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

 
      A watching eye conceal'd beneath it bears,
      And strange to tell—on ev'ry feather hung
      A gaping ear—a never ceasing tongue.
      Sleep never enter'd yet those glaring eyes;
      All night 'twixt earth and heav'n she buzzing flies;
      All day sits watchful on the turrets height,
      Or palace roof, the babbling town to fright.
      Falsehood and truth, she spreads with equal real,
      To gaping crouds rejoicing to reveal
      What is, what was, and what has never been.
      Æneas fled from Troy;—The Tyrian queen,
      Her bed, her sceptre, with an exile shares;
      And now forgetful of all other cares,
      With shameful passion blindly led astray,
      In love and joy they waste the hours away.
 
 
      This, all around Fame glories to diffuse,
      And to Iarba next her flight pursues,
      To fan the flame that in his bosom glows.
      To Jove himself, his birth the monarch owes;
      A nymph his mother, by a forc'd embrace;
      And to the God, the author of his race,
      Their lofty domes an hundred temples raise,
      An hundred shrines with flames perpetual blaze,
      Hung round with wreaths: through all his vast domain,
      The soil was rich with blood of victims skin.
      He, by the dire report, to madness fir'd,
      Vents his dark soul by jealous rage inspir'd,
      Before the gods, while curling incense blaz'd,
      His suppliant hands to Jove almighty rais'd.
      «All potent Jove! those eyes that view the Moor
      From painted coaches full libations pour,
      See they not this? Or when thy thunder rolls
      Do causeless fears, O Father, shake our souls?
      Is there no vengeance in the bolt you poise?
      Is all but fancied horror, empty noise?
      A woman, wand'ring outcast on our shore,
      Bargains a petty spot and owns no more,
      Accepts a portion of our coast to till,
      Ev'n from our pity; from our royal will;
      And she—the offer of our hand disdains,
      And she—Æneas in her court detains!
 
 
      That Paris, with that woman crew, that wear
      Those Phrygian bonnets on their scented hair,
      Enjoys the spoil.—while I—thy power proclaim,
      Adorn thy shrine, and feed on empty fame».
      Thus, while he pray'd and bow'd before the shrine:
      Th' Almighty hearing, throws his eyes divine
      On Lybia's coast; there views the lovelest pair
      Forgetting fame and ev'ry nobler care,
      And quick commands the herald of the sky.
      «Go, call the zephyrs, spread your pinnions, fly,
      Fly to the Dardan chief who ling'ring waits
      Mindless in Carthage of the promis'd fates;
      Swift as the rushing wind, my order bear.
      Not such a man—unworthy of her care,
      His mother promis'd, when her powerful charms,
      Twice, made me save him from the Grecian arms.
      No—For Hesperia's realm a future king,
      Thro' whom, from Teucer's blood untam'd to spring
      A warlike race, the pregnant seeds to lay,
      Of boundless empire, universal sway.
      If he, unmov'd, such' proferr'd greatness sees,
      Renouncing glory for ignoble ease.
    } Julus too, must he forego his claim?
    } Spoil'd by a father of his birthright fame,
    } The pow'r, the glory, of the Roman name.
      What mean these structures in a hostile place?
      What hopes deceitful from his mind efface
      Th' Ausonian offspring, the Lavinian land?
      But let him sail—no more—bear my command».
      Jove spoke—His son obey'd:—and to his feet
      Bound the light wings of gold—wings ever fleet,
      Which over earth and sea, through yielding air,
      Swift as the wind the rapid herald bear;
      And took the rod that calls the trembling ghost
      To light, or binds it to the Stygian coast,
      Gives balmy slumber, breaks the sweet repose,
      Weighs down the lid of dying eyes that close.
      Thro' storms and dripping clouds with this he glides;
      Now o'er the summit and the hoary sides
      Of Atlas hangs, pois'd on whose shoulders rest
      The Heav'ns: his head eternal storms infest,
      Crown'd with dark pines, inwrap'd with gloomy clouds;
      Primeval snow his shaggy bosom shrouds,
      Furrow'd with streams that down his chin descend,
      And chains of ice from his broad beard that pend.
      Here light the God—Balanc'd his equal wings,
      And darting forward to the ocean flings.
      Through misty air as nearer earth he drew,
      Cutting the winds and whirling sands, he flew
      Like birds, that hov'ring o'er the fishy main,
      Drop from the sky', and skim the watry plain.
      So from the height his mighty grandsire props,
      Down on the pinion light Cyllenius drops;
      And scarce his winged feet had touch'd the ground,
      Æneas with the busy crew he found,
      Planning new structures for the rising town.
      Bright with a radiant gem his sword hung down,
      A mantle graceful o'er his shoulder thrown
      With sparkling gold and Tyrian purple shone.
      'Twas Dido's present: thro' the blushing thread
      The docile gold her taper fingers led.
      The god accosts him.—«With uxorious care
      The walls of Carthage does Æneas rear,
      Himself forgotten and his future state?
      But he that reigns—the pow'r who next to Fate,
      Roles Earth and Heav'n, and moves them with a nod,
      Thro' skies unclouded, he—the ruling God,
      This to your ear commands me to convey;
      Why on the Lybian shore this fond delay?
      These rising tow'rs—If satisfied with these,
      You barter glory for ignoble ease,
      Your injur'd heir—your young Ascanius view,
      Rome and th' Italian reign to him are due.»
      While thus the God convey'd what Jove resolv'd,
      From human eyes in air his form dissolved.
 
