on the sea, the surges sweep,
      Raise liquid mountains, and disclose the deep.
      South, East, and West with mixd confusion roar,
      And roll the foaming billows to the shore.
      The cables crack; the sailors fearful cries
      Ascend; and sable night involves the skies;
      And heavn itself is ravishd from their eyes.
      Loud peals of thunder from the poles ensue;
      Then flashing fires the transient light renew;
      The face of things a frightful image bears,
      And present death in various forms appears.
      Struck with unusual fright, the Trojan chief,
      With lifted hands and eyes, invokes relief;
      And, Thrice and four times happy those, he cried,
      That under Ilian walls before their parents died!
      Tydides, bravest of the Grecian train!
      Why could not I by that strong arm be slain,
      And lie by noble Hector on the plain,
      Or great Sarpedon, in those bloody fields
      Where Simois rolls the bodies and the shields
      Of heroes, whose dismemberd hands yet bear
      The dart aloft, and clench the pointed spear!

      Thus while the pious prince his fate bewails,
      Fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails,
      And rent the sheets; the raging billows rise,
      And mount the tossing vessels to the skies:
      Nor can the shivring oars sustain the blow;
      The galley gives her side, and turns her prow;
      While those astern, descending down the steep,
      Thro gaping waves behold the boiling deep.
      Three ships were hurried by the southern blast,
      And on the secret shelves with fury cast.
      Those hidden rocks th Ausonian sailors knew:
      They calld them Altars, when they rose in view,
      And showd their spacious backs above the flood.
      Three more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood,
      Dashd on the shallows of the moving sand,
      And in mid ocean left them moord a-land.
      Orontes bark, that bore the Lycian crew,
      (A horrid sight!) evn in the heros view,
      From stem to stern by waves was overborne:
      The trembling pilot, from his rudder torn,
      Was headlong hurld; thrice round the ship was tossd,
      Then bulgd at once, and in the deep was lost;
      And here and there above the waves were seen
      Arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men.
      The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way,
      And suckd thro loosend planks the rushing sea.
      Ilioneus was her chief: Alethes old,
      Achates faithful, Abas young and bold,
      Endurd not less; their ships, with gaping seams,
      Admit the deluge of the briny streams.

      Meantime imperial Neptune heard the sound
      Of raging billows breaking on the ground.
      Displeasd, and fearing for his watry reign,
      He reard his awful head above the main,
      Serene in majesty; then rolld his eyes
      Around the space of earth, and seas, and skies.
      He saw the Trojan fleet dispersd, distressd,
      By stormy winds and wintry heavn oppressd.
      Full well the god his sisters envy knew,
      And what her aims and what her arts pursue.
      He summond Eurus and the western blast,
      And first an angry glance on both he cast;
      Then thus rebukd: Audacious winds! from whence
      This bold attempt, this rebel insolence?
      Is it for you to ravage seas and land,
      Unauthorizd by my supreme command?
      To raise such mountains on the troubled main?
      Whom Ibut first tis fit the billows to restrain;
      And then you shall be taught obedience to my reign.
      Hence! to your lord my royal mandate bear,
      The realms of ocean and the fields of air
      Are mine, not his. By fatal lot to me
      The liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea.
      His powr to hollow caverns is confind:
      There let him reign, the jailer of the wind,
      With hoarse commands his breathing subjects call,
      And boast and bluster in his empty hall.
      He spoke; and, while he spoke, he smoothd the sea,
      Dispelld the darkness, and restord the day.
      Cymothoe, Triton, and the sea-green train
      Of beauteous nymphs, the daughters of the main,
      Clear from the rocks the vessels with their hands:
      The god himself with ready trident stands,
      And opes the deep, and spreads the moving sands;
      Then heaves them off the shoals. Whereer he guides
      His finny coursers and in triumph rides,
      The waves unruffle and the sea subsides.
      As, when in tumults rise th ignoble crowd,
      Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud;
      And stones and brands in rattling volleys fly,
      And all the rustic arms that fury can supply:
      If then some grave and pious man appear,
      They hush their noise, and lend a listning ear;
      He soothes with sober words their angry mood,
      And quenches their innate desire of blood:
      So, when the Father of the Flood appears,
      And oer the seas his sovreign trident rears,
      Their fury falls: he skims the liquid plains,
      High on his chariot, and, with loosend reins,
      Majestic moves along, and awful peace maintains.
      The weary Trojans ply their shatterd oars
      To nearest land, and make the Libyan shores.

      Within a long recess there lies a bay:
      An island shades it from the rolling sea,
      And forms a port secure for ships to ride;
      Broke by the jutting land, on either side,
      In double streams the briny waters glide.
      Betwixt two rows of rocks a sylvan scene
      Appears above, and groves for ever green:
      A grot is formd beneath, with mossy seats,
      To rest the Nereids, and exclude the heats.
      Down thro the crannies of the living walls
      The crystal streams descend in murmring falls:
      No haulsers need to bind the vessels here,
      Nor bearded anchors; for no storms they fear.
      Sevn ships within this happy harbour meet,
      The thin remainders of the scatterd fleet.
      The Trojans, worn with toils, and spent with woes,
      Leap on the welcome land, and seek their wishd repose.

