So Venus spoke, and Venus' son replied:“No voice or vision of thy sister fairhas crossed my path, thou maid without a name!Thy beauty seems not of terrestrial mould,nor is thy music mortal! Tell me, goddess,art thou bright Phoebus' sister? Or some nymph,the daughter of a god? Whate'er thou art,thy favor we implore, and potent aidin our vast toil. Instruct us of what skies,or what world's end, our storm-swept lives have found!Strange are these lands and people where we rove,compelled by wind and wave. Lo, this right handshall many a victim on thine altar slay!”

Then Venus: “Nay, I boast not to receivehonors divine. We Tyrian virgins oftbear bow and quiver, and our ankles whitelace up in purple buskin. Yonder liesthe Punic power, where Tyrian masters holdAgenor's town; but on its borders dwellthe Libyans, by battles unsubdued.Upon the throne is Dido, exiled therefrom Tyre, to flee th' unnatural enmityof her own brother. 'T was an ancient wrong;too Iong the dark and tangled tale would be;I trace the larger outline of her story:Sichreus was her spouse, whose acres broadno Tyrian lord could match, and he was-blessedby his ill-fated lady's fondest love,whose father gave him her first virgin bloomin youthful marriage. But the kingly poweramong the Tyrians to her brother came,Pygmalion, none deeper dyed in crimein all that land. Betwixt these twain there rosea deadly hatred,—and the impious wretch,blinded by greed, and reckless utterlyof his fond sister's joy, did murder foulupon defenceless and unarmed Sichaeus,and at the very altar hewed him down.Long did he hide the deed, and guilefullydeceived with false hopes, and empty words,her grief and stricken love. But as she slept,her husband's tombless ghost before her came,with face all wondrous pale, and he laid barehis heart with dagger pierced, disclosing sothe blood-stained altar and the infamythat darkened now their house. His counsel wasto fly, self-banished, from her ruined land,and for her journey's aid, he whispered wherehis buried treasure lay, a weight unknownof silver and of gold. Thus onward urged,Dido, assembling her few trusted friends,prepared her flight. There rallied to her causeall who did hate and scorn the tyrant king,or feared his cruelty. They seized his ships,which haply rode at anchor in the bay,and loaded them with gold; the hoarded wealthof vile and covetous Pygmalionthey took to sea. A woman wrought this deed.Then came they to these lands where now thine eyesbehold yon walls and yonder citadelof newly rising Carthage. For a pricethey measured round so much of Afric soilas one bull's hide encircles, and the spotreceived its name, the Byrsa. But, I pray,what men are ye? from what far land arrived,and whither going?” When she questioned thus,her son, with sighs that rose from his heart's depths,this answer gave:

“Divine one, if I tellmy woes and burdens all, and thou could'st pauseto heed the tale, first would the vesper starth' Olympian portals close, and bid the dayin slumber lie. Of ancient Troy are we—if aught of Troy thou knowest! As we rovedfrom sea to sea, the hazard of the stormcast us up hither on this Libyan coast.I am Aeneas, faithful evermoreto Heaven's command; and in my ships I bearmy gods ancestral, which I snatched awayfrom peril of the foe. My fame is knownabove the stars. I travel on in questof Italy, my true home-land, and Ifrom Jove himself may trace my birth divine.With twice ten ships upon the Phryglan mainI launched away. My mother from the skiesgave guidance, and I wrought what Fate ordained.Yet now scarce seven shattered ships survivethe shock of wind and wave; and I myselffriendless, bereft, am wandering up and downthis Libyan wilderness! Behold me here,from Europe and from Asia exiled still!”But Venus could not let him longer plain,and stopped his grief midway:

“Whoe'er thou art,I deem that not unblest of heavenly powers,with vital breath still thine, thou comest hitherunto our Tyrian town. Go steadfast on,and to the royal threshold make thy way!I bring thee tidings that thy comrades allare safe at land; and all thy ships, conveyedby favoring breezes, safe at anchor lie;or else in vain my parents gave me skillto read the skies. Look up at yonder swans!A flock of twelve, whose gayly fluttering file,erst scattered by Jove's eagle swooping downfrom his ethereal haunt, now form anewtheir long-drawn line, and make a landing-place,or, hovering over, scan some chosen ground,or soaring high, with whir of happy wings,re-circle heaven in triumphant song:likewise, I tell thee, thy Iost marinersare landed, or fly landward at full sail.Up, then! let yon plain path thy guidance be,”

