Background Information
The Aeneid was written by Virgil, whose real name was Publius Vergilius Maro (traditional dates
October 15, 70 BC – September 21, 19 BC). Virgil was an ancient Roman poet of the Augustan period.
He wrote three of the most famous poems in Latin literature: the Eclogues (or Bucolics), the Georgics,
and the epic Aeneid. Virgil is traditionally ranked as one of Rome's greatest poets. The Aeneid has been
considered the national epic of ancient Rome and one of the greatest works of Latin literature.
The Aeneid is a Latin epic poem that tells the legendary story of Aeneas, a Trojan who travelled
to Italy, where he became the ancestor of the Romans. It comprises 9,896 lines in dactylic
hexameter. You will read a translation by H.R. Fairclough. The first six of the poem's twelve
books tell the story of Aeneas's wanderings from Troy to Italy, and the poem's second half tells
of the Trojans' ultimately victorious war upon the Latins.
This map traces Aeneas’ journey from Troy to Rome. In Book 4, he is on the shore of Carthage,
in Northern Africa.
Reading Strategies
As you read:
•
Note these characters:
- Dido – Queen of Carthage
- Aeneas – Trojan hero who has wandered to the shores of Carthage
- Anna – Dido’s Sister
- Sychaeus – Dido’s dead husband
- Iarbus – a suitor
•
•
•
•
Juno – an ancient Roman goddess; the wife of Jupiter. She is protector and special
counselor of the state.
Keep track of key symbols. Mark that symbol in your text each time it appears. How
does it foreshadow the story’s end?
Pay attention to the language that appeals to the senses, representing things that can be
seen, smelled, heard, tasted, or touched.
Note figurative language. Many literary works contain figurative language, language that
is not meant to be interpreted literally, The most common types of figurative language are
metaphors and similes, which compare two unlike things in order to suggest a similarity
between them. Metaphors say one thing is another. (“All the world’s a stage.”) Similes
claim that one thing is like another thing (“The moon is like a ball of green cheese.”)
Read literary criticism on The Aeneid from separate texts..
www.theoi.com/Text/VirgilAeneid4.html
AENEID BOOK 4, TRANSLATED BY H. R. FAIRCLOUGH
[1] But the queen, long since smitten with a grievous love-pang, feeds the wound with her lifeblood,
and is wasted with fire unseen. Oft to her mind rushes back the hero’s valor, oft his glorious stock;
his looks and words cling fast to her bosom, and longing withholds calm rest from her limbs.
[6] The morrow’s dawn was lighting the earth with the lamp of Phoebus, and had scattered from the
sky the dewy shades, when, much distraught, she thus speaks to her sister, sharer of her heart:
“Anna, my sister, what dreams thrill me with fears? Who is this stranger guest who has entered our
home? How noble his mien! How brave in heart and feats of arms! I believe it well – nor is my
confidence vain – that he is sprung from gods. It is fear that proves souls base-born. Alas! by what
fates is he vexed! What wars, long endured, did he recount! Were the purpose not planted in my
mind, fixed and immovable, to ally myself with none in bond of wedlock, since my first love, turning
traitor, cheated me by death; were I not tired of the bridal bed and torch, to this one fault, perhaps, I
might have yielded! Anna – for I will own it – since the death of my hapless lord Sychaeus, and the
shattering of our home by a brother’s murder, he alone has swayed my will and overthrown my
tottering soul. I feel again a spark of that former flame. But rather, I would pray, may earth yawn for
me to its depths, or may the Almighty Father hurl me with his bolt to the shades – the pale shades
and abysmal night in Erebus – before, Shame, I violate you or break your laws! He who first linked
me to himself has taken away my heart; may he keep it with him, and guard it in the grave!” So
saying, she filled her breast with upwelling tears.
[31] Anna replies: “O you who are dearer to your sister than the light, are you, lonely and sad, going
to pine away all your youth long, and know not sweet children or love’s rewards? Do you think that
dust or buried shades give heed to that? Grant that until now no wooers moved your sorrow, not in
Libya, not before then in Tyre; that Iarbas was slighted, and other lords whom the African land, rich
in triumphs, rears; will you wrestle also with a love that pleases? And does it not come to your mind
whose lands you have settled in? On this side Gaetulian cities, a race invincible in war, unbridled
Numidians, and the unfriendly Syrtis hem you in; on that side lies a tract barren with drought, and
Barcaeans, raging far and wide. Why speak of the wars rising from Tyre, your brother’s threats . . . ?
I certainly believe that it was with the gods’ favour and Juno’s aid that the Ilian ships held their
course hither with the wind. What a city you will see rise here, my sister, what a realm, by reason of
such a marriage! With Teucrian arms beside us, to what heights will Punic glory soar? Only ask
favour of the gods and, with sacrifice duly offered, be lavish with your welcome, and weave pleas for
delay, while at sea winter rages fiercely and Orion is stormy – while the ships are shattered, and the
skies intractable!”