      First, good Achates, with repeated strokes
      Of clashing flints, their hidden fire provokes:
      Short flame succeeds; a bed of witherd leaves
      The dying sparkles in their fall receives:
      Caught into life, in fiery fumes they rise,
      And, fed with stronger food, invade the skies.
      The Trojans, dropping wet, or stand around
      The cheerful blaze, or lie along the ground:
      Some dry their corn, infected with the brine,
      Then grind with marbles, and prepare to dine.
      Aeneas climbs the mountains airy brow,
      And takes a prospect of the seas below,
      If Capys thence, or Antheus he could spy,
      Or see the streamers of Caicus fly.
      No vessels were in view; but, on the plain,
      Three beamy stags command a lordly train
      Of branching heads: the more ignoble throng
      Attend their stately steps, and slowly graze along.
      He stood; and, while secure they fed below,
      He took the quiver and the trusty bow
      Achates usd to bear: the leaders first
      He laid along, and then the vulgar piercd;
      Nor ceasd his arrows, till the shady plain
      Sevn mighty bodies with their blood distain.
      For the sevn ships he made an equal share,
      And to the port returnd, triumphant from the war.
      The jars of genrous wine (Acestes gift,
      When his Trinacrian shores the navy left)
      He set abroach, and for the feast prepard,
      In equal portions with the venson shard.
      Thus while he dealt it round, the pious chief
      With cheerful words allayd the common grief:
      Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon dispose
      To future good our past and present woes.
      With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;
      Th inhuman Cyclops and his den defied.
      What greater ills hereafter can you bear?
      Resume your courage and dismiss your care,
      An hour will come, with pleasure to relate
      Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.
      Thro various hazards and events, we move
      To Latium and the realms foredoomd by Jove.
      Calld to the seat (the promise of the skies)
      Where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise,
      Endure the hardships of your present state;
      Live, and reserve yourselves for better fate.

      These words he spoke, but spoke not from his heart;
      His outward smiles conceald his inward smart.
      The jolly crew, unmindful of the past,
      The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste.
      Some strip the skin; some portion out the spoil;
      The limbs, yet trembling, in the caldrons boil;
      Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil.
      Stretchd on the grassy turf, at ease they dine,
      Restore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with
      wine.
      Their hunger thus appeasd, their care attends
      The doubtful fortune of their absent friends:
      Alternate hopes and fears their minds possess,
      Whether to deem em dead, or in distress.
      Above the rest, Aeneas mourns the fate
      Of brave Orontes, and th uncertain state
      Of Gyas, Lycus, and of Amycus.
      The day, but not their sorrows, ended thus.

      When, from aloft, almighty Jove surveys
      Earth, air, and shores, and navigable seas,
      At length on Libyan realms he fixd his eyes:
      Whom, pondring thus on human miseries,
      When Venus saw, she with a lowly look,
      Not free from tears, her heavnly sire bespoke:

      O King of Gods and Men! whose awful hand
      Disperses thunder on the seas and land,
      Disposing all with absolute command;
      How could my pious son thy powr incense?
      Or what, alas! is vanishd Troys offence?
      Our hope of Italy not only lost,
      On various seas by various tempests tossd,
      But shut from evry shore, and barrd from evry coast.
      You promisd once, a progeny divine
      Of Romans, rising from the Trojan line,
      In after times should hold the world in awe,
      And to the land and ocean give the law.
      How is your doom reversd, which easd my care
      When Troy was ruind in that cruel war?
      Then fates to fates I could oppose; but now,
      When Fortune still pursues her former blow,
      What can I hope? What worse can still succeed?
      What end of labours has your will decreed?
      Antenor, from the midst of Grecian hosts,
      Could pass secure, and pierce th Illyrian coasts,
      Where, rolling down the steep, Timavus raves
      And thro nine channels disembogues his waves.
      At length he founded Paduas happy seat,
      And gave his Trojans a secure retreat;
      There fixd their arms, and there renewd their name,
      And there in quiet rules, and crownd with fame.
      But we, descended from your sacred line,
      Entitled to your heavn and rites divine,
      Are banishd earth; and, for the wrath of one,
      Removd from Latium and the promisd throne.
      Are these our scepters? these our due rewards?
      And is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards?

      To whom the Father of th immortal race,
      Smiling with that serene indulgent face,
      With which he drives the clouds and clears the skies,
      First gave a holy kiss; then thus replies:

