O dearer to thy sister than the light of life, Wilt thou consume thy youth in loneliness and grief, And never know the sacred joys of motherhood, The sweets of love? And dost thou think, that in the tomb Thy husband’s sleeping spirit recks of this? Let be, That never yet have other suitors moved thy heart Which long has scorned the lords of Libya and of Tyre; Let prince Iarbas be rejected and the lords Of Africa’s heroic land: wilt still against A pleasing love contend? And hast considered then Whose are the powers upon the borders of thy realm? Here are Gætulia’s cities, matchless race in war; Here wild Numidians hedge thee round, and Ocean’s shoals; While yonder lies the sandy desert parched and wild, Where fierce Barcæans range. Why need I mention Tyre’s Dark-looming cloud of war, thy brother’s threats? For me, I think that through the favor of the gods and care Of Juno hath Æneas drifted to our shores. And to what glory shalt thou see thy city rise, What strong far-reaching sway upreared on such a tie! Assisted by the Trojan arms, our youthful state Up to the very pinnacle of fame shall soar. Then pray the favor of the gods, and give its due To sacred hospitality. Lo, to thy hand Is cause of dalliance, while still the blustering winds Of winter sweep the sea, Orion’s storms prevail, Their fleet is shattered, and the frowning heavens lower. Dido, during this speech, has gone to her husband’s shrine. There is a mighty struggle in her soul between love and duty. Barce, wakened from her sleep and seeing her mistress pale and anguish-stricken, throws herself before her. Dido finally yields and reaches her trembling hand to quench the censer. The old nurse clings to her in terrified appeal. Dido frees herself from her. She quenches the flame and draws the curtain before the shrine. Old Barce sits sobbing before the darkened altar. Meanwhile the light has been changing into dawn and the sea and harbor begin to be visible through the open window. Dido crosses the chamber, and after a moment’s struggle draws back the curtains from before the recess where hang the brilliant garments laid aside during her widowhood. She takes down a purple mantle, and standing before a mirror, girds it about her with a golden girdle. The sound of a trumpet and the shouts of the sailors are heard in the distance. Anna goes to the window, and seeing Æneas and his men below on the shore, draws Dido to the window. Dido gazes for a minute and then, filled with her new passion, goes forth with her sister to meet Æneas. Curtain. ACT II. SCENE 2 [Illustration]