[54] With these words she fanned into flame the queen’s love-enkindled heart, put hope in her
wavering mind, and loosed the bonds of shame. First they visit the shrines and sue for peace at
every altar; duly they slay chosen sheep to Ceres the law-giver, to Phoebus and father Lyaeus,
above all to Juno, guardian of the bonds of marriage. Dido herself, matchless in beauty, with cup in
hand, pours libation midway between the horns of a white heifer, or in presence of the gods moves
slowly to the rich altars, and day by day renews her gifts, then, gazing into the opened breasts of
victims, consults the quivering entrails. Ah, the blind souls of seers! Of what avail are vows or
shrines to one wild with love? All the while the flame devours her tender heartstrings, and deep in
her breast lives the silent wound. Unhappy Dido burns, and through the city wanders in frenzy –
even as a hind, smitten by an arrow, which, all unwary, amid the Cretan woods, a shepherd hunting
with darts has pierced from afar, leaving in her the winged steel, unknowing: she in flight ranges the
Dictaean woods and glades, but fast to her side clings the deadly shaft.
[80]Now through the city’s midst she leads Aeneas with her, and displays her Sidonian wealth and
the city built; she begins to speak and stops with the word half-spoken. Now, as day wanes, she
seeks that same banquet, again in her madness craves to hear the sorrows of Ilium and again hangs
on the speaker’s lips. Then when all have gone their ways, and in turn the dim moon sinks her light,
and the setting stars invite sleep, alone she mourns in the empty hall, and falls on the couch he has
left. Though absent, each from each, she hears him, she sees him, or, captivated by his look of his
father, she holds Ascanius on her lap, in case she may beguile a passion beyond all utterance. No
longer rise the towers begun, no longer do the youth exercise in arms, or toil at havens or bulwarks
for safety in war; the works are broken off and idle – great menacing walls and cranes that touch the
sky.
[90] Soon as the loved wife of Jove saw that Dido was held in a passion so fatal, and that her good
name was now no bar to her frenzy, the daughter of Saturn accosts Venus thus: “Splendid indeed is
the praise and rich the spoils you win, you and your boy; mighty and glorious is the power divine, if
one woman is subdued by the guile of two gods! Nay, it escapes me not how, in fear of our city, you
have held in suspicion the homes of high Carthage. But what shall be the end? And what is the point
of all this contest now? Why do we not rather strive for an enduring peace and a plighted wedlock?
What you sought with all your heart you have; Dido is on fire with love and has drawn the madness
through her veins. Let us then rule this people jointly with equal sovereignty; let her serve a Phrygian
husband and yield her Tyrians to your power as dowry!”
[105] To her – for she knew that with feigned purpose she had spoken, to turn the empire from Italy
to Libya’s shores – Venus thus began in reply: “Who so mad as to refuse such terms, or prefer to
strive against you in war, as long as Fortune favour the fulfilment of your word? But the Fates send
me adrift, uncertain whether Jupiter wills that there be one city for the Tyrians and the wanderers
from Troy, or approves the blending of peoples and the league of union. You are his wife; it is lawful
for you to try to persuade his heart with entreaty. Go on; I will follow!” Then queenly Juno thus
replied: “With me shall rest that task. Now in what way the present purpose can be achieved,
hearken and I will explain in brief. Aeneas and unhappy Dido plan to go hunting together in the
forest, as soon as tomorrow’s sun shows his rising and with his rays unveils the world. On them,
while the hunters run to and fro and gird the glades with nets, I will pour down from above a black
rain mingled with hail, and wake the whole welkin with thunder. The company shall scatter and be
veiled in gloom of night; to the same cave shall come Dido and the Trojan chief. I will be there and, if
I can be sure of your good will, will link them in sure wedlock, sealing her for his own; this shall be
their bridal!” Yielding to her suit, the Cytherean gave assent and smiled at the guile discovered.
[129] Meanwhile Dawn rose and left the ocean. When sunlight has burst forth, there issues from the
gates a chosen band of youth; with meshed nets, toils, broad-pointed hunting spears, there stream
forth Massylian horsemen and their strong, keen-scented hounds. As the queen lingers in her bower,
the Punic princes await her at the doorway; her prancing steed stands brilliant in purple and gold,
and proudly champs the foaming bit. At last she comes forth, attended by a mighty throng, and clad
in a Sidonian robe with embroidered border. Her quiver is of gold, her tresses are knotted into gold, a
buckle of gold clasps her purple cloak. With her pace a Phrygian train and joyous Iulus. Aeneas
himself, goodly beyond all others, advances to join her and unites his band with hers. As when
Apollo quits Lycia, his winter home, and the streams of Xanthus, to visit his mother’s Delos, and
renews the dance, while mingling about his altars Cretans and Dryopes and painted Agathyrsians
raise their voices – he himself treads the Cynthian ridges, and with soft foliage shapes and binds his
flowing locks, braiding it with golden diadem; the shafts rattle on his shoulders: so no less lightly than
he went Aeneas, such beauty shines forth from his noble face! When they came to the mountain
heights and pathless lairs, wild goats dislodged from the rocky peaks ran down the ridges; in another
part stags scurry across the open moors and amid clouds of dust mass their bands in flight, as they
leave the hills behind. But in the midst of the valleys the young Ascanius glories in his fiery steed,
galloping past now these, now those, and prays that amid the timorous herds a foaming boar may be
granted to his vows or a tawny lion come down from the mountain.
