Soon as the funeral pyre was builded high in a sequestered garden, Iooming huge with boughs of pine and faggots of cleft oak, the queen herself enwreathed it with sad flowers and boughs of mournful shade; and crowning all she laid on nuptial bed the robes and sword by him abandoned; and stretched out thereon a mock Aeneas;—but her doom she knew. Altars were there; and with loose locks unbound the priestess with a voice of thunder called three hundred gods, Hell, Chaos, the three shapes of triple Hecate, the faces three of virgin Dian. She aspersed a stream from dark Avernus drawn, she said; soft herbs were cut by moonlight with a blade of bronze, oozing black poison-sap; and she had plucked that philter from the forehead of new foal before its dam devours. Dido herself, sprinkling the salt meal, at the altar stands; one foot unsandalled, and with cincture free, on all the gods and fate-instructed stars, foreseeing death, she calls. But if there be some just and not oblivious power on high, who heeds when lovers plight unequal vow, to that god first her supplications rise. Soon fell the night, and peaceful slumbers breathed on all earth's weary creatures; the loud seas and babbling forests entered on repose; now midway in their heavenly course the stars wheeled silent on; the outspread lands below lay voiceless; all the birds of tinted wing, and flocks that haunt the merge of waters wide or keep the thorny wold, oblivious lay beneath the night so still; the stings of care ceased troubling, and no heart its burden knew. Not so the Tyrian Queen's deep-grieving soul! To sleep she could not yield; her eyes and heart refused the gift of night; her suffering redoubled, and in full returning tide her love rebelled, while on wild waves of rage she drifted to and fro. So, ceasing not from sorrow, thus she brooded on her wrongs: “What refuge now? Shall I invite the scorn of my rejected wooers, or entreat of some disdainful, nomad blackamoor to take me to his bed—though many a time such husbands I made mock of? Shall I sail on Ilian ships away, and sink to be the Trojans' humble thrall? Do they rejoice that once I gave them bread? Lives gratitude in hearts like theirs for bygone kindnesses? O, who, if so I stooped, would deign to bear on yon proud ships the scorned and fallen Queen? Lost creature! Woe betide thee! Knowest thou not the perjured children of Laomedon? What way is left? Should I take flight alone and join the revelling sailors? Or depart with Tyrians, the whole attending train of my own people? Hard the task to force their hearts from Sidon 's towers; how once more compel to sea, and bid them spread the sail? Nay, perish! Thou hast earned it. Let the sword from sorrow save thee! Sister of my blood— who else but thee,—my own tears borne down, didst heap disaster on my frantic soul, and fling me to this foe? Why could I not pass wedlock by, and live a blameless life as wild things do, nor taste of passion's pain? But I broke faith! I cast the vows away made at Sichaeus' grave.” Such loud lament burst from her breaking heart with doleful sound. Meanwhile Aeneas on his lofty ship, having made ready all, and fixed his mind to launch away upon brief slumher fell. But the god came; and in the self-same guise once more in monitory vision spoke, all guised as Mercury,—his voice, his hue, his golden locks, and young limbs strong and fair. “Hail, goddess-born! Wouldst linger on in sleep at such an hour? Nor seest thou the snares that hem thee round? Nor hearest thou the voice of friendly zephyrs calling? Senseless man! That woman's breast contrives some treachery and horrid stroke; for, resolute to die, she drifts on swollen floods of wrath and scorn. Wilt thou not fly before the hastening hour of flight is gone? To-morrow thou wilt see yon waters thronged with ships, the cruel glare of fire-brands, and yonder shore all flame, if but the light of morn again surprise thee loitering in this land. Away! Away! Stay not! A mutable and shifting thing is woman ever.” Such command he spoke, then melted in the midnight dark away. Aeneas, by that fleeting vision struck with an exceeding awe, straightway leaped forth from slumber's power, and to his followers cried : “Awake, my men! Away! Each to his place upon the thwarts! Unfurl at once the sails! A god from heaven a second time sent down urges our instant flight and bids us cut the twisted cords. Whatever be thy name, behold, we come, O venerated Power! Again with joy we follow! Let thy grace assist us as we go! And may thy power bring none but stars benign across our sky.” So saying, from its scabbard forth he flashed the lightning of his sword, with naked blade striking the hawsers free. Like ardor seized on all his willing men, who raced and ran; and, while their galleys shadowed all the sea, clean from the shore they scudded, with strong strokes sweeping the purple waves and crested foam. Aurora's first young beams to earth were pouring as from Tithonus' saffron bed she sprang; while from her battlements the wakeful Queen watched the sky brighten, saw the mated sails push forth to sea, till all her port and strand held not an oar or keel. Thrice and four times she smote her lovely breast with wrathful hand, and tore her golden hair. “Great Jove,” she cries, “Shall that departing fugitive make mock of me, a queen? Will not my men-at-arms draw sword, give chase, from all my city thronging? Down from the docks, my ships! Out, out! Begone! Take fire and sword! Bend to your oars, ye slaves! What have I said? Where am I? What mad thoughts delude this ruined mind? Woe unto thee, thou wretched Dido, now thy impious deeds strike back upon thee. Wherefore struck they not, as was most fit, when thou didst fling away thy sceptre from thy hand? O Iying oaths! O faith forsworn! of him who brings, they boast, his father's gods along, and bowed his back to lift an age-worn sire! Why dared I not seize on him, rend his body limb from limb, and hurl him piecemeal on the rolling sea? Or put his troop of followers to the sword, ascanius too, and set his flesh before that father for a feast? Such fearful war had been of doubtful issue. Be it so! What fears a woman dying? Would I had attacked their camp with torches, kindled flame from ship to ship, until that son and sire, with that whole tribe, were unto ashes