She ceased and turned away. A roseate beamfrom her bright shoulder glowed; th' ambrosial hairbreathed more than mortal sweetness, while her robesfell rippling to her feet. Each step revealedthe veritable goddess. Now he knewthat vision was his mother, and his wordspursued the fading phantom as it fled:“Why is thy son deluded o'er and o'erwith mocking dreams,—another cruel god?Hast thou no hand-clasp true, nor interchangeof words unfeigned betwixt this heart and thine?”Such word of blame he spoke, and took his waytoward the city's rampart. Venus theno'erveiled them as they moved in darkened air,—a liquid mantle of thick cloud divine,—that viewless they might pass, nor would anyobstruct, delay, or question why they came.To Paphos then she soared, her Ioved abode,where stands her temple, at whose hundred shrinesgarlands of myrtle and fresh roses breathe,and clouds of orient sweetness waft away.

Meanwhile the wanderers swiftly journey onalong the clear-marked road, and soon they climbthe brow of a high hill, which close in viewo'er-towers the city's crown. The vast exploit,where lately rose but Afric cabins rude,Aeneas wondered at: the smooth, wide ways;the bastioned gates; the uproar of the throng.The Tyrians toil unwearied; some up-raisea wall or citadel, from far belowlifting the ponderous stone; or with due carechoose where to build, and close the space aroundwith sacred furrow; in their gathering-placethe people for just governors, just laws,and for their reverend senate shout acclaim.Some clear the harbor mouth; some deeply laythe base of a great theatre, and carve outproud columns from the mountain, to adorntheir rising stage with lofty ornament.so busy bees above a field of flowersin early summer amid sunbeams toil,leading abroad their nation's youthful brood;or with the flowing honey storing closethe pliant cells, until they quite run o'erwith nectared sweet; while from the entering swarmthey take their little loads; or lined for war,rout the dull drones, and chase them from the hive;brisk is the task, and all the honeyed airbreathes odors of wild thyme. “How blest of Heaven.These men that see their promised ramparts rise!”Aeneas sighed; and swift his glances movedfrom tower to tower; then on his way he fared,veiled in the wonder-cloud, whence all unseenof human eyes,—O strange the tale and true!—he threaded the thronged streets, unmarked, unknown.

Deep in the city's heart there was a groveof beauteous shade, where once the Tyrians,cast here by stormful waves, delved out of earththat portent which Queen Juno bade them find,—the head of a proud horse,—that ages longtheir boast might be wealth, luxury and war.Upon this spot Sidonian Dido raiseda spacious fane to Juno, which becamesplendid with gifts, and hallowed far and widefor potency divine. Its beams were bronze,and on loud hinges swung the brazen doors.A rare, new sight this sacred grove did show,which calmed Aeneas' fears, and made him boldto hope for safety, and with lifted heartfrom his low-fallen fortunes re-aspire.For while he waits the advent of the Queen,he scans the mighty temple, and admiresthe city's opulent pride, and all the skillits rival craftsmen in their work approve.Behold! he sees old Ilium's well-fought fieldsin sequent picture, and those famous warsnow told upon men's lips the whole world round.There Atreus' sons, there kingly Priam moved,and fierce Pelides pitiless to both.Aeneas paused, and, weeping, thus began:“Alas, Achates, what far region now,what land in all the world knows not our pain?See, it is Priam! Virtue's wage is given—O even here! Here also there be tearsfor what men bear, and mortal creatures feeleach other's sorrow. Therefore, have no fear!This story of our loss forbodes us well.”