[160] Meanwhile in the sky begins the turmoil of a wild uproar; rain follows, mingled with hail. The
scattered Tyrian train and the Trojan youth, with the Dardan grandson of Venus, in their fear seek
shelter here and there over the fields; torrents rush down from the heights. To the same cave come
Dido and the Trojan chief. Primal Earth and nuptial Juno give the sign; fires flashed in Heaven, the
witness to their bridal, and on the mountaintop screamed the Nymphs. That day the first of death, the
first of calamity was cause. For no more is Dido swayed by fair show or fair fame, no more does she
dream of a secret love: she calls it marriage and with that name veils her sin.
[173] At once Rumour runs through Libya’s great cities – Rumour the swiftest of all evils. Speed
lends her strength, and she winds vigour as she goes; small at first through fear, soon she mounts
up to heaven, and walks the ground with head hidden in the clouds. Mother Earth, provoked to anger
against the gods, brought her forth last, they, say as sister to Coeus and Enceladus, swift of foot and
fleet of wing, a monster awful and huge, who for the many feathers in her body has as many
watchful eyes beneath – wondrous to tell – as many tongues, as many sounding mouths, as many
pricked-up ears. By night, midway between heaven and earth, she flies through the gloom,
screeching, and droops not her eyes in sweet sleep; by day she sits on guard on high rooftop or lofty
turrets, and affrights great cities, clinging to the false and the wrong, yet heralding truth. Now exulting
in manifold gossip, she filled the nations and sang alike of fact and falsehood, how Aeneas is come,
one born of Trojan blood, to whom in marriage fair Dido deigns to join herself; now they while away
the winter, all its length, in wanton ease together, heedless of their realms and enthralled by
shameless passion. These tales the foul goddess spreads here and there upon the lips of men.
Straightway to King Iarbas she bends her course, and with her words fires his spirit and heaps high
his wrath.
[198] He, the son of Hammon by a ravished Garamantian Nymph, set up to Jupiter in his broad
realms a hundred vast temples, a hundred altars, and had hallowed the wakeful fire, the eternal
sentry of the gods. The ground was fat with the blood of beasts and the portals bloomed with varied
garlands. Distraught in mind and fired with the bitter tale, they say, before the altars and amid the
divine presences he often besought Jove in prayer with upturned hands: “Almighty Jupiter, to whom
now the Moorish race, feasting on embroidered couches, pour a Lenaean offering, do you see these
things? Is it vainly, father, that we shudder at you, when you hurl your thunderbolts? And do aimless
fires amid the clouds terrify our souls and stir murmurs void of purpose? This woman who, straying
in our bounds, set up a tiny city at a price, to whom we gave coastland to plough and terms of
tenure, has spurned my offers of marriage, and welcomed Aeneas into her realm as lord. And now
that Paris with his eunuch train, his chin and perfumed locks bound with a Lydian turban, grasps the
spoil; while we bring offerings to your temples, yours forsooth, and cherish an idle story.”
[219] As with such words he pleaded, clasping the altars, the Almighty gave ear and turned his eyes
on the royal city and the lovers forgetful of their nobler fame. Then thus to Mercury he speaks and
gives this charge: “Go forth, my son, call the Zephyrs, glide on they wings, and speak to the Dardan
chief, who now at Carthage is looking forward to Tyrian cities, unmindful of those granted him by the
Fates; so carry down my words through the swift winds. Not such as this did his lovely mother
promise him to us, nor for this twice rescue him from Grecian arms; but he it was who should rule
Italy, a land teeming with empire and clamorous with war, hand on a race from Teucer’s noble blood,
and bring all the world beneath his laws. If the glory of such a fortune fires him not and for his own
fame’s sake he shoulders not the burden, does he, the father, grudge Ascanius the towers of Rome?
What is his plan? In what hope does he tarry among a hostile people and pays no heed to Ausonia\s
race and the Lavinian fields? Let him set sail; this is the sum; be this the message from me.”
[238] He ceased. The god made ready to obey his mighty father’s bidding, and first binds on his feet
the golden shoes which carry him upborne on wings over seas or land, swift as the gale. Then he
takes his wand; with this he calls pale ghosts from Orcus and sends others down to gloomy
Tartaurs, gives or takes away sleep and unseals eyes in death; relying on this, he drives the winds
and skims the stormy clouds. And now in flight he descries the peak and steep sides of toiling Atlas,
who props heaven on his peak – Atlas, whose pine-wreathed head is ever girt with black clouds, and
beaten with wind and rain; fallen snow mantles his shoulders while rivers plunge down the aged chin
and his rough beard is stiff with ice. Here, poised on even wings, the Cyllenian first halted; hence
with his whole frame he sped sheer down to the waves like a bird, which round the shores, round the
fish-haunted cliffs, flies low near to the waters. Even thus between earth and sky flew Cyllene’s
nursling to Libya’s sandy shore, and cut the winds, coming from his mother’s sire.
[259] As soon as with winged feet he reached the huts, he sees Aeneas founding towers and
building new houses. And his sword was starred with yellow jasper, and a cloak hung from his
shoulders ablaze with Tyrian purple – a gift that wealthy Dido had wrought, interweaving the web
with thread of gold. At once he assails him: “Are you now laying the foundations of lofty Carthage,
and building up a fair city, and all for a woman’s whim? Alas! With never a thought of your own realm
and fate! The ruler of the gods himself, who sways heaven and earth with his power, sends me down
to you from bright Olympus. He himself bids me bring this charge through the swift breezes: What
are you planning? In what hope do you waste idle hours in Libyan lands? If the glory of such a
fortune does not stir you, and for your own fame’s sake you do not shoulder the burden, have regard
from growing Ascanius, the promise of Iulus your heir, to whom the kingdom of Italy and the Roman
land are due.” Such words the Cyllenian spoke, and while yet speaking left the sight of men and far
away from their eyes vanished into thin air.