 
      Æneas stood with sacred terror chill'd;
      His hair erect, his lips with horror seal'd;
      Aw'd by the present God, the high command,
      He burns to fly, and leave the much lov'd land.
      But how alas!—What words, what soothing art?
      How meet the Queen, the sad design impart?
      Now here, now there, his wav'ring soul inclin'd;
      He bends on ev'ry side his anxious mind:
      And thus at length his doubting councils end.
      He bids Cleanthus and the chiefs attend,
      The crews assemble and the ships prepare,
      In silence hid the object of their care;
      While Dido yet the faithless dream deludes,
      And not one doubt upon her bliss intrudes:
      That he, mean while, the fittest time would seek,
      The fittest place the sad reverse to speak.
 
 
      In secret they, the pleasing task pursue;
      But soon—(what can escape a lovers view)
      Soon Dido saw the change, her boding mind
      Fancied, foresaw, or felt what they desgn'd.
      Trembling, alive to all she sees or hears,
      Suspecting ev'ry thing, she doubts, she fears,
      While Fame that wounded feeling never spar'd,
      The crews on board announced, the fleet prepar'd:
      Till mad'ning flames within her bosom rise;
      Distracted, furious, o'er the town she flies,
      Wild as the Woodnymph when the frantic rite
      And Bacchanalian shout, to rage excite
      Madder and louder as the God invades,
      She hears him bounding thro' the midnight shades.
 
 
      Dido, herself, at length, Æneas sought;
      Could you, false man, conceive the cruel thought,
      To hide a crime so great—unseen to go,—
      Silent, unnotic'd—Would you leave me so?
      Has love no charm, has plighted faith no tie?
      Nor Dido doom'd a cruel death to dye.
      And for yourself—unfeeling!—when die skies
      With tempest low'r—when wintry blasts arise,
      You tempt the dang'rous ocean—to explore
      A distant, strange, unhospitable shore.
      Had Troy herself existed, who would brave
      For Troy herself, the treach'rous wintry wave.
      'Tis me you fly—Oh, by your sacred vow,
      By these sad tears, (they're all that's left me now
      To move your heart); by all our solemn ties,
      By what I've suffer'd, by our shortliv'd joys,
      If gratitude has giv'n me any right,
      If any charm in me once gave delight,
      Do not desert the wreck yourself have made,
      Nor from my falling state withdraw your aid.
      If yet there's any pow'r in pray'rs like mine,
      Oh pity me; recal that sad design—
      See Africa pow'rs, my feeble realm pursue,
      My Tyrians hearts are gone,—'Tis all for you,
      To you I've sacrific'd my brightest claim,
      My sacred honor—all my former fame:
      Since the dear name of husband is forgot,
      Think, cruel guest, of wretched Dido's lot.
      What prospect in her ruin'd state remains?
      Pygmalions vengeance—proud Iarba's chains.
      Of you—of all that's dear in life bereft,
      Oh were some pledge of mutual passion left:
      Some young Æneas, in whose face alone
      His father's dear resemblance I might own,
      With infant grace my lonely court to cheer,
      Not lost, not widow'd quite I should appear».
 
