LVII. Loud shrieks are heard, and wails of the distrest,
The souls of babes, that on the threshold cry,
Reft of sweet life, and ravished from the breast,
And early plunged in bitter death. Hard by
Are those, whom slanderous charges doomed to die.
Not without judgment these abodes they win.
Here, urn in hand, dread [Minos] sits to try
The charge anew; he summons from within		505
The silent court, and learns each several life and sin.
LVIII. And next are those, who, hateful of the day,
With guiltless hands their sorrowing lives have ta'en,
And miserably flung their souls away.
How gladly now, in upper air again,
Would they endure their poverty and pain!
It may not be. The Fates their doom decide
Past hope, and bind them to this sad domain.
Dark round them rolls the sea, unlovely tide;		514
Ninefold the waves of Styx those dreary realms divide.

LIX. Not far off stretch the Mourning Meads, where those
Whom cruel Love hath wasted with despair,
In myrtle groves and alleys hide their woes,
Nor Death itself relieves them of their care.
Lo, [Phædra, Procris, Eriphyle] there,
Baring the breast by filial hands imbrued,
[Evadne, and Pasiphaë,] and fair
[Laodamia] in the crowd he viewed,		523
And Cæneus, maid, then man, and now a maid renewed.
LX. There through the wood Phoenician Dido strayed,
Fresh from her wound. Whom when Æneas knew,
Scarce seen, though near, amid the doubtful shade,
As one who views, or only seems to view,
The clouded moon rise when the month is new,
Fondly he spake, while tears were in his eye:
"Ah, hapless Dido! then the news was true
That thou had'st sought the bitter end. Was I,		532
Alas! the cause of death? O by the starry sky,
LXI. "By Gods above, by faith, if aught, below,
Unwillingly, O Queen, I left thy sight.
The Gods, at whose compulsion now I go
Through these dark Shades, this realm of deepest Night,
These wastes of squalor, 'twas their word of might
That drove me forth; nor could I dream such woe
Was thine at my departing. Stay thy flight.
Whom dost thou fly? O, whither wilt thou go?		541
One word—the last, sad word—one parting look bestow!"
LXII. So strove Æneas, weeping, to appease
Her wrathful spirit. She, with down-fixt eyes
Turns from him, scowling, heedless of his pleas,
And hard as flint or marble, nor replies.
Then, starting, to the shadowy grove she flies,
Where dead Sychæus, her old lord, renews
His love with hers, and sorrows with her sighs.
Touched by her fate, the Dardan hero views,		550
And far with tearful gaze the melting shade pursues.

LXIII. Thus onward to the furthest fields they strayed,
The haunts of heroes here doth [Tydeus] fare,
[Parthenopæus,] pale [Adrastus'] shade.
And many a Dardan, wailed in upper air,
And fallen in war. Sighing, he sees them there,
Glaucus, Thersilochus and Medon slain,
Antenor's sons, three brethren past compare,
And Polyphoetes, priest of Ceres' fane,		559
And brave Idæus, still grasping the sword and rein.