      Daughter, dismiss thy fears; to thy desire
      The fates of thine are fixd, and stand entire.
      Thou shalt behold thy wishd Lavinian walls;
      And, ripe for heavn, when fate Aeneas calls,
      Then shalt thou bear him up, sublime, to me:
      No councils have reversd my firm decree.
      And, lest new fears disturb thy happy state,
      Know, I have searchd the mystic rolls of Fate:
      Thy son (nor is th appointed season far)
      In Italy shall wage successful war,
      Shall tame fierce nations in the bloody field,
      And sovreign laws impose, and cities build,
      Till, after evry foe subdued, the sun
      Thrice thro the signs his annual race shall run:
      This is his time prefixd. Ascanius then,
      Now calld Iulus, shall begin his reign.
      He thirty rolling years the crown shall wear,
      Then from Lavinium shall the seat transfer,
      And, with hard labour, Alba Longa build.
      The throne with his succession shall be filld
      Three hundred circuits more: then shall be seen
      Ilia the fair, a priestess and a queen,
      Who, full of Mars, in time, with kindly throes,
      Shall at a birth two goodly boys disclose.
      The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain:
      Then Romulus his grandsires throne shall gain,
      Of martial towrs the founder shall become,
      The people Romans call, the city Rome.
      To them no bounds of empire I assign,
      Nor term of years to their immortal line.
      Evn haughty Juno, who, with endless broils,
      Earth, seas, and heavn, and Jove himself turmoils;
      At length atond, her friendly powr shall join,
      To cherish and advance the Trojan line.
      The subject world shall Romes dominion own,
      And, prostrate, shall adore the nation of the gown.
      An age is ripening in revolving fate
      When Troy shall overturn the Grecian state,
      And sweet revenge her conquring sons shall call,
      To crush the people that conspird her fall.
      Then Caesar from the Julian stock shall rise,
      Whose empire ocean, and whose fame the skies
      Alone shall bound; whom, fraught with eastern spoils,
      Our heavn, the just reward of human toils,
      Securely shall repay with rites divine;
      And incense shall ascend before his sacred shrine.
      Then dire debate and impious war shall cease,
      And the stern age be softend into peace:
      Then banishd Faith shall once again return,
      And Vestal fires in hallowd temples burn;
      And Remus with Quirinus shall sustain
      The righteous laws, and fraud and force restrain.
      Janus himself before his fane shall wait,
      And keep the dreadful issues of his gate,
      With bolts and iron bars: within remains
      Imprisond Fury, bound in brazen chains;
      High on a trophy raisd, of useless arms,
      He sits, and threats the world with vain alarms.

      He said, and sent Cyllenius with command
      To free the ports, and ope the Punic land
      To Trojan guests; lest, ignorant of fate,
      The queen might force them from her town and state.
      Down from the steep of heavn Cyllenius flies,
      And cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies.
      Soon on the Libyan shore descends the god,
      Performs his message, and displays his rod:
      The surly murmurs of the people cease;
      And, as the fates requird, they give the peace:
      The queen herself suspends the rigid laws,
      The Trojans pities, and protects their cause.

      Meantime, in shades of night Aeneas lies:
      Care seizd his soul, and sleep forsook his eyes.
      But, when the sun restord the cheerful day,
      He rose, the coast and country to survey,
      Anxious and eager to discover more.
      It lookd a wild uncultivated shore;
      But, whether humankind, or beasts alone
      Possessd the new-found region, was unknown.
      Beneath a ledge of rocks his fleet he hides:
      Tall trees surround the mountains shady sides;
      The bending brow above a safe retreat provides.
      Armd with two pointed darts, he leaves his friends,
      And true Achates on his steps attends.
      Lo! in the deep recesses of the wood,
      Before his eyes his goddess mother stood:
      A huntress in her habit and her mien;
      Her dress a maid, her air confessd a queen.
      Bare were her knees, and knots her garments bind;
      Loose was her hair, and wantond in the wind;
      Her hand sustaind a bow; her quiver hung behind.
      She seemd a virgin of the Spartan blood:
      With such array Harpalyce bestrode
      Her Thracian courser and outstrippd the rapid flood.
      Ho, strangers! have you lately seen, she said,
      One of my sisters, like myself arrayd,
      Who crossd the lawn, or in the forest strayd?
      A painted quiver at her back she bore;
      Varied with spots, a lynxs hide she wore;
      And at full cry pursued the tusky boar.

