THE ARGUMEN T.
Eneas, the fon of Venus and Anchifes, having, at the deftruction of Troy, faved his Gods, his father, and fon Afcanius, from the fire, put to fea with twenty fail of ships; and, having been long toft with tempefts, was at laft caft upon the shore of Libya, where queen Dido (flying from the cruelty of Pygmalion her brother, who had killed her bufband Sichaus) had lately built Carthage. She entertained Æneas and his fleet with great civility, fell paffionately in love with him, and in the end denied him not the laft favours. But Mercury admonishing Æneas to go in fearch of Italy, (a kingdom promised him by the Gods) be readily prepared to follow him. Dido foon perceived it, and having in vain tried all other means to engage him to ftay, at last in defpair writes to him as follows.
O, on Mæander's banks, when death is nigh, The mournful swan fings her own elegy. Not that I hope (for, oh, that hope were vain!) By words your loft affection to regain :
But having loft whate'er was worth my care,
Why should I fear to lose a dying pray'r?
'Tis then refolv'd poor Dido must be left,
Of life, of honor, and of love bereft!
While with loofen'd fails, and vows, prepare
To feek a land that flies the fearcher's care.
Nor can my rifing tow'rs your flight restrain,
Nor my new empire, offer'd you in vain.
Built walls you fhun, unbuilt you
feek; that land
Is yet to conquer; but you this command.
Suppofe you landed where your
Think what reception foreigners would find.
What people is fo void of common sense,
To vote fucceffion from a native prince?
Yet there new scepters and new loves you feek;
New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break.
When will your tow'rs the height of Carthage
know?
Or when your eyes difcern fuch crowds below?
If fuch a town and fubjects you could fee,
Still would you want a wife who lov'd like me.
For, oh, I burn, like fires with incense bright:
Not holy tapers flame with purer light:
Æneas is my thoughts perpetual theme;
Their daily longing, and their nightly dream.
Yet he's ungrateful and obdurate ftill:
Fool that I am to place my heart so ill!
Myfelf I cannot to myself restore;
Still I complain, and still I love him more.
Have pity, Cupid, on my bleeding heart,
And pierce thy brother's with an equal dart.
I rave; nor canst thou Venus' offspring be,
Love's mother could not bear a fon like thee.
From harden'd oak, or from a rock's cold womb,
At least thou art from fome fierce tigrefs come;
Or on rough feas, from their foundation torn,
Got by the winds, and in a tempest born:
Like that which now thy trembling failors fear;
Like that whose rage should still detain thee here,
Behold how high the foamy billows ride!
The winds and waves are on the jufter fide.
To winter weather and a ftormy fea
I'll owe, what rather I would owe to thee.
Death thou deferv'ft from heav'n's avenging laws;
But I'm unwilling to become the caufe.
To fhun my love, if thou wilt feek thy fate,
'Tis a dear purchase, and a coftly hate.
Stay but a little, 'till the tempeft cease,
And the loud winds are lull'd into a peace.
May all thy rage, like theirs, unconftant prove!
And fo it will, if there be pow'r in love.
Know'st thou not yet what dangers fhips fuftain? So often wreck'd, how dar'ft thou tempt the main? Which were it smooth, were ev'ry wave asleep, Ten thoufand forms of death are in the deep.
In that abyss the Gods their
vengeance ftore,
For broken vows of those who falfely swore.
There winged ftorms on fea-born Venus wait,
To vindicate the justice of her state.
Thus I to thee the means of fafety show;
And, loft myself, would ftill preserve my foe.
Falfe as thou art, I not thy death design:
O rather live, to be the cause of mine!
Should fome avenging ftorm thy vessel tear,
(But heav'n forbid my words should omen bear)
Then in thy face thy perjur'd vows would fly;
And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy eye..
With threat'ning looks think thou behold'st me
ftare,
Gafping my mouth, and clotted all my hair.
Then, fhould fork'd lightning and red thunder fall,
What couldst thou fay, but, I deferv'd'em all?
Left this should happen, make not hafte away;
To fhun the danger will be worth thy stay.
Have pity on thy fon, if not on me :
My death alone is guilt enough for thee.
What has his youth, what have thy Gods deferv'd,
To fink in feas, who were from fires preferv'd?
But neither Gods nor parent didft thou bear;
Smooth stories all to please a woman's ear,
Falfe as the tale of thy romantic life.
Nor yet am I thy firft-deluded wife:
Left to pursuing foes Creüfa ftay'd,
By thee, bafe man, forfaken and betray'd.
This, when thou told'ft me, ftruck my tender heart,
That fuch requital follow'd fuch desert.
Nor doubt I but the Gods, for crimes like these,
Sev'n winters kept thee wand'ring on the feas.
Thy ftarv'd companions, caft afhore, I fed,
Thyself admitted to my crown and bed.
To harbor strangers, fuccor the diftreft,
Was kind enough; but, oh, too kind the rest!
Curft be the cave which firft my ruin brought,
Where, from the ftorm, we common fhelter
fought!
A dreadful howling echo'd round the place:
The mountain nymphs, thought I, my nuptials
I thought fo then, but now too late I know
The furies yell'd my fun'rals from below.
O chastity and violated fame,
Exact your dues to my dead husband's name!
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