And the man's image on the nuptial bed. } And now (the sacred altars placed around) } The priestess enters, with her hair unbound, } And thrice invokes the powers below the ground. } Night, Erebus, and Chaos, she proclaims, And threefold Hecate, with her hundred names, And three Dianas: next, she sprinkles round, With feigned Avernian drops, the hallowed ground; Culls hoary simples, found by Phœbe's light, With brazen sickles reaped at noon of night; Then mixes baleful juices in the bowl, And cuts the forehead of a new-born foal, Robbing the mother's love.--The destined queen Observes, assisting at the rites obscene: A leavened cake in her devoted hands She holds, and next the highest altar stands: One tender foot was shod, her other bare, Girt was her gathered gown, and loose her hair. Thus dressed, she summoned, with her dying breath, The heavens and planets conscious of her death, And every power, if any rules above, Who minds, or who revenges, injured love. 'Twas dead of night, when weary bodies close Their eyes in balmy sleep, and soft repose: The winds no longer whisper through the woods, Nor murmuring tides disturb the gentle floods. The stars in silent order moved around; And Peace, with downy wings, was brooding on the ground. The flocks and herds, and party-coloured fowl, Which haunt the woods, or swim the weedy pool, Stretched on the quiet earth, securely lay, Forgetting the past labours of the day. All else of nature's common gift partake: Unhappy Dido was alone awake. Nor sleep nor ease the furious queen can find; Sleep fled her eyes, as quiet fled her mind. Despair, and rage, and love, divide her heart; Despair and rage had some, but love the greater part. Then thus she said within her secret mind:-- "What shall I do? what succour can I find? Become a suppliant to Iarbas' pride, And take my turn to court, and be denied? Shall I with this ungrateful Trojan go, Forsake an empire, and attend a foe? Himself I refuged, and his train relieved-- 'Tis true--but am I sure to be received? Can gratitude in Trojan souls have place? Laomedon still lives in all his race! Then, shall I seek alone the churlish crew, Or with my fleet their flying sails pursue? What force have I but those, whom scarce before I drew reluctant from their native shore? Will they again embark at my desire, Once more sustain the seas, and quit their second Tyre? Rather with steel thy guilty breast invade, And take the fortune thou thyself hast made. Your pity, sister, first seduced my mind, Or seconded too well what I designed. These dear-bought pleasures had I never known, Had I continued free, and still my own-- Avoiding love, I had not found despair, But shared with savage beasts the common air. Like them, a lonely life I might have led,