[279] But in truth Aeneas, aghast at he sight, was struck dumb; his hair stood up in terror and the
voice choked in his throat. He burns to flee away and quit that pleasant land, awed by that warning
and divine commandment. Ah, what to do? With what speech now dare he approach the frenzied
queen? What opening words choose first? And as he casts his swift mind this way and that, takes it
in different directions and considers every possibility, this, as he wavered, seemed the better
counsel; he calls Mnestheus and Sergestus, bidding them make ready the fleet in silence, gather the
crews to the shore, and order the armament, but hide the cause of his altered plans. He meanwhile,
since gracious Dido knows nothing, nor expects the breaking of so strong a love, will essay an
approach and seek the happiest season for speech, the plan auspicious for his purpose. At once all
gladly obey his command and do his bidding.
[296] But the queen – who may deceive a lover? – divined his guile, and early caught news of the
coming stir, fearful even when all was safe. The same heartless Rumour brought her the maddening
news that they are arming the fleet and making ready for sailing. Helpless in mind she rages, and all
aflame raves through the city, like some Thyiad startled by the shaken emblems, when she has
heard the Bacchic cry: the biennial revels fire her and at night Cithaeron summons her with its din. At
length she thus accosts Aeneas first:
[305] “’False one! Did you really hope to cloak so foul a crime, and to steal from my land in silence?
Does neither our love restrain you, nor the pledge once given, nor the doom of a cruel death for
Dido? Even in the winter season do you actually hasten to labour at your fleet, and to journey over
the sea in the midst of northern gales, heartless one? What! If you were not in quest of alien lands
and homes unknown, were ancient Troy yet standing, would Troy be sought by your ships over
stormy seas? Is it from me you are fleeing? By these tears and your right hand, I pray you – since
nothing else, alas, have I left myself – by the marriage that is ours, by the nuptial rites begun, if ever
I deserved well of you, or if anything of mine has been sweet in your sight, pity a falling house, and if
yet there be any room for prayers, put away, I pray, this purpose. Because of you the Libyan tribes
and Numidian chiefs hate me, the Tyrians are my foes; because of you I have also lost my honour
and that former fame by which alone I was winning a title to the stars. To whose mercy do you leave
me on the point of death, guest – since that alone is left from the name of husband? Why do I linger?
Is it till Pygmalion, my brother, overthrow this city, or the Gaetulian Iarbas lead me captive? At least,
if before your flight a child of yours had been born to me, if in my hall a baby Aeneas were playing,
whose face, in spite of all, would bring back yours, I should not think myself utterly vanquished and
forlorn.”
[331] She ceased: he by Jove’s command held his eyes steadfast and with a struggle smothered the
pain deep within his heart. At last he briefly replies: “I will never deny, Queen, that you have
deserved of me the utmost you can set forth in speech, nor shall my memory of Elissa be bitter,
while I have memory of myself, and while breath governs these limbs. For my conduct few words will
I say. I did not hope – think not that – to veil my flight in stealth. I never held out a bridegroom’s torch
or entered such a compact. Had destiny permitted me to shape my life after my own pleasure and
order my sorrows at my own will, my first care would be the city of Troy and the sweet relics of my
king. Priam’s high house would still abide and my own hand would have set up a revived Pergamus
for the vanquished. But now of great Italy has Grynean Apollo bidden me lay hold, of Italy the Lycian
oracles. There is my love, there my country! If the towers of Carthage and the sight of Libyan city
charm you, a Phoenician, why, pray, grudge the Trojans their settling on Ausonian land? We, too,
have the right to seek a foreign realm. Each time the night with dewy shades veils the earth, each
time the starry fires arise, in my dreams my father Anchises’ troubled ghost brings me warning and
terror; the thought of young Ascanius comes to me and the wrong done to one so dear, whom I am
cheating of a Hesperian kingdom and predestined lands. Now, too, the messenger of the gods sent
from Jove himself – I sear by both our lives – has borne his command down through the swift
breezes; my own eyes saw the god in the clear light of day come within our walls and these ears
drank in his words. Cease to inflame yourself and me with your complaints. It is not by my wish that I
make for Italy . . . “
[362] As thus he spoke, all the while she gazes on him askance, turning her eyes to and fro, and with
silent glances scans the whole man; then thus, inflamed, cries out: “False one, no goddess was your
mother, nor was Dardanus the founder of your line, but rugged Caucasus on his flinty rocks begot
you, and Hyrcanian tigresses suckled you. For why hide my feelings? For what greater wrongs do I
hold myself back? Did he sigh while I wept? Did he turn on me a glance? Did he yield and shed tears
or pity her who loved him? What shall I say first? What next? Now, neither mighty Juno nor the
Saturnian sire looks on these things with righteous eyes! Nowhere is faith secure. I welcomed him, a
castaway on the shore, a beggar, and madly gave him a share of my throne; his lost fleet I rescued,
his crews I saved from death. Alas! I am whirled on the fires of frenzy. Now prophetic Apollo, now the
Lycian oracles, now the messenger of the gods sent from Jove himself, brings through the air this
dread command. Truly, this is work for gods, this is care to vex their peace! I detain you not; I
dispute not your words. Go, make for Italy with the winds; seek your kingdom over the waves. Yet I
trust, if the righteous gods have any power, that on the rocks midway you will drain the cup of
vengeance and often call on Dido’s name. Though far away, I will chase you with murky brands and,
when chill death has severed soul and body, everywhere my shade shall haunt you. Relentless one,
you will repay! I shall hear, and the tale will reach me in the depths of the world below!” So saying,
she breaks off her speech midway and flees in anguish from the light, turning away, tearing herself
from his sight, and leaving him in fear and much hesitance, and ready to say much. Her maids
support her, carry her swooning form to her marble bower, and lay her on her bed.