So saying, he received into his heartthat visionary scene, profoundly sighed,and let his plenteous tears unheeded flow.There he beheld the citadel of Troy girt with embattled foes; here, Greeks in flightsome Trojan onset 'scaped; there, Phrygian bandsbefore tall-plumed Achilles' chariot sped.The snowy tents of Rhesus spread hard by(he sees them through his tears), where Diomedin night's first watch burst o'er them unawareswith bloody havoc and a host of deaths;then drove his fiery coursers o'er the plainbefore their thirst or hunger could be stayedon Trojan corn or Xanthus' cooling stream.Here too was princely Troilus, despoiled,routed and weaponless, O wretched boy!Ill-matched against Achilles! His wild steedsbear him along, as from his chariot's rearhe falls far back, but clutches still the rein;his hair and shoulders on the ground go trailing,and his down-pointing spear-head scrawls the dust.Elsewhere, to Pallas' ever-hostile shrine,daughters of Ilium, with unsnooded hair,and lifting all in vain her hallowed pall,walked suppliant and sad, beating their breasts,with outspread palms. But her unswerving eyesthe goddess fixed on earth, and would not see.Achilles round the Trojan rampart thricehad dragged the fallen Hector, and for goldwas making traffic of the lifeless clay.Aeneas groaned aloud, with bursting heart, to see the spoils, the car, the very corpseof his lost friend,—while Priam for the deadstretched forth in piteous prayer his helpless hands.There too his own presentment he could seesurrounded by Greek kings; and there were shownhordes from the East, and black-browed Memnon's arms;her band of Amazons, with moon-shaped shields,Penthesilea led; her martial eyeflamed on from troop to troop; a belt of goldbeneath one bare, protruded breast she bound—a warrior-virgin braving mail-clad men.

While on such spectacle Aeneas' eyeslooked wondering, while mute and motionlesshe stood at gaze, Queen Dido to the shrinein lovely majesty drew near; a throngof youthful followers pressed round her way.So by the margin of Eurotas wideor o'er the Cynthian steep, Diana leadsher bright processional; hither and yonare visionary legions numberlessof Oreads; the regnant goddess bearsa quiver on her shoulders, and is seenemerging tallest of her beauteous train;while joy unutterable thrills the breastof fond Latona: Dido not less fairamid her subjects passed, and not less brighther glow of gracious joy, while she approvedher future kingdom's pomp and vast emprise.Then at the sacred portal and beneaththe temple's vaulted dome she took her place,encompassed by armed men, and lifted highupon a throne; her statutes and decreesthe people heard, and took what lot or toilher sentence, or impartial urn, assigned.But, lo! Aeneas sees among the throngAntheus, Sergestus, and Cloanthus bold,with other Teucrians, whom the black storm flungfar o'er the deep and drove on alien shores.Struck dumb was he, and good Achates too,half gladness and half fear. Fain would they flyto friendship's fond embrace; but knowing notwhat might befall, their hearts felt doubt and care.Therefore they kept the secret, and remainedforth-peering from the hollow veil of cloud,haply to learn what their friends' fate might be,or where the fleet was landed, or what aimhad brought them hither; for a chosen fewfrom every ship had come to sue for grace,and all the temple with their voices rang.

The doors swung wide; and after access givenand leave to speak, revered Ilioneuswith soul serene these lowly words essayed:“O Queen, who hast authority of Joveto found this rising city, and subduewith righteous governance its people proud,we wretched Trojans, blown from sea to sea,beseech thy mercy; keep the curse of firefrom our poor ships! We pray thee, do no wrongunto a guiltless race. But heed our plea!No Libyan hearth shall suffer by our sword,nor spoil and plunder to our ships be borne;such haughty violence fits not the soulsof vanquished men. We journey to a landnamed, in Greek syllables, Hesperia:a storied realm, made mighty by great warsand wealth of fruitful land; in former daysOenotrians had it, and their sons, 't is said,have called it Italy, a chieftain's nameto a whole region given. Thitherwardour ships did fare; but with swift-rising floodthe stormful season of Orion's stardrove us on viewless shoals; and angry galesdispersed us, smitten by the tumbling surge,among innavigable rocks. Behold,we few swam hither, waifs upon your shore!What race of mortals this? What barbarous land,that with inhospitable laws ye thrusta stranger from your coasts, and fly to arms,nor grant mere foothold on your kingdom's bound?If man thou scornest and all mortal power,forget not that the gods watch good and ill!

