Aeneid IV.504-632

A longer section today, because Dido's got a speech to make and a Punic Wars to invoke.

But when the pyre of cut pine and oak was raised high,

in an innermost court open to the sky, the queen

hung the place with garlands and wreathed it

with funereal foliage: she laid his sword and clothes

and picture on the bed, not unmindful of the ending.

Altars stand round about, and the priestess, with loosened hair,

intoned the names of three hundred gods, of Erebus, Chaos,

and the triple Hecate, the three faces of virgin Diana.¹

And she sprinkled water signifying the founts of Avernus:

there were herbs too acquired by moonlight, cut

with a bronze sickle, moist with the milk of dark venom;

and a caul acquired by tearing it from a newborn colt’s brow,

forestalling the mother’s love. She herself, near the altars,

with sacred grain in purified hands, one foot free of constraint,

her clothing loosened, called on the gods to witness

her coming death, and on the stars conscious of fate:

then she prayed to whatever just and attentive power

there might be that cares for unrequited lovers.

It was night, and everywhere weary creatures were enjoying

peaceful sleep, the woods and the savage waves were resting,

while stars wheeled midway in their gliding orbit,

while all the fields were still, and beasts and colourful birds,

those that live on wide scattered lakes and those that live

in rough country among the thorn-bushes, were sunk in sleep

in the silent night. But not the Phoenician, unhappy in spirit,

she did not relax in sleep or receive the darkness into her eyes

and breast: her cares redoubled, and passion, alive once more,

raged, and she swelled with a great tide of anger.

So she began in this way turning it over alone in her heart:

“See, what can I do? Be mocked trying my former suitors,

seeking marriage humbly with Numidians whom I

have already disdained so many times as husbands?

Shall I follow the Trojan fleet, then, and that Teucrian’s

every whim? Because they might delight in having been

helped by my previous aid, or because gratitude

for past deeds might remain truly fixed in their memories?

Indeed who, given I wanted to, would let me, or would take

one they hate on board their proud ships? Ah, lost girl,

do you not know or feel yet the treachery of Laomedon’s race?

What then? Shall I go alone, accompanying triumphant sailors?

Or with all my band of Tyrians clustered round me?

Shall I again drive my men to sea in pursuit, those

whom I could barely tear away from their Sidonian city,

and order them to spread their sails to the wind?

Rather die, as you deserve, and turn away sorrow with steel.

You, my sister, conquered by my tears, in my madness, you

first burdened me with these ills and exposed me to my enemy.

I was not allowed to pass my life without blame, free of marriage,

in the manner of some wild creature, never knowing such pain:

I have not kept the vow I made to Sychaeus’s ashes.”

Such was the lament that burst from her heart.

Now that everything was ready and he was resolved on going,

Aeneas was snatching some sleep on the ship’s high stern.

That vision appeared again in dream admonishing him,

similar to Mercury in every way, voice and colouring,

golden hair, and youth’s graceful limbs:

“Son of the Goddess, can you consider sleep in this disaster,

can’t you see the danger of it that surrounds you, madman,

or hear the favourable west winds blowing?

Determined to die, she broods on mortal deceit and sin,

and is tossed about on anger’s volatile flood.

Won’t you flee from here, in haste, while you can hasten?

Soon you’ll see the water crowded with ships,

cruel firebrands burning, soon the shore will rage with flame,

if the Dawn finds you lingering in these lands. Come, now,

end your delay! Woman is ever fickle and changeable.”

So he spoke, and blended with night’s darkness.

Then Aeneas, terrified indeed by the sudden apparition,

roused his body from sleep and called to his friends:

“Quick, men, awake, and man the rowing-benches: run

and loosen the sails. Know that a god, sent from the heavens,

urges us again to speed our flight and cut the twisted hawsers.

We follow you, whoever you may be, sacred among the gods,

and gladly obey your commands once more. Oh, be with us,

calm one, help us, and show stars favourable to us in the sky.”

He spoke, and snatched his shining sword from its sheath,

and struck the cable with the naked blade. All were possessed

at once with the same ardour: they snatched up their goods,

and ran: abandoning the shore, the water was clothed with ships

setting to, they churned the foam and swept the blue waves.

And now, at dawn, Aurora, leaving Tithonus’s saffron bed,

was scattering fresh daylight over the earth.

As soon as the queen saw the day whiten from her tower,

and the fleet sailing off under full canvas, and realised

the shore and harbour were empty of oarsmen, she

struck her lovely breast three or four times with her hand,

and tearing at her golden hair, said: “Ah, Jupiter, is he to leave,

is a foreigner to pour scorn on our kingdom? Shall my Tyrians

ready their armour and follow them out of the city, and others drag

our ships from their docks? Go, bring fire quickly, hand out the

weapons, drive the oars! What am I saying? Where am I?