 
      She ceas'd.—With eyes unmov'd,—o'er aw'd by Jove
      He stood, and with contending passions strove.
      At length he spoke. «For ever I confess
      I owe you all that words could e'er express,
      And in this grateful heart Eliza reigns,
      While life itself, and memory remains.
      Ne'er did I hope my voyage to conceal;
      Never, (my words are few for all I feel),
      Be not deceiv'd, no, never did I join
      These nuptial ties, nor this alliance sign.
      Had Fate, alas, allow'd me to dispose,
      To end these troubles in the way I chose,
      The ruins of my friends, the wreck of Troy,
      Should all my care, and all my hope employ.
      Then, sailing back to Asia's fertile shore,
      For them, should Priam's city rise once more.
      But now 'tis Italy Apollo shows,
      'Tis Italy the Lycian fates propose,
      My country's there, there all cry vows unite.
      Far from your native soil, if you delight
      In Afric's coast, these walls if you enjoy;
      Allow Ansonia to the sons of Troy.
      We too, in foreign lands a state may raise.
      As oft as Night her humid veil displays,
      Oft as the stars, in solemn glory rise,
      My father's murm'ring ghost before my eyes
      Brings young Ascanius, and upbraiding stands,
      And claims th' Hesperian crown, the promised lands;
      And even now—(on both their heads I swear)
      From Joves high throne above, thro' flitting air,
    } The thund'rer's will, the herald God declar'd;
    } These eyes beheld him, and these ears have heard;
    } He past these walls, and in broad day appear'd.
      Then cease the wounding accent of complaint—
      I follow not my will, but Heav'n's constraint».
 
 
      She heard his words—but turning from his view,
      Now here, now there, her eyes indignant threw.
      She fix'd him with a scornful silent cast,
      All over view'd him—and burst forth at last.
 
 
      «No, faithless monster, no! Nor race divine,
      Nor Dardan sire, nor Goddess mother thine!
      Form'd in the flinty womb of rocks accurst,
      Begot by Caucasus, by tygers nurst.
      What need I more? why doubt of what is plain?
      One sigh, one look, did all my tears obtain.
      How name his crimes? did loves extremest woe,
      Move that hard heart, or cause one tear to flow!
      But will Jove's Queen who guards the nuptial vow,
      Will mighty Jove himself, such deeds allow?
      Whom now confide in? Cast upon my shore,
      Shipwreck'd, distress'd, a friendly aid I bore:
      Himself, his fleet, his friends, from ruin drew,
      Nay, foolish woman! shar'd my kingdom too,
      Now,—my rage to very madness tends:
      Now Lycian fates, now Phæbus he pretends,
    } Nay mighty Jove himself, thro' flitting air
    } Sends down a god his dread command to bear.
    } A worthy object, truly, for his care!
      A mighty thing, to break the God's repose!
      But go, such fates no longer I oppose;
      Go, seek Ausonia in the hollow wind,
      And in the frothy surge a kingdom find.
      Yes may you find—just Heav'n my wishes serve!
      Dash'd on some rock, the fate that you deserve.
      Then, when you call on injure! Dido's name,
      I'll follow glaring in the light'ning's flame;
      When Death's cold hand this wretched soul shall free,
      My ghost shall haunt you, wheresoe'er you be.
      Yes wretch—be sure—the vengeance will be paid.
      'Twill reach my ear—'twill sooth my angry shade».
      While yet she spoke, she trembling turn'd away,
      Broke from his sight, and shun'd the light of day.
 
 
      She left him struck with fear, with grief opprest;
      Opposing thoughts revolv'd within his breast.
      Her languid step her maids supporting led,
      And plac'd her fainting on the nuptial bed.
 
 
      Much as he wish'd the mourner to console,
      To speak soft comfort to her wounded soul,
      To grief, to doubt, to pow'rful love a prey,
      Jove's sov'reign will, the hero must obey,
      He views the fleet, his brave companions cheers,
      Hauls down the bark and to the ocean veers;
      The sides well calk'd, the briny wave defy,
      The living woods, their shapeless limbs supply,
      From the green oar the bleeding leaf they tear,
      They run, they toil, they press the phasing care.
 
 
      In gath'ring numbers from the town they pour,
      Wind o'er the plain, and spread along the shore
      Like ants, that forage for a future day,
      And to their stores the plunder'd wheat convey;
      In narrow columns move the sable train;
      These with main strength roll on the pond'rous grain;
      These press the march, and these the loit'rers drive;
      They go, they come, their path seems all alive.
 
 
      Ill fated Queen! what pangs your bosom tore,
      What sighs you heav'd, as on the moving shore,
      The busy crews, assembling in your sight,
      With dashing waves, their horrid shouts unite.
      Love, in our heart! how boundless is thy force!
      To tears again, to pray'r she has recourse;
      Love bends her soul each suppliant art to try,
      Each humble suit, ere she resolve, to die.
      «See, Anna, see, the crowded beach they hide,
      See how they spread, they swarm from ev'ry side;
      Their open sails already court the wind,
      The stern with wreaths the joyful sailors bind.
      Oh had I thought such ills could e'er ensue
      Perhaps I should have learn'd to bear them too?