      Thus Venus: thus her son replied again:
      None of your sisters have we heard or seen,
      O virgin! or what other name you bear
      Above that style; O more than mortal fair!
      Your voice and mien celestial birth betray!
      If, as you seem, the sister of the day,
      Or one at least of chaste Dianas train,
      Let not an humble suppliant sue in vain;
      But tell a stranger, long in tempests tossd,
      What earth we tread, and who commands the coast?
      Then on your name shall wretched mortals call,
      And offerd victims at your altars fall.
      I dare not, she replied, assume the name
      Of goddess, or celestial honours claim:
      For Tyrian virgins bows and quivers bear,
      And purple buskins oer their ankles wear.
      Know, gentle youth, in Libyan lands you are:
      A people rude in peace, and rough in war.
      The rising city, which from far you see,
      Is Carthage, and a Tyrian colony.
      Phoenician Dido rules the growing state,
      Who fled from Tyre, to shun her brothers hate.
      Great were her wrongs, her story full of fate;
      Which I will sum in short. Sichaeus, known
      For wealth, and brother to the Punic throne,
      Possessd fair Didos bed; and either heart
      At once was wounded with an equal dart.
      Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid;
      Pygmalion then the Tyrian scepter swayd:
      One who condemnd divine and human laws.
      Then strife ensued, and cursed gold the cause.
      The monarch, blinded with desire of wealth,
      With steel invades his brothers life by stealth;
      Before the sacred altar made him bleed,
      And long from her conceald the cruel deed.
      Some tale, some new pretence, he daily coind,
      To soothe his sister, and delude her mind.
      At length, in dead of night, the ghost appears
      Of her unhappy lord: the spectre stares,
      And, with erected eyes, his bloody bosom bares.
      The cruel altars and his fate he tells,
      And the dire secret of his house reveals,
      Then warns the widow, with her household gods,
      To seek a refuge in remote abodes.
      Last, to support her in so long a way,
      He shows her where his hidden treasure lay.
      Admonishd thus, and seizd with mortal fright,
      The queen provides companions of her flight:
      They meet, and all combine to leave the state,
      Who hate the tyrant, or who fear his hate.
      They seize a fleet, which ready riggd they find;
      Nor is Pygmalions treasure left behind.
      The vessels, heavy laden, put to sea
      With prosprous winds; a woman leads the way.
      I know not, if by stress of weather drivn,
      Or was their fatal course disposd by Heavn;
      At last they landed, where from far your eyes
      May view the turrets of new Carthage rise;
      There bought a space of ground, which Byrsa calld,
      From the bulls hide, they first inclosd, and walld.
      But whence are you? what country claims your birth?
      What seek you, strangers, on our Libyan earth?

      To whom, with sorrow streaming from his eyes,
      And deeply sighing, thus her son replies:
      Could you with patience hear, or I relate,
      O nymph, the tedious annals of our fate!
      Thro such a train of woes if I should run,
      The day would sooner than the tale be done!
      From ancient Troy, by force expelld, we came,
      If you by chance have heard the Trojan name.
      On various seas by various tempests tossd,
      At length we landed on your Libyan coast.
      The good Aeneas am I calld, a name,
      While Fortune favourd, not unknown to fame.
      My household gods, companions of my woes,
      With pious care I rescued from our foes.
      To fruitful Italy my course was bent;
      And from the King of Heavn is my descent.
      With twice ten sail I crossd the Phrygian sea;
      Fate and my mother goddess led my way.
      Scarce sevn, the thin remainders of my fleet,
      From storms preservd, within your harbour meet.
      Myself distressd, an exile, and unknown,
      Debarrd from Europe, and from Asia thrown,
      In Libyan deserts wander thus alone.

      His tender parent could no longer bear;
      But, interposing, sought to soothe his care.
      Whoeer you are, not unbelovd by Heavn,
      Since on our friendly shore your ships are drivn:
      Have courage: to the gods permit the rest,
      And to the queen expose your just request.
      Now take this earnest of success, for more:
      Your scatterd fleet is joind upon the shore;
      The winds are changd, your friends from danger free;
      Or I renounce my skill in augury.
      Twelve swans behold in beauteous order move,
      And stoop with closing pinions from above;
      Whom late the bird of Jove had drivn along,
      And thro the clouds pursued the scattring throng:
      Now, all united in a goodly team,
      They skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream.
      As they, with joy returning, clap their wings,
      And ride the circuit of the skies in rings;
      Not otherwise your ships, and evry friend,
      Already hold the port, or with swift sails descend.
      No more advice is needful; but pursue
      The path before you, and the town in view.

      Thus having said, she turnd, and made appear
      Her neck refulgent, and disheveld hair,
      Which, flowing from her shoulders, reachd the ground.
      And widely spread ambrosial scents around:
      In length of train descends her sweeping gown;
      And, by her graceful walk, the Queen of Love is known.
      The prince pursued the parting deity
      With words like these: Ah! whither do you fly?
      Unkind and cruel! to deceive your son
      In borrowd shapes, and his embrace to shun;
      Never to bless my sight, but thus unknown;
      And still to speak in accents not your own.
      Against the goddess these complaints he made,
      But took the path, and her commands obeyd.
      They march, obscure; for Venus kindly shrouds
      With mists their persons, and involves in clouds,
      That, thus unseen, their passage none might stay,
      Or force to tell the causes of their way.
      This part performd, the goddess flies sublime
      To visit Paphos and her native clime;
      Where garlands, ever green and ever fair,
      With vows are offerd, and with solemn prayr:
      A hundred altars in her temple smoke;
      A thousand bleeding hearts her powr invoke.