What madness twists my thoughts? Wretched Dido, is it now

that your impious actions hurt you? The right time was then,

when you gave him the crown. So this is the word and loyalty

of the man whom they say bears his father’s gods around,

of the man who carried his age-worn father on his shoulders!

Couldn’t I have seized hold of him, torn his body apart,

and scattered him on the waves? And put his friends to the sword,

and Ascanius even, to feast on as a course at his father’s table?

True the fortunes of war are uncertain. Let them be so:

as one about to die, whom had I to fear? I should have set fire

to his camp, filled the decks with flames, and, extinguishing

father and son and their whole race, given up my own life as well.

O Sun, you who illuminate all the works of this world,

and you, Juno, interpreter and knower of all my pain,

and Hecate, howled to in cities at midnight crossroads,

you, avenging Furies, and you, gods of dying Elissa,

acknowledge this, direct your righteous will to my troubles,

and hear my prayer. If it must be that the accursed one

should reach the harbour and sail to the shore:

if Jove’s destiny for him requires it, there his goal:

still, troubled in war by the armies of a proud race,

exiled from his territories, torn from Iulus’s embrace,

let him beg help, and watch the shameful death of his people;

then, when he has surrendered to a peace without justice,

may he not enjoy his kingdom or the days he longed for,

but let him die before his time, and lie unburied on the sand.²

This I pray, these last words I pour out with my blood.

Then, O Tyrians, pursue my hatred against his whole line

and the race to come, and offer it as a tribute to my ashes.

Let there be no love or treaties between our peoples.

Rise, some unknown avenger, from my dust, who will pursue

the Trojan colonists with fire and sword, now, or in time

to come, whenever the strength is granted him.³

I pray that shore be opposed to shore, water to wave,

weapon to weapon: let them fight, them and their descendants.”

She spoke, and turned her thoughts this way and that,

considering how to destroy her hateful life.

---

At regina, pyra penetrali in sede sub auras

erecta ingenti taedis atque ilice secta,                              505

intenditque locum sertis et fronde coronat

funerea; super exuvias ensemque relictum

effigiemque toro locat haud ignara futuri.

stant arae circum et crinis effusa sacerdos

ter centum tonat ore deos, Erebumque Chaosque               510

tergeminamque Hecaten, tria virginis ora Dianae.

sparserat et latices simulatos fontis Averni,

falcibus et messae ad lunam quaeruntur aenis

pubentes herbae nigri cum lacte veneni;

quaeritur et nascentis equi de fronte revulsus               515

et matri praereptus amor.

ipsa mola manibusque piis altaria iuxta

unum exuta pedem vinclis, in veste recincta,

testatur moritura deos et conscia fati

sidera; tum, si quod non aequo foedere amantis               520

curae numen habet iustumque memorque, precatur.

Nox erat et placidum carpebant fessa soporem

corpora per terras, silvaeque et saeva quierant

aequora, cum medio volvuntur sidera lapsu,

cum tacet omnis ager, pecudes pictaeque volucres,               525

quaeque lacus late liquidos quaeque aspera dumis

rura tenent, somno positae sub nocte silenti.

at non infelix animi Phoenissa, neque umquam

solvitur in somnos oculisve aut pectore noctem               530

accipit: ingeminant curae rursusque resurgens

saevit amor magnoque irarum fluctuat aestu.

sic adeo insistit secumque ita corde volutat:

'en, quid ago? rursusne procos inrisa priores

experiar, Nomadumque petam conubia supplex,               535

quos ego sim totiens iam dedignata maritos?

Iliacas igitur classis atque ultima Teucrum

iussa sequar? quiane auxilio iuvat ante levatos

et bene apud memores veteris stat gratia facti?

quis me autem, fac velle, sinet ratibusve superbis               540

invisam accipiet? nescis heu, perdita, necdum

Laomedonteae sentis periuria gentis?

quid tum? sola fuga nautas comitabor ovantis?

an Tyriis omnique manu stipata meorum

inferar et, quos Sidonia vix urbe revelli,                              545

rursus agam pelago et ventis dare vela iubebo?

quin morere ut merita es, ferroque averte dolorem.

tu lacrimis evicta meis, tu prima furentem

his, germana, malis oneras atque obicis hosti.

non licuit thalami expertem sine crimine vitam               550

degere more ferae, talis nec tangere curas;

non servata fides cineri promissa Sychaeo.'

Tantos illa suo rumpebat pectore questus.