A king we had; Aeneas,—never manin all the world more loyal, just and true,nor mightier in arms! If Heaven decreehis present safety, if he now do breathethe air of earth and is not buried lowamong the dreadful shades, then fear not thou!For thou wilt never rue that thou wert promptto do us the first kindness. O'er the seain the Sicilian land, are cities proud,with martial power, and great Acestes thereis of our Trojan kin. So grant us hereto beach our shattered ships along thy shore,and from thy forest bring us beam and sparto mend our broken oars. Then, if perchancewe find once more our comrades and our king,and forth to Italy once more set sail,to Italy, our Latin hearth and home,we will rejoicing go. But if our wealis clean gone by, and thee, blest chief and sire,these Libyan waters keep, and if no moreIulus bids us hope,—then, at the least,to yon Sicilian seas, to friendly landswhence hither drifting with the winds we came,let us retrace the journey and rejoingood King Acestes.” So Ilioneusended his pleading; the Dardanidaemurmured assent.

Then Dido, briefly and with downcast eyes,her answer made: “O Teucrians, have no fear!Bid care begone! It was necessity,and my young kingdom's weakness, which compelledthe policy of force, and made me keepsuch vigilant sentry my wide co'ast along.Aeneas and his people, that fair townof Troy—who knows them not? The whole world knowsthose valorous chiefs and huge, far-flaming wars.Our Punic hearts are not of substance allinsensible and dull: the god of daydrives not his fire-breathing steeds so farfrom this our Tyrian town. If ye would goto great Hesperia, where Saturn reigned,or if voluptuous Eryx and the throneof good Acestes be your journey's end,I send you safe; I speed you on your way.But if in these my realms ye will abide,associates of my power, behold, I buildthis city for your own! Choose haven herefor your good ships. Beneath my royal swayTrojan and Tyrian equal grace will find.But O, that this same storm had brought your King.Aeneas, hither! I will bid exploreour Libya's utmost bound, where haply hein wilderness or hamlet wanders lost.”

By these fair words to joy profoundly stirred,Father Aeneas and Achates braveto cast aside the cloud that wrapped them roundyearned greatly; and Achates to his Kingspoke thus: “O goddess-born, in thy wise heartwhat purpose rises now? Lo! All is well!Thy fleet and followers are safe at land.One only comes not, who before our eyes sank in the soundless sea. All else fulfilsthy mother's prophecy.” Scarce had he spokewhen suddenly that overmantling cloudwas cloven, and dissolved in lucent air;forth stood Aeneas. A clear sunbeam smotehis god-like head and shoulders. Venus' sonof his own heavenly mother now receivedyouth's glowing rose, an eye of joyful fire,and tresses clustering fair. 'T is even sothe cunning craftsman unto ivory givesnew beauty, or with circlet of bright goldencloses silver or the Parian stone.Thus of the Queen he sued, while wondermentfell on all hearts. “Behold the man ye seek,for I am here! Aeneas, Trojan-born,brought safely hither from yon Libyan seas!O thou who first hast looked with pitying eyeon Troy's unutterable grief, who even to us(escaped our Grecian victor, and outwornby all the perils land and ocean know),to us, bereft and ruined, dost extendsuch welcome to thy kingdom and thy home!I have no power, Dido, to give thanksto match thine ample grace; nor is there powerin any remnant of our Dardan blood,now fled in exile o'er the whole wide world.May gods on high (if influence divinebless faithful lives, or recompense be foundin justice and thy self-approving mind)give thee thy due reward. What age was blestby such a birth as thine? What parents proudsuch offspring bore? O, while the rivers runto mingle with the sea, while shadows passalong yon rounded hills from vale to vale,and while from heaven's unextinguished firethe stars be fed—so Iong thy glorious name,thy place illustrious and thy virtue's praise,abide undimmed.—Yet I myself must goto lands I know not where.” After this wordhis right hand clasped his Ioved Ilioneus,his left Serestus; then the comrades all,brave Gyas, brave Cloanthus, and their peers.

