The Fourth Book of Virgil's Aeneid and the Ninth Book of Voltaire's Henriad

ARGUMENT

Æneas, after escaping from the destruction of Troy and a long series of adventures by sea and land, is driven by a storm raised by the hatred of Juno on the coast of Affrica, where he is received by Dido, in the new town of Carthage, which she was building, after her flight from the cruelty of her brother in law Pigmalion, who had murdered her husband Sicheus.—Venus dreading for her son Æneas, the influence of Juno upon the mind of Dido, makes Cupid assume the forme of his child Julus or Ascanius, and raise in the bosom of the Queen the most ungovernable passion for Æneas. The fourth book begins by Dido's confessing her weakness to her sister Anna, who gives her many plausible reasons for indulging it, and advices her to make her peace with heaven and marry her lover. Juno, finding herself outwitted by Venus and her favourite Dido irrecoverably in love, accosts Venus first in a sarcastic tone but afterwards in very persuasive language, endeavours in her turn to deceive her, by obtaining her content to the marriage, by which means to frustrate the fates which promised the empire of the world to the descendants of Æneas in Italy. Venus, aware of the deceit, appears in a very complimentary style to give into it, and consents to her projects. While the Tyrian princess and the Trojan are hunting in a forest Juno sends down a violent storm, and the Queen and Æneas take shelter alone in a dark cavern.—There Juno performed the nuptial rite and the passion of Dido was reconciled to her conscience.—Fame soon spreads the report of this alliance.—Iarba, one of Dido's suitors, hears of it and addresses an angry prayer to Jupiter Ammon from whom he was descended. Jove sends down Mercury to order Æneas to leave Carthage. Dido endeavours to make him alter this terrible resolution, falls into the most violent paroxism of rage at his cold refusal, again melts into tenderness, employs her sister to prevail upon Æneas, at least, to wait till the wintry storms were past. All is in vain, and Dido resolved to die, deceives her sister with an idea of magic rites to get rid of her passion—and persuades her to raise a funeral pyle in her palace, Æneas a second time admonished by Mercury sets sail; when Dido, at the break of day, beholds his vessels out of reach she again bursts into a violent fit of passion, but soon sinks into despair.—Accuses her sister's fatal kindness, upbraids herself with her infidelity to the memory of Sicheus, vents the most dreadful imprecations against Æneas and the Romans, who were to be his ascendants, bequeaths all her hatred to her subjects, than relaxes into a momentary tenderness at the sight of the nuptial bed, the cloaths and pictures of Æneas which she had placed on the funeral pyre, and at last puts an end to her life with the sword of her faithless lover.

THE FOURTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S ÆNEID, TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE

 
      While Dido, now with rising cares opprest,
      Indulg'd the pain; the flame within her breast
      In silence prey'd, and burn'd in every vein.
      Fix'd in her heart, his voice, his form remain;
      Still would her thought the Hero's fame retrace,
      Her fancy feed upon his heav'nly race:
      Care to her wearied frame gives no repose,
      Her anxious night no balmy slumber knows;
      And scarce the morn, in purple beams array'd,
      Chas'd from the humid pole the ling'ring shade,
      Her sister, fond companion of her thought,
      Thus in the anguish of her soul she sought.
      Dear Anna, tell me, why this broken rest?
      What mean these boding thoughts? who is this guest,
      This lovely stranger that adorns our court?
      How great his mein! and what a godlike port!
      It must be true, no idle voice of Fame,
      From heav'n, I'm sure, such forms, such virtue came.
    } Degenerate spirits are by fear betray'd,
    } His soul, alas, what fortunes have essay'd;
    } What feats of war!—and in what words convey'd!
      Were it not fix'd, determin'd in my mind,
      That me no more the nuptial tye shall bind,
      Since Death deceiv'd the first fond flame I knew:
      Were Hymen's rites less odious to my view,
      To this one fault perhaps I might give way;
      For must I own it? Anna since the day
      Sicheus fell, (that day a brother's guilt,
      A brother's blood upon our altars spilt);
      He, none but he, my feelings could awake,
      Or with one doubt my wav'ring bosom shake.
      Yes! these are symptoms of my former flame;
      But sooner thro' her very inmost frame,
      May gaping Earth my sinking feet betray;
      Jove's light'ning blast me from this vital ray
      To Hell's pale shade, and Night's eternal reign,
      Ere, sacred Honor, I thy rite profane.
      Oh, no! to whom my virgin faith I gave,
      "Twas his, and his remains within the grave".
 