burned in one huge holocaust—myself its crown! Great orb of light whose holy beam surveys all earthly deeds! Great Juno, patroness of conjugal distress, who knowest all! Pale Hecate, whose name the witches cry at midnight crossways! O avenging furies! O gods that guard Queen Dido's dying breath! Give ear, and to my guiltless misery extend your power. Hear me what I pray! If it be fated that yon creature curst drift to the shore and happy haven find, if Father Iove's irrevocable word such goal decree—there may he be assailed by peoples fierce and bold. A banished man, from his Iulus' kisses sundered far, may his own eyes see miserably slain his kin and kind, and sue for alien arms. nor when he basely bows him to receive terms of unequal peace, shall he be blest with sceptre or with life; but perish there before his time, and lie without a grave upon the barren sand. For this I pray. This dying word is flowing from my heart with my spilt blood. And—O ye Tyrians! I sting with your hatred all his seed and tribe forevermore. This is the offering my ashes ask. Betwixt our nations twain, No Iove! No truce or amity! Arise, Out of my dust, unknown Avenger, rise! To harry and lay waste with sword and flame those Dardan settlers, and to vex them sore, to-day, to-morrow, and as long as power is thine to use! My dying curse arrays shore against shore and the opposing seas in shock of arms with arms. May living foes pass down from sire to son insatiate war!” She said. From point to point her purpose flew, seeking without delay to quench the flame of her loathed life. Brief bidding she addressed to Barce then, Sichaeus' nurse (her own lay dust and ashes in a lonely grave beside the Tyrian shore), “Go, nurse, and call my sister Anna! Bid her quickly bathe her limbs in living water, and procure due victims for our expiating fires. bid her make haste. Go, bind on thy own brow the sacred fillet. For to Stygian Jove it is my purpose now to consummate the sacrifice ordained, ending my woe, and touch with flame the Trojan's funeral pyre.” The aged crone to do her bidding ran with trembling zeal. But Dido (horror-struck at her own dread design, unstrung with fear, her bloodshot eyes wide-rolling, and her cheek twitching and fever-spotted, her cold brow blanched with approaching death)—sped past the doors into the palace garden; there she leaped, a frenzied creature, on the lofty pyre and drew the Trojan's sword; a gift not asked for use like this! When now she saw the garb of Ilian fashion, and the nuptial couch she knew too well, she lingered yet awhile for memory and tears, and, falling prone on that cold bed, outpoured a last farewell: “Sweet relics! Ever dear when Fate and Heaven upon me smiled, receive my parting breath, and from my woe set free! My life is done. I have accomplished what my lot allowed; and now my spirit to the world of death in royal honor goes. The founder I of yonder noble city, I have seen walls at my bidding rise. I was avenged for my slain husband: I chastised the crimes of our injurious brother. Woe is me! Blest had I been, beyond deserving blest, if but the Trojan galleys ne'er had moored upon my kingdom's bound!” So saying, she pressed one last kiss on the couch. “Though for my death no vengeance fall, O, give me death!” she cried. “O thus! O thus! it is my will to take the journey to the dark. From yonder sea may his cold Trojan eyes discern the flames that make me ashes! Be this cruel death his omen as he sails!” She spoke no more. But almost ere she ceased, her maidens all thronged to obey her cry, and found their Queen prone fallen on the sword, the reeking steel still in her bloody hands. Shrill clamor flew along the lofty halls; wild rumor spread through the whole smitten city: Ioud lament, groans and the wail of women echoed on from roof to roof, and to the dome of air the noise of mourning rose. Such were the cry if a besieging host should break the walls of Carthage or old Tyre , and wrathful flames o'er towers of kings and worshipped altars roll. Her sister heard. Half in a swoon, she ran with trembling steps, where thickest was the throng, beating her breast, while with a desperate hand she tore at her own face, and called aloud upon the dying Queen. “Was it for this my own true sister used me with such guile? O, was this horrid deed the dire intent of altars, Iofty couch, and funeral fires? What shall I tell for chiefest of my woes? Lost that I am! Why, though in death, cast off thy sister from thy heart? Why not invite one mortal stroke for both, a single sword, one agony together? But these hands built up thy pyre; and my voice implored the blessing of our gods, who granted me that thou shouldst perish thus—and I not know! In thy self-slaughter, sister, thou hast slain myself, thy people, the grave counsellors of Sidon , and yon city thou didst build to be thy throne!—Go, fetch me water, there! That I may bathe those gashes! If there be one hovering breath that stays, let my fond lips discover and receive!” So saying, she sprang up from stair to stair, and, clasping to her breast her sister's dying form, moaned grievously, and staunched the dark blood with her garment's fold. Vainly would Dido lift her sinking eyes, but backward fell, while at her heart the wound opened afresh; three times with straining arm she rose; three times dropped helpless, her dimmed eyes turned skyward, seeking the sweet light of day, — which when she saw, she groaned. Great Juno then looked down in mercy on that lingering pain and labor to depart: from realms divine she sent the goddess of the rainbow wing, Iris, to set the struggling spirit free and loose its fleshly coil. For since the end came not by destiny, nor was the doom of guilty deed, but of a hapless wight to sudden madness stung, ere ripe to die, therefore the Queen of Hades had not shorn the fair tress from her forehead, nor assigned that soul to Stygian dark. So Iris came on dewy, saffron pinions down from heaven, a thousand colors on her radiant way, from the opposing sun. She stayed her flight above that pallid brow: “I come with power to make this gift to Death. I set thee free from thy frail body's bound.” With her right hand she cut the tress: then through its every limb the sinking form grew cold; the vital breath fled forth, departing on the viewless air.