[393] But loyal Aeneas, though longing to soothe and assuage her grief and by his words turn aside
her sorrow, with many a sigh, his soul shaken by his mighty love, yet fulfils Heaven’s bidding and
returns to the fleet. Then, indeed, the Teucrians fall to and all along the shore launch their tall ships.
The keels, well-pitched, are set afloat; the sailors, eager for flight, bring from the woods leafy boughs
for oars and logs unhewn . . . One could see them moving away and streaming forth from all the city.
Even as when ants, mindful of winter, plunder a huge heap of corn and store it in their home; over
the plain moves a black column, and through the grass they carry the spoil on a narrow track; some
strain with their shoulders and heave on the huge grains, some close up the ranks and rebuke the
delay; all the path is aglow with work. What feelings then were yours, Dido, at such a sight! or what
sighs did you utter, viewing from the top of the fortress the beach aglow far and near, and seeing
before your eyes the whole sea astir with loud cries! O relentless Love, to what do you not drive the
heats of men. Once more she must needs break into tears, once more assail him with prayer, and
humbly bow down her pride to love, lest she leave anything untried and go to death in vain.
[416] “Anna, you see the bustle all along the shore; from all sides they have gathered; already the
canvas invites the breeze, and the joyous sailors have crowned the stern with garlands. If I have had
strength to foresee this great sorrow, I shall also, sister, have strength to endure it. Yet this one
service, Anna, do for me – for you alone that traitor made his friend, to you he confided even his
secret thoughts, you alone will know the hour for easy access to him – go, sister, and humbly
address our haughty foe. I never conspired with the Danaans at Aulis to root out the Trojan race; I
never sent a fleet to Pergamus, nor tore up the ashes and disturbed the spirit of his father Anchises.
Why does he refuse to admit my words to his stubborn ears? Whither does he hasten? This, the last
boon, let him grant his poor lover: let him await an easy flight and favouring winds. No more do I
plead for the old marriage tie which he forswore, nor that he give up fair Latium and resign his realm:
for empty time I ask, for peace and reprieve for my frenzy, till fortune teach my vanquished soul to
grieve. This last grace I crave – pity your sister – which, when he has granted it, I will repay with full
interest in my death.”
[437] Such was her prayer and such the tearful pleas the unhappy sister bears again and again. But
by no tearful pleas is he moved, nor in yielding mood does he pay heed to any words. Fate
withstands and heaven seals his kindly, mortal ears. Even as when northern Alpine winds, blowing
now hence, now thence, emulously strive to uproot an oak strong with the strength of years, there
comes a roar, the trunk quivers and the high leafage thickly strews the ground, but the oak clings to
the crag, and as far as it lifts its top to the airs of heaven, so far it strikes its roots down towards hell
– even so with ceaseless appeals, from this side and from that, the hero is buffeted, and in his
mighty heart feels agony: his mind stands steadfast; his tears fall without effect.
[450] Then, indeed, awed by her doom, luckless Dido prays for death; she is weary of gazing on the
arch of heaven. And to make her more surely fulfil her purpose and leave the light, she saw, as she
laid her gifts on the altars ablaze with incense – fearful to tell – the holy water darken and the
outpoured wine change into loathsome gore. Of this sight she spoke to no one – not even her sister.
Moreover, there was in the palace a marble chapel to her former lord, which she cherished in
wondrous honour, wreathing it with snowy fleeces and festal foliage. Thence she heard, it seemed,
sounds and speech as of her husband calling, whenever darkling night held the world; and alone on
the housetops with ill-boding song the owl would oft complain, drawing out its lingering notes into a
wail; and likewise many a saying of the seers of old terrifies her with fearful boding. In her sleep
fierce Aeneas himself drives her in her frenzy; and ever she seems to be left lonely, ever ending,
companionless, an endless way, and seeking her Tyrians in a land forlorn – even as raving
Pentheus sees the Bacchants’ bands, and a double sun and two-fold Thebes rise to view; or as
when Agamemnon’s son, Orestes, hounded by the Furies, flees from his mother, who is armed with
brands and black serpents, while at the doorway crouch avenging Fiends.
