LXXXIX. "Thence past Helorus' marish speeds the bark,
Where fat and fruitful shines the meadowy lea.
We graze the cliffs and jutting rocks, that mark
Pachynus. Camarina's fen we see,
Fixt there for ever by the fates' decree;
Then Gela's town (the river gave the name)
And Gela's plains, far-stretching from the sea,
And distant towers and lofty walls proclaim		793
Steep Acragas, once known for generous steeds of fame.
XC. "Thee too we pass, borne onward by the wind,
Palmy Selinus, and the treacherous strand
And shoals of Lilybæum leave behind.
Last, by the shore at Drepanum we stand
And take the shelter of her joyless land,
Here, tost so long o'er many a storm-lashed main,
We lose the stay and comfort of our band,
Here thou, best father, leav'st me to my pain,		802
Thou, saved from countless risks, but saved, alas, in vain.
XCI. "Not Helenus, who many an ill forecast,
Warned us to think such sorrow was in store,
Not even dire Celæno. There at last
My wanderings ended, and my toils were o'er,
And thence a God hath led me to your shore."
Thus, while mute wonder did the rest compose,
The Sire Æneas did his tale outpour,
And told his fates, his wanderings and his woes;		811
Then ceased at length his speech, and sought the wished repose.

BOOK FOUR

ARGUMENT

Dido opens her heart to her sister. But for her promised loyalty to the dead Sychæus, she must have yielded ([1-36]). Anna pleads for Æneas, and Dido half-yielding sacrifices to the marriage-gods. The growth of her passion is described ([37-104]). Venus feigns assent to Juno's proposal that Æneas shall marry Dido and be king of Carthage. At a hunting Juno will send a storm and the lovers will shelter in a cave, and there plight their vows ([105-144]). The plot is consummated. Dido yields ([145-198]). Description of Rumour, who bruits abroad the story and rouses the jealous Iarbas to conjure his father, Jupiter, to interpose ([199-248]). Jupiter sends Mercury to remind Æneas of his mission ([249-298]). Æneas, terrified by the message, prepares for instant flight, to the delight of his followers and the despair of Dido ([299-342]), who entreats him to stay, and rehearses the dangers to which he is leaving her ([343-374]). Æneas is obdurate. Although he loves Dido, he is the slave of a destiny which he must at all costs fulfil ([375-410]). After calling down a solemn curse upon him Dido swoons, but crushing the impulse to comfort her, he hastens his preparations for departure ([411-468]). Dido sends Anna with a last appeal to Æneas, who nevertheless, in spite of struggles, obeys the gods ([469-513]). In utter misery Dido, on pretext of burning all Æneas' love-gifts, prepares a pyre and summons a sorceress. Her preparations complete, she utters her last lament ([514-639]). Mercury repeats his warning to Æneas, who sails forthwith ([640-671]). Daybreak reveals his flight, and Dido—cursing her betrayer—falls by her own hand, to the despair of her sister and the consternation of her subjects ([672-837]).

I. Long since a prey to passion's torturing pains,
The Queen was wasting with the secret flame,
The cruel wound was feeding on her veins.
Back to the fancy of the lovelorn dame
Came the chief's valour and his country's fame.
His looks, his words still lingered in her breast,
Deep-fixt. And now the dewy Dawn upcame,
And chased the shadows, when her love's unrest		1
Thus to her sister's soul responsive she confessed:
II. "What dreams, dear Anna, fill me with alarms;
What stranger guest is this? like whom in face?
How proud in portance, how expert in arms!
In sooth I deem him of celestial race;
Fear argues souls degenerate and base;
But he—how oft by danger sore bestead,
What warlike exploits did his lips retrace.
Were not my purpose steadfast, ne'er to wed,		10
Since love first played me false, and mocked me with the dead,
III. "Were I not sick of bridal torch and bower,
This once, perchance, I had been frail again.
Anna—for I will own it—since the hour
When, poor Sychæus miserably slain,
A brother's murder rent a home in twain,
He, he alone my stubborn will could tame,
And stir the balance of my soul. Too plain
I know the traces of the long-quenched flame;		19
The sparks of love revive, rekindled, but the same.