With this they saw her falling on the sword; Her blood along the reeking weapon pour'd, 815 Ran trickling down her hands.--Now horrid cries Through all the palace all the town arise-- Fame blows the deed--loud shouts from heav'n rebound, And groans and yells and female shrieks resound, As loud and shrill as if to foes a prey, 820 Carthage or ancient Tyre abandon'd lay, And thro' the temples and abodes of man, Fierce flames with undistinguish'd fury ran. Her sister hears the tumult of despair, She starts--she tears her breast, she reads her hair, 825 And wildly bursting thro' the gathering crowd, Calls on her dying sister's name aloud: Dido--Dear sister--how am I betray'd! For this, these flames--this pyre, these shrines I made. Oh what complaints for me forlorn suffice! 850 Could you, resolv'd to die, your friend despise, Was I unworthy deem'd to share your end? One pang our souls should free, one fate attend. I call'd our gods--my hands these rites prepar'd; You go without me, and our fate unshar'd? 835 Oh, sister! this sad deed has ruin'd all; With you, your state, your friends, your sister fall. --But pour the stream--I'll wash the blood away, And if some ling'ring breath of life delay, These lips shall catch it.--On the pyre she prest 840 Her sister, just expiring, to her breast; She wip'd the blood--and Dido heard her cries, And strove to raise in rain her languid eyes, They clos'd again,--and babbling in the wound The frothy blood hiss'd forth a horrid sound. 845 Thrice on her hand she lean'd to raise her head, And thrice sank down unable on her bed; Her eyes half fix'd, she open'd to the day, And groan'd that stil they felt the vivid ray. Till Juno who beheld her ling'ring death, 850 The painful agony of parting breath, Sent Iris down in pity from the sky, To free her soul, and loose the stubborn tye. For since unclaim'd by Fate, before her day, She fell to love forlorn a guiltless prey, 855 } To cut the tress, the queen of night delay'd, } The flaxen hair that on her forehead stray'd, } Nor yet consign'd her to the Stygian shade. Then Iris, going from the sunbeam drew A thousand colours, varying as she flew; 860 Her dewy wing in liquid azure spread, Dropt down the sky, and hov'ring o'er her head "Pluto, this fated lock I bear to thee, And from this body set the spirit free", She said--Her fingers cut the flaxen hair, 865 The heat dissolv'd--the soul exhal'd in air. * * * * * THE HENRIAD. CANTO IX. ARGUMENT.