      They climb the next ascent, and, looking down,
      Now at a nearer distance view the town.
      The prince with wonder sees the stately towrs,
      Which late were huts and shepherds homely bowrs,
      The gates and streets; and hears, from evry part,
      The noise and busy concourse of the mart.
      The toiling Tyrians on each other call
      To ply their labour: some extend the wall;
      Some build the citadel; the brawny throng
      Or dig, or push unwieldly stones along.
      Some for their dwellings choose a spot of ground,
      Which, first designd, with ditches they surround.
      Some laws ordain; and some attend the choice
      Of holy senates, and elect by voice.
      Here some design a mole, while others there
      Lay deep foundations for a theatre;
      From marble quarries mighty columns hew,
      For ornaments of scenes, and future view.
      Such is their toil, and such their busy pains,
      As exercise the bees in flowry plains,
      When winter past, and summer scarce begun,
      Invites them forth to labour in the sun;
      Some lead their youth abroad, while some condense
      Their liquid store, and some in cells dispense;
      Some at the gate stand ready to receive
      The golden burthen, and their friends relieve;
      All with united force, combine to drive
      The lazy drones from the laborious hive:
      With envy stung, they view each others deeds;
      The fragrant work with diligence proceeds.
      Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!
      Aeneas said, and viewd, with lifted eyes,
      Their lofty towrs; then, entring at the gate,
      Conceald in clouds (prodigious to relate)
      He mixd, unmarkd, among the busy throng,
      Borne by the tide, and passd unseen along.

      Full in the centre of the town there stood,
      Thick set with trees, a venerable wood.
      The Tyrians, landing near this holy ground,
      And digging here, a prosprous omen found:
      From under earth a coursers head they drew,
      Their growth and future fortune to foreshew.
      This fated sign their foundress Juno gave,
      Of a soil fruitful, and a people brave.
      Sidonian Dido here with solemn state
      Did Junos temple build, and consecrate,
      Enrichd with gifts, and with a golden shrine;
      But more the goddess made the place divine.
      On brazen steps the marble threshold rose,
      And brazen plates the cedar beams inclose:
      The rafters are with brazen covrings crownd;
      The lofty doors on brazen hinges sound.
      What first Aeneas in this place beheld,
      Revivd his courage, and his fear expelld.
      For while, expecting there the queen, he raisd
      His wondring eyes, and round the temple gazd,
      Admird the fortune of the rising town,
      The striving artists, and their arts renown;
      He saw, in order painted on the wall,
      Whatever did unhappy Troy befall:
      The wars that fame around the world had blown,
      All to the life, and evry leader known.
      There Agamemnon, Priam here, he spies,
      And fierce Achilles, who both kings defies.
      He stoppd, and weeping said: O friend! evn here
      The monuments of Trojan woes appear!
      Our known disasters fill evn foreign lands:
      See there, where old unhappy Priam stands!
      Evn the mute walls relate the warriors fame,
      And Trojan griefs the Tyrians pity claim.
      He said, his tears a ready passage find,
      Devouring what he saw so well designd,
      And with an empty picture fed his mind:
      For there he saw the fainting Grecians yield,
      And here the trembling Trojans quit the field,
      Pursued by fierce Achilles thro the plain,
      On his high chariot driving oer the slain.
      The tents of Rhesus next, his grief renew,
      By their white sails betrayd to nightly view;
      And wakeful Diomede, whose cruel sword
      The sentries slew, nor spard their slumbring lord,
      Then took the fiery steeds, ere yet the food
      Of Troy they taste, or drink the Xanthian flood.
      Elsewhere he saw where Troilus defied
      Achilles, and unequal combat tried;
      Then, where the boy disarmd, with loosend reins,
      Was by his horses hurried oer the plains,
      Hung by the neck and hair, and draggd around:
      The hostile spear, yet sticking in his wound,
      With tracks of blood inscribd the dusty ground.
      Meantime the Trojan dames, oppressd with woe,
      To Pallas fane in long procession go,
      In hopes to reconcile their heavnly foe.
      They weep, they beat their breasts, they rend their hair,
      And rich embroiderd vests for presents bear;
      But the stern goddess stands unmovd with prayr.
      Thrice round the Trojan walls Achilles drew
      The corpse of Hector, whom in fight he slew.
      Here Priam sues; and there, for sums of gold,
      The lifeless body of his son is sold.
      So sad an object, and so well expressd,
      Drew sighs and groans from the grievd heros breast,
      To see the figure of his lifeless friend,
      And his old sire his helpless hand extend.
      Himself he saw amidst the Grecian train,
      Mixd in the bloody battle on the plain;
      And swarthy Memnon in his arms he knew,
      His pompous ensigns, and his Indian crew.
      Penthisilea there, with haughty grace,
      Leads to the wars an Amazonian race:
      In their right hands a pointed dart they wield;
      The left, for ward, sustains the lunar shield.
      Athwart her breast a golden belt she throws,
      Amidst the press alone provokes a thousand foes,
      And dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose.