[474] So when, outworn with anguish, she caught the madness and resolved to die, in her own heart
she determines the time and manner, and accosts her sorrowful sister, with mien that veils her plan
and on her brow a cloudless hope. “Sister mine, I have found a way – wish your sister joy – to return
him to me or release me from my love for him. Near Ocean’s bound and the setting sun lies Ethiopia,
farthest of lands, where mightiest Atlas on this shoulders turns the sphere, inset with gleaming stars.
Thence a priestess of Massylian race has been shown me, warden of the fane of the Hesperides,
who gave dainties to the dragon and guarded the sacred bows on the tree, sprinkling dewy honey
and slumberous poppies. With her spells she professes to set free the hearts of whom she wills, but
on others to bring cruel love pains; to stay the flow of rivers and turn back the stars; she awakes the
ghosts of night; and you will see earth rumbling under your feet and ash trees coming down the
mountains. I call heaven to witness and you, dear sister mine, and your dear life, that against my will
I arm myself with magic arts! Secretly raise up a pyre in the inner court under the sky, and heap up
on it’s the arms that heartless one left hanging in my bower, and all his attire and the bridal bed that
was my undoing. I want to destroy all memorials of the abhorred wretch, and the priestess to
directs.” Thus she speaks and is silent; pallor the while overspreads her face. Yet Anna thinks not
that her sister veils her death under these strange rites; her mind dreams not of such frenzy nor does
she fear anything worse than when Sychaeus died. So she makes ready as bidden . . .
[505] But the queen, when in the heart of her home the pyre rose heavenward, piled high with pine
logs and hewn ilex, hangs the place with garlands and crowns it with funeral boughs. On top, upon
the couch, she lays the dress he wore, the sword he left, and an image of him, knowing what was to
come. Round about stand altars, and with streaming hair the priestess calls in thunder tones on
thrice a hundred gods, Erebos and Chaos, and threefold Hecate, triple-faced maiden Diana. Waters,
too, she had sprinkled feigned to be from the spring of Avernus, and herbs were sought, cut by
moonlight with brazen sickles, and juicy with milk of black venom; sought, too, was the love charm,
torn from the brow of a colt at birth before the mother snatched it . . . She herself, with holy meal and
holy hands, stood beside the altars, one for unsandalled and girdle loosened; soon to die, she calls
on the gods and on the stars, witnesses of her doom; then she prays to whatever power, righteous
and mindful, watches over lovers unequally allied.
[522] It was night, and over the earth weary creatures were tasting the peace of slumber; the woods
and wild seas had sunk to rest – the hour when stars roll midway in their gliding course, when all the
land is still, and beasts and coloured birds, both those that far and near haut the limpid lakes, and
those that dwell in the thorny thickets of the countryside, are couched in sleep beneath the silent
night. They were soothing their cares, their hearts oblivious of sorrows. But not so the soul-racked
Phoenician queen; she never sinks into sleep, nor draws darkness into eyes or heart. Her pangs
redouble, and her love, swelling up, surges afresh, as she heaves with a mighty tide of passion.
Thus then she begins, and thus alone revolves her thoughts in her heart: “See, hwat am I do do?
Shall I once more make trial of my old wooers, only to be mocked, and shall I humbly sue for
marriage with Numidians, whom I have scorned so often as husbands? Shall I then follow the Ilian
ships and the Trojan’s uttermost commands? Is it because they are thankful for aid once given, and
gratitude for past kindness stands firm in their mindful hearts? But who – suppose that I wished it –
will suffer me, or take on so hated on those haughty ships? Ah! lost one, do you not yet understand
nor perceive the treason of Laomedon’s race? What then? Shall I on my own accompany the
exultant sailors in their flight? Or, surrounded by all my Tyrian band, shall I pursue, and shall I again
drive seaward the men whom I could scarce tear from the Sidonian city, and bid them unfurl their
sails to the winds? Nay, die as you deserve, and with the sword end your sorrow. Won over by my
tears, you, my sister, you were the first to load my frenzied soul with these ills, and drive me on the
foe. Ah, that I could not spend my life apart from wedlock, a blameless life, like some wild creature,
and not know such cares! The faith vowed to the ashes of Sychaeus I have not kept.” Such were the
cries that kept bursting from her heart.
[554] But now that all was duly ordered, and now that he was resolved on going, Aeneas was
snatching sleep on his vessel’s high stern. In his sleep there appeared to him a vision of the god, as
he came again with the same aspect, and once more seemed to warn him thus, in all aspects like
Mercury, in voice and colouring, in golden hair and the graceful limbs of youth: “Goddess-born, when
such hazard threatens, can you still slumber? Do you not see the perils that from henceforth hem
you in, madman? Do you not hear the kindly breezes blowing? She, resolved on death, revolves in
her heart fell craft and crime, and awakens the swirling surge of passion. Will you not flee hence in
haste, while hasty flight is possible? Soon you will see the waters a welter of timbers, see fierce
brands ablaze, and soon the shore flashing with flames, if dawn finds you lingering in these lands.
Up then, break off delay! A fickle and changeful thing is woman ever.” So he spoke and melted into
the black night.
[571] Thus indeed Aeneas, scared by the sudden vision, tears himself from sleep and bestirs his
comrades. “Make haste, my men, awake and man the benches! Unfurl the sails with speed! A god
sent from high heaven again spurs us to hasten our flight and cut the twisted cables. We follow you,
holy among gods, whoever you are, and again joyfully obey your command. Oh, be with us, give
your gracious aid, and in the sky vouchsafe kindly stars!” He spoke, and from its sheath snatches his
flashing sword and strikes the hawser with the drawn blade. The same zeal catches all at once; with
hurry and scurry they have quitted the shore; the sea is hidden under their fleets; lustily they churn
the foam and sweep the blue waters.