 
      She ceas'd—but down her bosom gush'd her tears.
      "O dearer than the genial ray that cheers",
      Her sister cry'd, shall lonely grief consume,
      Lost to the joys of love your beauties bloom,
      Lost to the joys, maternal feelings share?
      Do shades for this, do buried ashes care?
      That new in grief no lover should succeed,
      Tyrians in vain, in vain Iarba plead;
      That every chief of Afric's wide domain,
      In triumphs proud, should learn to sue in vain;
      'Twas well; but why a mutual flame withstand?
      Can you forget who owns this hostile land?
      Unconquer'd Getulans your walls surround,
      The Syri untam'd, the wild Numidian bound.
      Thro' the wide desert fierce Barceans roam:
      Why need I mention from our former home,
      The deadly war, a brother's threats prepare?
      For me, I think, that Juno's fost'ring care,
      Some god auspicious, rais'd the winds that bore
      Those Phrygian vessels to our Lybian shore.
      Their godlike chief should happy Dido wed,
      How would her walls ascend, her empire spread?
      Join'd by the arms of Troy, with such allies,
      Think to what height will Punic glory rise.
      Win but the gods, their sacred off'rings pay;
      Detain your guest; invent some fond delay.
      See low'ring tempests o'er the ocean ply,
      The shatter'd vessels, the inclement sky».
 
 
      Each word that dropt inflam'd her burning mind,
      And all her wav'ring soul to love inclin'd;
      New gleams of hope in Dido's bosom play,
      And Honor's bright idea fades away.
 
 
      Fain would the sisters now, by gift and pray'r,
      With heav'n seduc'd, the conscious error share.
      At ev'ry shrine, the fav'ring gods to gain,
      In order due are proper victims slain;
      To Ceres, Bacchus, and the God of Light,
      And Juno most, who tends the nuptial rite.
      Herself the goblet lovely Dido bears,
      Her graceful arm the sacred vessel rears;
      And where the horns above the forehead join,
      Upon the snow-white heifer pours the wine:
      Before the god with awful grace she bows,
      Moves round the altar rich with daily vows,
      Hangs o'er the victim, in its bosom pries,
      And through the breathing entrail darts her eyes.
      Vain cares, alas! and rites too fondly paid!
      The tortur'd soul, can vows, can altars aid?
      Weak boast of priests, and ineffectual pray'rs!
      In her own heart, unknown, her fate she bears.
      The pleasing flame upon her vitals feeds,
      The silent wound within her bosom bleeds.
 
 
      She raves, she burns, and with uncertain mind,
      Roams o'er the town; roams like the wounded hind,
      Whom in the woods, unconscious of his deed,
      The hunter pierc'd, and left the trembling reed;
      O'er woods, o'er quaries, from the pain she springs,
      While in her flank the deadly arrow clings.
    } So with Æneas love-sick Dido strays,
    } Points to her town, her Tyrian wealth displays,
    } While ev'ry look her longing soul betrays;
      And fain her lips would tell the fond desire,
      But scarce begun—the trembling words expire:
      —When later hours convivial pleasure bring,
      Then back to Troy, her thoughts impatient spring,
      The well known story still enchants her ears,
      She hangs enamour'd on each word she hears:
      But when the moon with paler splendor glows,
      When stars descending counsel sweet repose,
      In the deserted hall, alone she mourns;
      Each word, each look, upon her soul returns,
      She sees him absent, hears him o'er again,
      Presses the happy couch where he had lain;
      Or with the father's rising form beguil'd,
      Deludes her flame, and clasps the lovely child.
      Each other care her burning thoughts refuse,
      In arms no more her Tyrian youth she views;
      No spreading moles the boistrous tide command;
      The tow'rs, the forts, begun, unfinish'd stand:
      The mighty structure threat'ning from on high
      Hangs interrupted—all inactive lie
      Unbrac'd,—the vast machines that thro' the air,
      Lab'ring, the pond'rous mass, aloft, suspended bear.
 
 
      When Juno view'd the tumult in her breast,
      That Fame with Passion could no more contest,
      She sought the Cyprian queen, «What praise, what fame»
      She cried, «what glorious triumph you may claim,
      What high renown, for you and for your son!
      Two mighty gods—one woman have undone!
      I'm not deceiv'd, I know what jealous hate
      Our rising walls and Punic pow'r create;
      To what extreme, what purpose will it tend?
      Why may not peace and nuptial union end
      This dire debate?–You've gain'd your utmost aim;
      Thro' every fibre Dido feels the flame;
      She doats, she burns;—then let the nuptial rite,
      At once the people, and the chiefs, unite,
      And both the nations be alike our care;
      The sceptre let the Phrygian husband bear,
      And take my Tyrians for the nuptial dow'r».
 
