Epistulae

I was mis-led by one formed to deceive. Let his attractions be the excuse of my folly. His mother a goddess, and the pious load of his aged sire, gave me hopes of a constant and unshaken husband. If I did err, yet my error claims an honorable excuse; suppose him faithful, and I might yield up my heart to him without a blush. The same fate which persecuted me before, continues still to harass me, and mars the quiet of my present hours. My husband fell murdered before the altars; and a bloody brother reaped his wealth, as the reward of that impious deed. I am banished from my own country, and forced to abandon the dear remains of my husband: pursued by my enemies, I take shelter in a foreign land. I was wafted to an unknown coast; and, having thus escaped from the cruelty of my brother and the dangers of the sea, I purchased the lands which I have made over to you. I built a city, and marked out my walls to such

an extent, as to raise the envy of the neighbouring states. Wars threaten me, though a helpless woman. I prepare to carry on a war with strangers, and with difficulty fortify my new city, and arm my troops. A thousand rivals make pretensions to my love, who all join in complaining, that they are slighted for the sake of this stranger. Why do you hesitate to deliver me a captive to Getulian Iarbas? I have put it in your power to use me thus basely. I have moreover a brother, whose wicked hands, already stained with the blood of my husband, may be stained also with mine. Leave your Gods, and those sacred reliques which were polluted by thy touch. An impious right-hand ill becomes the worship of the heavenly powers. The Gods disdain a sacrilegious homage: and, to avoid thy worship, would willingly return to perish in the Grecian flames. Perhaps, barbarous man, you abandon me in a state of pregnancy, and when a part of you lies hidden in my womb. The unhappy infant will share the fate of its mother; and you will prove the cause of death to one yet unborn. The brother

of Iulus will be involved in his parent's unhappy destiny; and one stroke will carry off both at the same time. But a God commands you to be gone. I wish he had forbidden you to touch upon our coasts, and that the streets of Carthage had never been trodden by the natives of Troy. It is doubtless under the same guide, (this Divinity forsooth), that you are now the sport of unfavorable winds, and waste the time in traversing tempestuous seas. Scarcely ought you to expose yourself to so many dangers to recover Troy itself, though in the same flourishing condition as when defended by Hector. At present you are not in quest of Simois, but the banks of the Tyber; where, when you arrive, you will be no more than a precarious guest; and, as it is far off, and eludes your search, it may perhaps remain undiscovered even to your old age. It would be better to accept the dowry of my kingdom, a sure inheritance, and the treasures snatched from covetous Pygmalion. You may more happily transfer your Troy to Carthage, and sway the sacred sceptre with kingly rule.

If you are fond of war, if Iulus is impatient to gather laurels in the field; that every thing may be to your wish, he shall find foes to conquer. Here you may taste the blessings of peace, or engage in the toils of war. I adjure you by your parent Goddess, by the arrows of Cupid your brother; by the Gods of Troy, companions of your flight, (so may all that you bring with you from Troy survive the attacks of fortune, and that war prove the period of your calamities; so may Ascanius fill up the measure of his years, and the bones of old Anchises rest in peace,) have pity on me, whose fate is in your hand; whose only crime is to have loved you too well. I am not of Mycenæ, or descended from hostile Achilles; nor did my husband or father ever bear arms against you. If you think we unworthy to be your wife, receive me under the name of your hostess. Dido will submit to any thing, if she may be yours. The seas that beat against the

African shore are well known to me. At certain seasons they favor and they frown. When the winds invite you to be gone, you shall spread the swelling sails: now the moored ships are surrounded with floating sea-weed. Let it be my care to observe the season proper for sailing; you shall go, when you may with safety; nor (if you should even desire it) would I suffer you to stay. Your companions will be pleased with a little rest; and the shattered fleet, not completely repaired, requires some delay. I also ask a small respite, if I have any merit with you; if you value my love, or the ties by which I am your's; that the waves and my love may assuage; that by time and use I may learn to bear my sorrows with fortitude. If not, I will end my misery with my life; nor shall it be long in your power to use me thus barbarously. O that you could represent me to yourself as writing this letter! I write, and on my lap lies a drawn sword. The tears flow down my checks upon that weapon, which instead of tears will be soon stained with blood. How well are your

gifts fitted to my destiny! You raise my sepulchre at an easy rate. Nor does this dart now first pierce my breast; it previously felt the wounds of cruel love. And you, my dear sister, the confidante of my guilty flame, shall soon pay the last duty to my unhappy remains. Nor let my monument boast that I was the wife of Sichæus; may the marble bear only this inscription:

Æneas afforded the cause and instrument of Dido's death; but she fell by her own hand.

I, UNHAPPY Hermione, address the man, lately my kinsman and spouse; now my kinsman only; for another possesses the name of husband. Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles, impetuous as his sire, forcibly confines me here, contrary to honour and justice. I resisted with all the force which I could exert, that I might not be detained; nor was it in the power of female hands to do more. "What are you doing, grandson of Æacus?" exclaimed I: "think not that I am without an avenger: the maid whom you injure has a master of her own." But he, more deaf than the raging waves, dragged me by the hair into his hated palace, calling for aid upon the name of Orestes. What could I have suffered

more in the ruin of Lacedæmon, had a troop of barbarians led captive the Grecian dames? Triumphant Greece did not so harass unfortunate Andromache, when the wealth of Phrygia became the prey of devouring flames. But, Oh! Orestes, if you have any care or thought of me, assert with courage and resolution your undoubted right. Will you take up arms if any one should break in upon your sheepfolds, and yet be slow to free your wife from violence? Imitate the example of your father-in-law, who boldly reclaimed his ravished spouse, and thought the injury offered him in a woman a sufficient cause of war. Had Menelaus remained indolent in his deserted palace, my mother would have still continued the wife of Paris, as once she was. There is no necessity for a fleet, or powerful army; come only yourself. Not but that I deserve to be demanded back in this manner; nor is it any reproach to a husband, to have waged a furious war for the honor of his nuptial bed. Have we not the same grandfather, Atreus the son of Pelops? And, were you not

my spouse, you are still my kinsman. Both as your wife and kinswoman, I beg your aid; remember that you are under a double tie to this good office. I was given to you by our ancestor Tyndareus, considerable for his experience and years; and one who, as my grandfather, had the undoubted disposal of me. But my father, not knowing this, had given his promise to Æacides. Surely that of Tyndareus, as first in authority and time, ought to have the preference. When espoused to you, my flame was just and unexceptionable; but if I should be married to Pyrrhus, you will be injured in me. My father Menelaus will easily be brought to approve our love; he himself hath yielded to the winged arrows of the God. He will make such allowance for your love, as he took to himself in his. His attachment to my mother affords an example to excuse ourselves. You are to me, what my father was to Helen; and Pyrrhus acts the part of the Trojan guest of old. Let him boast, without ceasing, of the mighty acts of his father; you also can relate the glorious deeds of yours. The descendant of Tantalus commanded all the Grecian host, even Achilles himself. That Hero headed only a single troop; Agamemnon was general in