[584] And now early Dawn, leaving the saffron bed of Tithonus, was sprinkling her fresh rays upon
the earth. Soon as the queen from her watchtower saw the light whiten and the fleet move on with
even sails, and knew the shores and harbours were void of oarsmen, thrice and four times she
struck her comely breast with her hand, and tearing her golden hair, “O God,” she cries, “shall he
go? Shall the intruder have made of our realm a laughingstock? Will pursuers not fetch arms and
give chase from all the city, and some of them speed ships from the docks? Go, haste to bring fire,
serve arms, ply oars! What say I? Where am I? What madness turns my brain? Unhappy Dido, do
only now your sinful deeds come home to you? Then was the time, when you gave your crown away.
Behold the pledge and promise of him who, so they say, carries wit him his ancestral gods and bore
his worn-out father on his shoulders! Could I not have seized him, torn him limb from limb, and
scattered the pieces on the waves? Could I not have put his men to the sword, and Ascanius
himself, and served him up as a meal at his father’s table? But perhaps the issue of battle had been
doubtful? Suppose it had been: doomed to death, whom had I to fear? I should have carried fire to
his camp, filled his decks with flame, blotted out father and son together with the whole race, and
immolated myself on top of all. O Sun, whose rays survey all that is done on earth; and Juno, agent
and witness of unhappy love; Hecate, whose name is wailed by night in city streets; and Avenging
Furies and gods of dying Elissa: hear me now; turn your anger upon the sins that merit it, and listen
to my prayers! If that accursed wretch must needs reach harbour and come to shore, if Jove’s
ordinances so demand and this is the outcome fixed: yet even so, harassed in war by the arms of a
fearless nation, expelled from his territory and torn from Iulus’ embrace, let him plead for aid an see
his friends cruelly slaughtered! Nor yet, when he has submitted to the terms of an unjust peace, may
he enjoy his kingship or the life he longs for, but perish before his time and lie unburied on a lonely
strand! This is my prayer; this last utterance I pour out with my blood. Then do you, Tyrians,
persecute with hate his stock and all the race to come, and to my dust offer this tribute! Let no lover
or treaty unite the nations! Arise from my ashes, unknown avenger, to harass the Trojan settlers with
fire and sword – today, hereafter, whenever strength be ours! May coast with coast conflict, I pray,
and sea with sea, arms with arms; war may they have, themselves and their children’s children!”
[630] With this curse she turned her mind in every direction, seeking how most quickly to end the life
she loathed. Then briefly she addressed Barce, the nurse of Sychaeus, for the pyre’s black ashes
held her own back in her country of long ago. “Dear nurse, bring my sister Anna here. Bid her hasten
to sprinkle her body with river water and bring with her the victims and offerings ordained for
atonement. This done, let her come; and veil your brows, too, with a pure chaplet. I am minded to
fulfil the rites of Stygian Jove that I have duly ordered and begun, to put an end to my owes, and give
over to the flames the pyre of that Dardan wretch.” She spoke; the nurse hastened her steps with an
old woman’s zeal. But Dido, trembling and frantic with her dreadful design, rolling bloodshot eyes,
her quivering cheeks flecked with burning spots, and pale at the imminence of death, bursts into the
inner courts of the house, climbs the high pyre in a frenzy and unsheathes the Dardan sword, a gift
south for no such purpose. Then, as she saw the Trojan garb and the familiar bed, pausing awhile in
tearful thought, she threw herself on the couch and spoke her last words: “O relics once dear, while
God and Fate allowed, take my spirit, and release me from my woes! My life is done and I have
finished the course that Fortune gave; and now in majesty my shade shall pass beneath the earth. A
noble city I have built; my own walls I have seen; avenging my husband, I have exacted punishment
from my brother and foe – happy, too happy, had but the Dardan keels never touched our shores!”
She spoke, and burying her face in the couch, “I shall die unavenged,” she cries, “but let me die!
Thus, I go gladly into the dark! Let the cruel Dardan’s eyes drink in this fire from the deep, and carry
with him the omen of my death!”
[663] She ceased; and even as she spoke her handmaids see her fallen on the sword, the blade
reeking with blood and her hands bespattered. A scream rises to the lofty roof; Rumour riots through
the stricken city. The palace rings with lamentation, with sobbing and women’s shrieks, and heaven
echoes with loud wails – as though all Carthage or ancient Tyre were falling before the inrushing foe,
and fierce flames were rolling on over the roofs of men, over the roofs of gods.
[672] Swooning, her sister heard, and in dismay rushed through the throng, tearing her face with her
nails, and beating her breast with her fists, as she called on the dying woman by name. “Was this
your purpose, sister? Did you aim your fraud at me? Was this for me the meaning of your pyre, this
the meaning of your altar and fires? Forlorn, what shall I first lament? Did you scorn in death your
sister’s company? You should have summoned me to share your fate; the same sword stroke, the
same moment would have taken us both! Did these hands indeed build the pyre, and did my voice
call on our father’s gods, in order that, when you were lying thus, I, cruel one, should be far away?
