Preserved his gods, and to the Phrygian shore The burden of his feeble father bore! I should have torn him piece-meal--strewed in floods His scattered limbs, or left exposed in woods-- Destroyed his friends, and son; and, from the fire, Have set the reeking boy before the sire. Events are doubtful, which on battle wait: Yet where's the doubt, to souls secure of fate? My Tyrians, at their injured queen's command, Had tossed their fires amid the Trojan band; At once extinguished all the faithless name; } And I myself, in vengeance of my shame, } Had fallen upon the pile, to mend the funeral flame. } Thou Sun, who view'st at once the world below! Thou Juno, guardian of the nuptial vow! Thou Hecate, hearken from thy dark abodes! Ye Furies, Fiends, and violated Gods! All powers invoked with Dido's dying breath, Attend her curses, and avenge her death! If so the Fates ordain, and Jove commands, The ungrateful wretch should find the Latian lands, Yet let a race untamed, and haughty foes, His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose: Oppressed with numbers in the unequal field, His men discouraged, and himself expelled, Let him for succour sue from place to place, Torn from his subjects, and his son's embrace. First, let him see his friends in battle slain, And their untimely fate lament in vain: And when, at length, the cruel war shall cease, On hard conditions may he buy his peace: Nor let him then enjoy supreme command; } But fall, untimely, by some hostile hand, } And lie unburied on the barren sand! } These are my prayers, and this my dying will; And you, my Tyrians, every curse fulfil. Perpetual hate, and mortal wars proclaim, Against the prince, the people, and the name. These grateful offerings on my grave bestow; Nor league, nor love, the hostile nations know! Now, and from hence, in every future age, When rage excites your arms, and strength supplies the rage, Rise some avenger of our Libyan blood, With fire and sword pursue the perjured brood; Our arms, our seas, our shores, opposed to theirs; And the same hate descend on all our heirs!" This said, within her anxious mind she weighs The means of cutting short her odious days. Then to Sichæus' nurse she briefly said, (For, when she left her country, her's was dead,) "Go, Barce, call my sister. Let her care The solemn rites of sacrifice prepare; The sheep, and all the atoning offerings, bring; Sprinkling her body from the crystal spring With living drops; then let her come, and thou With sacred fillets bind thy hoary brow. Thus will I pay my vows to Stygian Jove, And end the cares of my disastrous love; Then cast the Trojan image on the fire, And, as that burns, my passion shall expire." The nurse moves onward with officious care,