Aeneas celsa in puppi iam certus eundi

carpebat somnos rebus iam rite paratis.                              555

huic se forma dei vultu redeuntis eodem

obtulit in somnis rursusque ita visa monere est,

omnia Mercurio similis, vocemque coloremque

et crinis flavos et membra decora iuventa:

'nate dea, potes hoc sub casu ducere somnos,               560

nec quae te circum stent deinde pericula cernis,

demens, nec Zephyros audis spirare secundos?

illa dolos dirumque nefas in pectore versat

certa mori, variosque irarum concitat aestus.

non fugis hinc praeceps, dum praecipitare potestas?               565

iam mare turbari trabibus saevasque videbis

conlucere faces, iam fervere litora flammis,

si te his attigerit terris Aurora morantem.

heia age, rumpe moras. varium et mutabile semper

femina.' sic fatus nocti se immiscuit atrae.               570

Tum vero Aeneas subitis exterritus umbris

corripit e somno corpus sociosque fatigat

praecipitis: 'vigilate, viri, et considite transtris;

solvite vela citi. deus aethere missus ab alto

festinare fugam tortosque incidere funis               575

ecce iterum instimulat. sequimur te, sancte deorum,

quisquis es, imperioque iterum paremus ovantes.

adsis o placidusque iuves et sidera caelo

dextra feras.' dixit vaginaque eripit ensem

fulmineum strictoque ferit retinacula ferro.               580

idem omnis simul ardor habet, rapiuntque ruuntque;

litora deseruere, latet sub classibus aequor,

adnixi torquent spumas et caerula verrunt.

Et iam prima novo spargebat lumine terras

Tithoni croceum linquens Aurora cubile.               585

regina e speculis ut primam albescere lucem

vidit et aequatis classem procedere velis,

litoraque et vacuos sensit sine remige portus,

terque quaterque manu pectus percussa decorum

flaventisque abscissa comas 'pro Iuppiter! ibit               590

hic,' ait 'et nostris inluserit advena regnis?

non arma expedient totaque ex urbe sequentur,

diripientque rates alii navalibus? ite,

ferte citi flammas, date tela, impellite remos!

quid loquor? aut ubi sum? quae mentem insania mutat?                595

infelix Dido, nunc te facta impia tangunt?

tum decuit, cum sceptra dabas. en dextra fidesque,

quem secum patrios aiunt portare penatis,

quem subiisse umeris confectum aetate parentem!

non potui abreptum divellere corpus et undis               600

spargere? non socios, non ipsum absumere ferro

Ascanium patriisque epulandum ponere mensis?

verum anceps pugnae fuerat fortuna. fuisset:

quem metui moritura? faces in castra tulissem

implessemque foros flammis natumque patremque               605

cum genere exstinxem, memet super ipsa dedissem.

Sol, qui terrarum flammis opera omnia lustras,

tuque harum interpres curarum et conscia Iuno,

nocturnisque Hecate triviis ululata per urbes

et Dirae ultrices et di morientis Elissae,               610

accipite haec, meritumque malis advertite numen

et nostras audite preces. si tangere portus

infandum caput ac terris adnare necesse est,

et sic fata Iovis poscunt, hic terminus haeret,

at bello audacis populi vexatus et armis,               615

finibus extorris, complexu avulsus Iuli

auxilium imploret videatque indigna suorum

funera; nec, cum se sub leges pacis iniquae

tradiderit, regno aut optata luce fruatur,

sed cadat ante diem mediaque inhumatus harena.               620

haec precor, hanc vocem extremam cum sanguine fundo.

tum vos, o Tyrii, stirpem et genus omne futurum

exercete odiis, cinerique haec mittite nostro

munera. nullus amor populis nec foedera sunto.

exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor               625

qui face Dardanios ferroque sequare colonos,

nunc, olim, quocumque dabunt se tempore vires.

litora litoribus contraria, fluctibus undas

imprecor, arma armis: pugnent ipsique nepotesque.'

Haec ait, et partis animum versabat in omnis,               630

invisam quaerens quam primum abrumpere lucem.

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Find the glossary for Aeneid Daily here; subscribe to receive daily posts.

1. All of the gods Dido calls on are associated with death, witchcraft, and the underworld: Erebus is the personification of the underworld/darkness; Chaos is the personification of the void before creation; and Hecate is associated with witchcraft and the moon, as well as conflated with the facet of Diana that watches over crossroads.

2. c.f. the death of Priam.

3. That avenger, of course, would be Hannibal, Rome’s greatest enemy in the Punic Wars. Rome and Carthage were archrivals for over a hundred years; Rome finally destroyed Carthage quite brutally in 146 BC, a destruction Vergil foreshadows in Dido’s death.