Sidonian Dido felt her heart stand stillwhen first she looked on him; and thrilled againto hear what vast adventure had befallenso great a hero. Thus she welcomed him:“What chance, O goddess-born, o'er danger's pathimpels? What power to this wild coast has borne?Art thou Aeneas, great Anchises' son,whom lovely Venus by the Phrygian streamof Simois brought forth unto the day?Now I bethink me of when Teucer cameto Sidon, exiled, and of Belus' powerdesired a second throne. For Belus then,our worshipped sire, despoiled the teeming landof Cyprus, as its conqueror and king.And since that hour I oft have heard the taleof fallen Troy, of thine own noble name,and of Achaean kings. Teucer was wont,although their foe, to praise the Teucrian race,and boasted him of that proud lineage sprung.Therefore, behold, our portals are swung widefor all your company. I also borehard fate like thine. I too was driven of stormsand after long toil was allowed at lastto call this land my home. O, I am wisein sorrow, and I help all suffering souls!”So saying, she bade Aeneas welcome takebeneath her royal roof, and to the godsmade sacrifice in temples, while she sentunto the thankful Trojans on the shorea score of bulls, and of huge, bristling swine,a herd of a whole hundred, and a flockof goodly lambs, a hundred, who ran closebeside the mother-ewes: and all were givenin joyful feast to please the Heavenly Powers.Her palace showed a monarch's fair arrayall glittering and proud, and feasts were spreadwithin the ample court. Rich broiderieshung deep incarnadined with Tyrian skill;the board had massy silver, gold-embossed,where gleamed the mighty deeds of all her sires,a graven chronicle of peace and warprolonged, since first her ancient line began,from royal sire to son.

Aeneas now(for love in his paternal heart spoke loudand gave no rest) bade swift Achates runto tell Ascanius all, and from the shipto guide him upward to the town,—for nowthe father's whole heart for Ascanius yearned.And gifts he bade them bring, which had been savedin Ilium's fall: a richly broidered cloakheavy with golden emblems; and a veilby leaves of saffron lilies bordered round,which Argive Helen o'er her beauty threw,her mother Leda's gift most wonderful,and which to Troy she bore, when flying farin lawless wedlock from Mycenae's towers;a sceptre, too, once fair Ilione's,eldest of Priam's daughters; and round pearlsstrung in a necklace, and a double crownof jewels set in gold. These gifts to find,Achates to the tall ships sped away.

But Cytherea in her heart revolvednew wiles, new schemes: how Cupid should transformhis countenance, and, coming in the guiseof sweet Ascanius, still more inflamethe amorous Queen with gifts, and deeply fusethrough all her yielding frame his fatal fire.Sooth, Venus feared the many-languaged guilewhich Tyrians use; fierce Juno's hate she feared,and falling night renewed her sleepless care.Therefore to Love, the light-winged god, she said:“Sweet son, of whom my sovereignty and poweralone are given! O son, whose smile may scornthe shafts of Jove whereby the Titans fell,to thee I fly, and humbly here implorethy help divine. Behold, from land to landAeneas, thine own brother, voyages onstorm-driven, by Juno's causeless enmity.Thou knowest it well, and oft hast sighed to seemy sighs and tears. Dido the Tyrian nowdetains him with soft speeches; and I fearsuch courtesy from Juno means us ill;she is not one who, when the hour is ripe,bids action pause. I therefore now intendthe Tyrian Queen to snare, and siege her breastwith our invading fire, before some godshall change her mood. But let her bosom burnwith love of my Aeneas not less than mine.This thou canst bring to pass. I pray thee hearthe plan I counsel. At his father's callAscanius, heir of kings, makes haste to climbto yon Sidonian citadel; my graceprotects him, and he bears gifts which were savedfrom hazard of the sea and burning Troy.Him lapped in slumber on Cythera's hill,or in Idalia's deep and hallowing shade,myself will hide, lest haply he should learnour stratagem, and burst in, foiling all.Wear thou his shape for one brief night thyself,and let thy boyhood feign another boy'sfamiliar countenance; when Dido there,beside the royal feast and flowing wine,all smiles and joy, shall clasp thee to her breastwhile she caresses thee, and her sweet lipstouch close with thine, then let thy secret firebreathe o'er her heart, to poison and betray.”The love-god to his mother's dear behestgave prompt assent. He put his pinions byand tripped it like Iulus, light of heart.But Venus o'er Ascanius' body poureda perfect sleep, and, to her heavenly breastenfolding him, far, far away upboreto fair Idalia's grove, where fragrant budsof softly-petalled marjoram embowerin pleasurable shade.