      Thus while the Trojan prince employs his eyes,
      Fixd on the walls with wonder and surprise,
      The beauteous Dido, with a numrous train
      And pomp of guards, ascends the sacred fane.
      Such on Eurotas banks, or Cynthus height,
      Diana seems; and so she charms the sight,
      When in the dance the graceful goddess leads
      The choir of nymphs, and overtops their heads:
      Known by her quiver, and her lofty mien,
      She walks majestic, and she looks their queen;
      Latona sees her shine above the rest,
      And feeds with secret joy her silent breast.
      Such Dido was; with such becoming state,
      Amidst the crowd, she walks serenely great.
      Their labour to her future sway she speeds,
      And passing with a gracious glance proceeds;
      Then mounts the throne, high placd before the shrine:
      In crowds around, the swarming people join.
      She takes petitions, and dispenses laws,
      Hears and determines evry private cause;
      Their tasks in equal portions she divides,
      And, where unequal, there by lots decides.
      Another way by chance Aeneas bends
      His eyes, and unexpected sees his friends,
      Antheus, Sergestus grave, Cloanthus strong,
      And at their backs a mighty Trojan throng,
      Whom late the tempest on the billows tossd,
      And widely scatterd on another coast.
      The prince, unseen, surprisd with wonder stands,
      And longs, with joyful haste, to join their hands;
      But, doubtful of the wishd event, he stays,
      And from the hollow cloud his friends surveys,
      Impatient till they told their present state,
      And where they left their ships, and what their fate,
      And why they came, and what was their request;
      For these were sent, commissiond by the rest,
      To sue for leave to land their sickly men,
      And gain admission to the gracious queen.
      Entring, with cries they filld the holy fane;
      Then thus, with lowly voice, Ilioneus began:

      O Queen! indulgd by favour of the gods
      To found an empire in these new abodes,
      To build a town, with statutes to restrain
      The wild inhabitants beneath thy reign,
      We wretched Trojans, tossd on evry shore,
      From sea to sea, thy clemency implore.
      Forbid the fires our shipping to deface!
      Receive th unhappy fugitives to grace,
      And spare the remnant of a pious race!
      We come not with design of wasteful prey,
      To drive the country, force the swains away:
      Nor such our strength, nor such is our desire;
      The vanquishd dare not to such thoughts aspire.
      A land there is, Hesperia namd of old;
      The soil is fruitful, and the men are bold
      Th Oenotrians held it once, by common fame
      Now calld Italia, from the leaders name.
      To that sweet region was our voyage bent,
      When winds and evry warring element
      Disturbd our course, and, far from sight of land,
      Cast our torn vessels on the moving sand:
      The sea came on; the South, with mighty roar,
      Dispersd and dashd the rest upon the rocky shore.
      Those few you see escapd the storm, and fear,
      Unless you interpose, a shipwreck here.
      What men, what monsters, what inhuman race,
      What laws, what barbrous customs of the place,
      Shut up a desert shore to drowning men,
      And drive us to the cruel seas again?
      If our hard fortune no compassion draws,
      Nor hospitable rights, nor human laws,
      The gods are just, and will revenge our cause.
      Aeneas was our prince: a juster lord,
      Or nobler warrior, never drew a sword;
      Observant of the right, religious of his word.
      If yet he lives, and draws this vital air,
      Nor we, his friends, of safety shall despair;
      Nor you, great queen, these offices repent,
      Which he will equal, and perhaps augment.
      We want not cities, nor Sicilian coasts,
      Where King Acestes Trojan lineage boasts.
      Permit our ships a shelter on your shores,
      Refitted from your woods with planks and oars,
      That, if our prince be safe, we may renew
      Our destind course, and Italy pursue.
      But if, O best of men, the Fates ordain
      That thou art swallowd in the Libyan main,
      And if our young Iulus be no more,
      Dismiss our navy from your friendly shore,
      That we to good Acestes may return,
      And with our friends our common losses mourn.
      Thus spoke Ilioneus: the Trojan crew
      With cries and clamours his request renew.

      The modest queen a while, with downcast eyes,
      Ponderd the speech; then briefly thus replies:
      Trojans, dismiss your fears; my cruel fate,
      And doubts attending an unsettled state,
      Force me to guard my coast from foreign foes.
      Who has not heard the story of your woes,
      The name and fortune of your native place,
      The fame and valour of the Phrygian race?
      We Tyrians are not so devoid of sense,
      Nor so remote from Phoebus influence.
      Whether to Latian shores your course is bent,
      Or, drivn by tempests from your first intent,
      You seek the good Acestes government,
      Your men shall be receivd, your fleet repaird,
      And sail, with ships of convoy for your guard:
      Or, would you stay, and join your friendly powrs
      To raise and to defend the Tyrian towrs,
      My wealth, my city, and myself are yours.
      And would to Heavn, the Storm, you felt, would bring
      On Carthaginian coasts your wandring king.
      My people shall, by my command, explore
      The ports and creeks of evry winding shore,
      And towns, and wilds, and shady woods, in quest
      Of so renownd and so desird a guest.

      Raisd in his mind the Trojan hero stood,
      And longd to break from out his ambient cloud:
      Achates found it, and thus urgd his way:
      From whence, O goddess-born, this long delay?
      What more can you desire, your welcome sure,
      Your fleet in safety, and your friends secure?
      One only wants; and him we saw in vain
      Oppose the Storm, and swallowd in the main.
      Orontes in his fate our forfeit paid;
      The rest agrees with what your mother said.
      Scarce had he spoken, when the cloud gave way,
      The mists flew upward and dissolvd in day.