You have destroyed yourself and me together, sister, the Sidonian senate and people, and your city!
Bring me water to bathe her wounds and catch with my lips whatever last breath may linger!” Thus
speaking, she had climbed the high steps, and, throwing her arms round her dying sister, sobbed
and clasped her to her bosom, stanching with her dress the dark streams of blood. She, trying to lift
her heavy eyes, swoons again, and the deep-set wound gurgles in her breast. Thrice rising, she
struggles to prop herself on her elbow, thrice the bed rolled back, with wandering eyes sought high
heaven’s light, and when she found it, moaned.
[693] Then almighty Juno, pitying her long agony and painful dying, sent Iris down from heaven to
release her struggling soul from the prison of her flesh. For since she perished neither in the course
of fate nor by a death she had earned, but wretchedly before her day, in the heat of sudden frenzy,
not yet had Propserpine taken from head the golden lock and consigned her to the Stygian
underworld. So Iris on dewy saffron wings flits down through the sky, trailing athwart the sun a
thousand shifting tints, and halted above her head. “This offering, sacred to Dis, I take as bidden,
and from your body set you free”: so she speaks and with her hand severs the lock; and therewith all
the warmth passed away, and the life vanished into the winds.
Part Two: Examining Story Elements
Setting and Mood
1. Describe the setting. The country or locale? Weather? Sights? Sounds? Rural or urban?
2. Does the setting change in the course of the story? If it does, what might be the significance of
this change in setting?
3. Are the characters in conflict with their setting? What do the characters want? Does the setting
hinder them in achieving this? Help them?
4. What does the setting reveal about the characters? Fear? Pleasure? Frustration? Challenge?
Dislike? Respect? Other?
5. How would you describe the mood or atmosphere created by the setting? Gloomy? Cheerful?
Mysterious? Threatening? Peaceful? Other? If the setting changes, does the mood change?
Why? Or why not?
6. Write sentences telling what you believe the setting and mood contribute to the work as a
whole.
Conflict
1. Cite an example of Person vs. Person conflict. Name the characters. Quote the exact words;
indicate the line(s); explain what is happening.
2. Cite an example of Person vs. Nature. Name the characters and natural element. Quote the
exact words; indicate the line(s); explain what is happening.
3. Cite an example of Person vs Society. Name the character involved. Quote the exact words;
indicate the line(s); explain how that character conflict with the state/government, institutions,
groups, formal religions, laws, rules, conventions, or codes.
4. Cite an example of Person vs Himself. What are the character’s desires/wants and how do they
conflict with the character’s responsibilities/commitments/ oaths? What is the significance of
this conflict? Quote the exact words; indicate the line(s).+
Point of View
1. Who is the narrator?/Speaker
2. From which point of view is the story told? First person? Third person Limited? Third person
Omniscient?
3. What does the narrator or speaker know that no one else could know?
4. What does this persona NOT know?
5. What are this voice’s biases, if any?
6. How does the point of view affect the ways you feel about the characters? Does it make you
sympathize more with one character than another?
7. Choose a different point of view/perspective from which the work could be told. How would
the work change if this point view were used?
Theme
1. Does the title suggest something about the whole work? Does it point to the truth the work
points out about life or the human condition? (Not all titles do.)
2. Are any important statements about human life made in the work –either by the narrator r
characters in the work?
3. Is the theme directly stated? If so, where is it stated? (This is rare; but it does happen.)
4. In one sentence state the work’s major theme. How do you respond to the theme? Do you
think that the author is presenting a general truth about life? (Remember great literature is
great because the ideas about the human condition it fosters are universal in nature.)
5. Write separate sentences for what you believe are one or more additional themes9s) in the
work. How are they “universal”?
6. Remember: A there must be written as a sentence that states what the author is trying to
suggest about a topic area. E.G., Theme Topic : Love--- Theme statement: In Romeo and Juliet,
Shakespeare suggests that true live can overcome all odds.
Characterization: Cite the text.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
Show how the character is revealed through his own speech.
Describe how the character looks and dresses.
What are the character’s private thoughts?
What do other characters say/think about the character?
What are the character’s actions?
How does the author describe the character directly?
Does the main character change in the course of the work? Does the main character realize
something he/she had not known before?
Style
1. Is the vocabulary simple, or does the writer use many difficult, unfamiliar words? Is the diction
formal or informal?
2. Does the selection contain colloquialisms, slang, or jargon? (colloquial—common, everyday
speech; slang---informal and substandard vocabulary; jargon—words and phrases characteristic
of particular professions or pursuits)
3. Are the majority of the words concrete (referring to things that can be perceived by the senses),
or are they abstract?
4. Does the writer use specific words or more general words
5. Does the writer favor words with particular connotations? (Do these words arouse in the reader
positive or negative responses to the subject? )
6. Are the sentences long or short? Do they have a simple, compound, complex, or compoundcomplex structure? Do the sentences follow the normal order of English, or is the syntax
inverted in some way?
7. Does the writer favor the active or passive voice?
8. Does the writer use such stylistic devices as repetition or parallelism? Where are these devices
used? What effect do they have?
9. What other devices or figures does the writer use? (simile, metaphor, extended analogy)
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