Cupid straightwayobeyed his mother's word and bore the gifts,each worthy of a king, as offeringsto greet the Tyrian throne; and as he wenthe clasped Achates' friendly hand, and smiled.Father Aeneas now, and all his bandof Trojan chivalry, at social feast,on lofty purple-pillowed couches lie;deft slaves fresh water on their fingers pour,and from reed-woven basketry renewthe plenteous bread, or bring smooth naperyof softest weave; fifty handmaidens serve,whose task it is to range in order fairthe varied banquet, or at altars brightthrow balm and incense on the sacred fires.A hundred more serve with an equal bandof beauteous pages, whose obedient skillpiles high the generous board and fills the bowl.The Tyrians also to the festal hallcome thronging, and receive their honor due,each on his painted couch; with wondering eyesAeneas' gifts they view, and wondering more,mark young Iulus' radiant brows divine,his guileful words, the golden pall he bears,and broidered veil with saffron lilies bound.The Tyrian Queen ill-starred, already doomedto her approaching woe, scanned ardently,with kindling cheek and never-sated eyes,the precious gifts and wonder-gifted boy.He round Aeneas' neck his arms entwined,fed the deep yearning of his seeming sire,then sought the Queen's embrace; her eyes, her soulclave to him as she strained him to her breast.For Dido knew not in that fateful hourhow great a god betrayed her. He began,remembering his mother (she who borethe lovely Acidalian Graces three),to make the dear name of Sichaeus fade,and with new life, new love, to re-possessher Iong-since slumbering bosom's Iost desire.

When the main feast is over, they replacethe banquet with huge bowls, and crown the winewith ivy-leaf and rose. Loud rings the roofwith echoing voices; from the gilded vaultfar-blazing cressets swing, or torches brightdrive the dark night away. The Queen herselfcalled for her golden chalice studded roundwith jewels, and o'er-brimming it with wineas Belus and his proud successors use,commanded silence, and this utterance made:“Great Jove, of whom are hospitable lawsfor stranger-guest, may this auspicious daybless both our Tyrians and the wanderersfrom Trojan shore. May our posteritykeep this remembrance! Let kind Juno smile,and Bacchus, Iord of mirth, attend us here!And, O ye Tyrians, come one and all,and with well-omened words our welcome share!”So saying, she outpoured the sacred dropdue to the gods, and lightly from the rimsipped the first taste, then unto Bitias gavewith urgent cheer; he seized it, nothing loth,quaffed deep and long the foaming, golden bowl,then passed to others. On a gilded Iyrethe flowing-haired Iopas woke a songtaught him by famous Atlas: of the moonhe sang, the wanderer, and what the sun'svast labors be; then would his music tellwhence man and beast were born, and whence were bredclouds, lightnings, and Arcturus' stormful sign,the Hyades, rain-stars, and nigh the Polethe great and lesser Wain; for well he knewwhy colder suns make haste to quench their orbin ocean-stream, and wintry nights be slow.Loudly the Tyrians their minstrel praised,and Troy gave prompt applause. Dido the whilewith varying talk prolonged the fateful night,and drank both long and deep of love and wine.Now many a tale of Priam would she crave,of Hector many; or what radiant armsAurora's son did wear; what were those steedsof Diomed, or what the stature seemedof great Achilles. “Come, illustrious guest,begin the tale,” she said, “begin and tellthe perfidy of Greece, thy people's fall,and all thy wanderings. For now,—Ah, me!Seven times the summer's burning stars have seenthee wandering far o'er alien lands and seas.”