      The Trojan chief appeard in open sight,
      August in visage, and serenely bright.
      His mother goddess, with her hands divine,
      Had formd his curling locks, and made his temples shine,
      And givn his rolling eyes a sparkling grace,
      And breathd a youthful vigour on his face;
      Like polishd ivory, beauteous to behold,
      Or Parian marble, when enchasd in gold:
      Thus radiant from the circling cloud he broke,
      And thus with manly modesty he spoke:

      He whom you seek am I; by tempests tossd,
      And savd from shipwreck on your Libyan coast;
      Presenting, gracious queen, before your throne,
      A prince that owes his life to you alone.
      Fair majesty, the refuge and redress
      Of those whom fate pursues, and wants oppress,
      You, who your pious offices employ
      To save the relics of abandond Troy;
      Receive the shipwreckd on your friendly shore,
      With hospitable rites relieve the poor;
      Associate in your town a wandring train,
      And strangers in your palace entertain:
      What thanks can wretched fugitives return,
      Who, scatterd thro the world, in exile mourn?
      The gods, if gods to goodness are inclind;
      If acts of mercy touch their heavnly mind,
      And, more than all the gods, your genrous heart.
      Conscious of worth, requite its own desert!
      In you this age is happy, and this earth,
      And parents more than mortal gave you birth.
      While rolling rivers into seas shall run,
      And round the space of heavn the radiant sun;
      While trees the mountain tops with shades supply,
      Your honour, name, and praise shall never die.
      Whateer abode my fortune has assignd,
      Your image shall be present in my mind.
      Thus having said, he turnd with pious haste,
      And joyful his expecting friends embracd:
      With his right hand Ilioneus was gracd,
      Serestus with his left; then to his breast
      Cloanthus and the noble Gyas pressd;
      And so by turns descended to the rest.

      The Tyrian queen stood fixd upon his face,
      Pleasd with his motions, ravishd with his grace;
      Admird his fortunes, more admird the man;
      Then recollected stood, and thus began:
      What fate, O goddess-born; what angry powrs
      Have cast you shipwreckd on our barren shores?
      Are you the great Aeneas, known to fame,
      Who from celestial seed your lineage claim?

      The same Aeneas whom fair Venus bore
      To famd Anchises on th Idaean shore?
      It calls into my mind, tho then a child,
      When Teucer came, from Salamis exild,
      And sought my fathers aid, to be restord:
      My father Belus then with fire and sword
      Invaded Cyprus, made the region bare,
      And, conquring, finishd the successful war.
      From him the Trojan siege I understood,
      The Grecian chiefs, and your illustrious blood.
      Your foe himself the Dardan valour praisd,
      And his own ancestry from Trojans raisd.
      Enter, my noble guest, and you shall find,
      If not a costly welcome, yet a kind:
      For I myself, like you, have been distressd,
      Till Heavn afforded me this place of rest;
      Like you, an alien in a land unknown,
      I learn to pity woes so like my own.
      She said, and to the palace led her guest;
      Then offerd incense, and proclaimd a feast.
      Nor yet less careful for her absent friends,
      Twice ten fat oxen to the ships she sends;
      Besides a hundred boars, a hundred lambs,
      With bleating cries, attend their milky dams;
      And jars of genrous wine and spacious bowls
      She gives, to cheer the sailors drooping souls.
      Now purple hangings clothe the palace walls,
      And sumptuous feasts are made in splendid halls:
      On Tyrian carpets, richly wrought, they dine;
      With loads of massy plate the sideboards shine,
      And antique vases, all of gold embossd
      (The gold itself inferior to the cost),
      Of curious work, where on the sides were seen
      The fights and figures of illustrious men,
      From their first founder to the present queen.

      The good Aeneas, whose paternal care
      Iulus absence could no longer bear,
      Dispatchd Achates to the ships in haste,
      To give a glad relation of the past,
      And, fraught with precious gifts, to bring the boy,
      Snatchd from the ruins of unhappy Troy:
      A robe of tissue, stiff with golden wire;
      An upper vest, once Helens rich attire,
      From Argos by the famd adultress brought,
      With golden flowrs and winding foliage wrought,
      Her mother Ledas present, when she came
      To ruin Troy and set the world on flame;
      The scepter Priams eldest daughter bore,
      Her orient necklace, and the crown she wore
      Of double texture, glorious to behold,
      One order set with gems, and one with gold.
      Instructed thus, the wise Achates goes,
      And in his diligence his duty shows.

      But Venus, anxious for her sons affairs,
      New counsels tries, and new designs prepares:
      That Cupid should assume the shape and face
      Of sweet Ascanius, and the sprightly grace;
      Should bring the presents, in her nephews stead,
      And in Elizas veins the gentle poison shed:
      For much she feard the Tyrians, double-tongued,
      And knew the town to Junos care belongd.
      These thoughts by night her golden slumbers broke,
      And thus alarmd, to winged Love she spoke:
      My son, my strength, whose mighty powr alone
      Controls the Thundrer on his awful throne,
      To thee thy much-afflicted mother flies,
      And on thy succour and thy faith relies.
      Thou knowst, my son, how Joves revengeful wife,
      By force and fraud, attempts thy brothers life;
      And often hast thou mournd with me his pains.
      Him Dido now with blandishment detains;
      But I suspect the town where Juno reigns.
      For this tis needful to prevent her art,
      And fire with love the proud Phoenicians heart:
      A love so violent, so strong, so sure,
      As neither age can change, nor art can cure.
      How this may be performd, now take my mind:
      Ascanius by his father is designd
      To come, with presents laden, from the port,
      To gratify the queen, and gain the court.
      I mean to plunge the boy in pleasing sleep,
      And, ravishd, in Idalian bowrs to keep,
      Or high Cythera, that the sweet deceit
      May pass unseen, and none prevent the cheat.
      Take thou his form and shape. I beg the grace
      But only for a nights revolving space:
      Thyself a boy, assume a boys dissembled face;
      That when, amidst the fervour of the feast,
      The Tyrian hugs and fonds thee on her breast,
      And with sweet kisses in her arms constrains,
      Thou mayst infuse thy venom in her veins.
      The God of Love obeys, and sets aside
      His bow and quiver, and his plumy pride;
      He walks Iulus in his mothers sight,
      And in the sweet resemblance takes delight.