 
      Venus who saw how much the Latian pow'r;
      The promised empire in the Trojan line
      Alarm'd the goddess, felt her false design,
      But smiling said, «Who madly would refuse
      Such offers—and eternal warfare choose?
      Would Fortune friendly on our project wait.
      But doubts within my mind arise, if Fate
      And Jove allow, that, with the sons of Troy,
      The Tyrian race one empire should enjoy,
      The people mingled, and their rites combin'd.
      'Tis yours; his queen, to try the thund'rer's mind;
      Mine to obey»—«Be that my care,» replied
      Jove's sister Queen—«Now hear what I provide:
      To-morrow, when the rising lamp of day
      Shoots o'er the humid orb its golden ray,
      Unhappy Dido and her guest of Troy
      Together in the woods the chase enjoy,
      When ev'ry mind is on the sport intent,
      From gather'd clouds with livid light'ning rent,
      Of rain and pelting hail, a horrid show'r,
      With peals of thunder on their heads I'll poor:
      All fly the storm, and in one dark retreat,
      The Trojan hero, and the Queen shall meet;
      There will I be; there if unchang'd your mind,
      Shall Hymen's chain at once the lovers bind».
 
 
      The Queen of love perceiv'd her false intent,
      Smil'd at the smooth deceit, and bow'd assent.
 
 
      Aurora now her wat'ry couch forsakes,
      The chosen youth her earliest beam awakes,
      The bounding steed, the highly scented hound,
      Nets, toils, and spears, the palace court surround.
      A favour'd band within the royal gate,
      The Queen who still delay'd, respectful wait.
      In purple trapping, burnish'd gold array'd,
      Proud on the foaming bit, her courser play'd;
      She comes; the court her graceful steps surround;
      Her Tyrian vest, embroider'd fringes bound;
      Her quiver gold, with gold her hair enlac'd,
      A golden clasp her flowing mantle brac'd.
      Next with his Phrygian youth Iulus came
      On wings of joy; but charms divine proclaim
      Cythereas offspring as he join'd the train.
 
 
      Thus when young Phoebus leaves the wintry plain,
      From Lycia and the Xanthian flood, retires
      To native Delos, and his sacred choirs;
      Mingled in carols loud around his shrine,
      Cretans and Greeks, and painted Scythians join.
      Graceful on high the god o'er Cynthio glides,
      His wanton locks with pliant gold divides,
      With tender foliage crowns his radiant hair;
      Wide sounds the dart bu spreading shoulders bear.
 
 
      Æneas moves not with inferior grace,
      Such heav'nly beauty beam'd upon his face.
      O'er hills and rocks, and thro' the pathless wood,
      From their old haunts they rouse the savage brood;
      Here downward springs the shaggy goat, and here,
      From the steep cliff down rush the bounding deep,
      Dart from the hills, in panting herds unite,
      Stretch o'er the plain and spread their dusty flight.
      As thro' the vale Iulus winds his steed,
      Leads on the chase, and passes all in speed,
      A nobler prey his youthful vows implore,
      The tawny lion or the foaming boar.
 
 
      But murky clouds are gath'ring round the pole-,
      In hollow murmur distant thunders roll;
      The hail, the rain a mingled tempest pour,
      Whole rivers swelling down the mountain roar,
      The trembling youths of Troy, the Tyrian train,
      Cytherea's grandson, scatter'd o'er the plain,
      All fly the storm, and in one dark retreat
      The Tyrian Queen and Trojan Hero meet.
      Strait nuptial Juno, gives the fatal sign;
      Pale flames the torch, and trembling Earth the shrine:
      Night spread the veil;—and to the vow they swore
      The murmuring air, ill omen'd witness bore.
      The frighted Nymphs along the mountain height,
      In doleful cries proclaim the genial rite.
      That hour her death and all her sorrows wrought;
      Then fame and honor vanish'd from her thought;
      No more she struggles with a secret flame,
      The crime is veil'd in wedlock's specious name.
 
 
      Soon thro' the Lybian towns, Fame blew the deed;
      Fame, that outstrips all other ills in speed,
      That feeds on motion, strengthens as she flies,
      Weak, timid first, but soon of monstrous size,
      Her feet on earth, amid the clouds her head.
 
 
      With Heav'n incens'd, her mother Earth 'tis said,
      This sister added to the Giant brood,
      With wings, with feet, with dreadful speed endu'd.
      Huge horrid monster!–Ev'ry plume she wears