      The goddess then to young Ascanius flies,
      And in a pleasing slumber seals his eyes:
      Lulld in her lap, amidst a train of Loves,
      She gently bears him to her blissful groves,
      Then with a wreath of myrtle crowns his head,
      And softly lays him on a flowry bed.
      Cupid meantime assumd his form and face,
      Follwing Achates with a shorter pace,
      And brought the gifts. The queen already sate
      Amidst the Trojan lords, in shining state,
      High on a golden bed: her princely guest
      Was next her side; in order sate the rest.
      Then canisters with bread are heapd on high;
      Th attendants water for their hands supply,
      And, having washd, with silken towels dry.
      Next fifty handmaids in long order bore
      The censers, and with fumes the gods adore:
      Then youths, and virgins twice as many, join
      To place the dishes, and to serve the wine.
      The Tyrian train, admitted to the feast,
      Approach, and on the painted couches rest.
      All on the Trojan gifts with wonder gaze,
      But view the beauteous boy with more amaze,
      His rosy-colourd cheeks, his radiant eyes,
      His motions, voice, and shape, and all the gods disguise;
      Nor pass unpraisd the vest and veil divine,
      Which wandring foliage and rich flowrs entwine.
      But, far above the rest, the royal dame,
      (Already doomd to loves disastrous flame,)
      With eyes insatiate, and tumultuous joy,
      Beholds the presents, and admires the boy.
      The guileful god about the hero long,
      With childrens play, and false embraces, hung;
      Then sought the queen: she took him to her arms
      With greedy pleasure, and devourd his charms.
      Unhappy Dido little thought what guest,
      How dire a god, she drew so near her breast;
      But he, not mindless of his mothers prayr,
      Works in the pliant bosom of the fair,
      And moulds her heart anew, and blots her former care.
      The dead is to the living love resignd;
      And all Aeneas enters in her mind.

      Now, when the rage of hunger was appeasd,
      The meat removd, and evry guest was pleasd,
      The golden bowls with sparkling wine are crownd,
      And thro the palace cheerful cries resound.
      From gilded roofs depending lamps display
      Nocturnal beams, that emulate the day.
      A golden bowl, that shone with gems divine,
      The queen commanded to be crownd with wine:
      The bowl that Belus usd, and all the Tyrian line.
      Then, silence thro the hall proclaimd, she spoke:
      O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke,
      With solemn rites, thy sacred name and powr;
      Bless to both nations this auspicious hour!
      So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line
      In lasting concord from this day combine.
      Thou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer,
      And gracious Juno, both be present here!
      And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address
      To Heavn with mine, to ratify the peace.
      The goblet then she took, with nectar crownd
      (Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,)
      And raisd it to her mouth with sober grace;
      Then, sipping, offerd to the next in place.
      Twas Bitias whom she calld, a thirsty soul;
      He took the challenge, and embracd the bowl,
      With pleasure swilld the gold, nor ceasd to draw,
      Till he the bottom of the brimmer saw.
      The goblet goes around: Iopas brought
      His golden lyre, and sung what ancient Atlas taught:
      The various labours of the wandring moon,
      And whence proceed th eclipses of the sun;
      Th original of men and beasts; and whence
      The rains arise, and fires their warmth dispense,
      And fixd and erring stars dispose their influence;
      What shakes the solid earth; what cause delays
      The summer nights and shortens winter days.
      With peals of shouts the Tyrians praise the song:
      Those peals are echod by the Trojan throng.
      Th unhappy queen with talk prolongd the night,
      And drank large draughts of love with vast delight;
      Of Priam much enquird, of Hector more;
      Then askd what arms the swarthy Memnon wore,
      What troops he landed on the Trojan shore;
      The steeds of Diomede varied the discourse,
      And fierce Achilles, with his matchless force;
      At length, as fate and her ill stars requird,
      To hear the series of the war desird.
      Relate at large, my godlike guest, she said,
      The Grecian stratagems, the town betrayd:
      The fatal issue of so long a war,
      Your flight, your wandrings, and your woes, declare;
      For, since on evry sea, on evry coast,
      Your men have been distressd, your navy tossd,
      Sevn times the sun has either tropic viewd,
      The winter banishd, and the spring renewd.