Is hid, and our indulgent mind
Presents the fair idea kind.

Yet, friended by the night, we dare
Only in whispers tell our care;
He that on her his bold hand lays,
With Cupid's pointed arrows plays;
They with a touch, (they are so keen!)
Wound us unshot, and she unseen.

All near approaches threaten death;
We may be shipwrecked by her breath;
Love, favoured once with that sweet gale,
Doubles his haste, and fills his sail,
Till he arrive where she must prove
The haven, or the rock, of love.

So we the Arabian coast do know
At distance, when the spices blow;
By the rich odour taught to steer,
Though neither day nor stars appear.

PART OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S

ENEIS, TRANSLATED.

Beginning at v. 437.

Talesque miserrima fletus
Fertque refertque soror. . . . .
And ending with

Adnixi torquent spumas, et cærula verrunt.-V. 583.

ALL this her weeping sister* does repeat

To this stern man,† whom nothing could entreat; Lost were her prayers, and fruitless were her tears! Fate, and great Jove, had stopped his gentle ears. As when loud winds a well-grown oak would rend Up by the roots, this way and that they bend His reeling trunk; and with a boisterous sound Scatter his leaves, and strew them on the ground;

He fixed stands; as deep his root doth lie
Down to the centre, as his top is high;
No less on every side the hero pressed,
Feels love and pity shake his noble breast,
And down his cheeks though fruitless tears do roll,
Unmoved remains the purpose of his soul.
Then Dido, urgèd with approaching fate,
Begins the light of cruel Heaven to hate;
Her resolution to dispatch and die,
Confirmed by many a horrid prodigy!
The water, consecrate for sacrifice,
Appears all black to her amazèd eyes;
The wine to putrid blood converted flows,
Which from her none, not her own sister, knows.
Besides, there stood, as sacred to her lord,*
A marble temple which she much adored,
With snowy fleeces and fresh garlands crowned;
Hence every night proceeds a dreadful sound;
Her husband's voice invites her to his tomb,
And dismal owls presage the ills to come.
Besides, the prophecies of wizards old
Increased her terror and her fall foretold;
Scorned, and deserted, to herself she seems,
And finds Æneas cruel in her dreams.

So to mad Pentheus, double Thebes appears,
And furies howl in his distempered ears;
Orestes so, with like distraction tossed,
Is made to fly his mother's angry ghost.

Now grief and fury to their height arrive;
Death she decrees, and thus does it contrive.
Her grievèd sister, with a cheerful grace,
(Hope well dissembled shining in her face)
She thus deceives. 'Dear sister! let us prove
The cure I have invented for my love.
Beyond the land of Ethiopia, lies

The place where Atlas does support the skies,

* Sichæus.

Hence came an old magician, that did keep
The Hesperian fruit, and made the dragon sleep;
Her potent charms do troubled souls relieve,
And, where she lists, make calmest minds to grieve;
The course of rivers, and of heaven, can stop,
And call trees down from the airy mountain's top.
Witness, ye Gods! and thou, my dearest part!
How loth I am to tempt this guilty art.
Erect a pile, and on it let us place

That bed where I my ruin did embrace;
With all the reliques of our impious guest,
Arms, spoils, and presents, let the pile be dressed;
(The knowing woman thus prescribes) that we
May rase the man out of our memory.'

Thus speaks the Queen, but hides the fatal end
For which she doth those sacred rites pretend.
Nor worse effects of grief her sister thought
Would follow, than Sichæus' murder wrought;
Therefore obeys her; and now, heaped high
The cloven oaks and lofty pines do lie;

Hung all with wreaths and flowery garlands round,
So by herself was her own funeral crowned!
Upon the top the Trojan's image lies,

And his sharp sword, wherewith anon she dies.
They by the altar stand, while with loose hair
The magic prophetess begins her prayer:
On Chaos, Erebus, and all the gods,

Which in the infernal shades have their abodes,
She loudly calls, besprinkling all the room

With drops, supposed from Lethe's lake to come.
She seeks the knot which on the forehead grows
Of new-foaled colts, and herbs by moonlight mows.
A cake of leaven in her pious hands

Holds the devoted Queen, and barefoot stands;
One tender foot was bare, the other shod,
Her robe ungirt, invoking every god,
And every power, if any be above,
Which takes regard of ill-requited love!

Now was the time when weary mortals steep Their careful temples in the dew of sleep; On seas, on earth, and all that in them dwell, A death-like quiet, and deep silence fell; But not on Dido! whose untamèd mind Refused to be by sacred night confined; A double passion in her breast does move, Love, and fierce anger for neglected love. Thus she afflicts her soul: What shall I do? With fate inverted, shall I humbly woo? And some proud prince, in wild Numidia born, Pray to accept me, and forget my scorn? Or shall I with the ungrateful Trojan go, Quit all my state, and wait upon my foe? Is not enough, by sad experience! known The perjured race of false Laomedon? With my Sidonians shall I give them chase, Bands hardly forced from their native place? No;-die! and let this sword thy fury tame; Nought but thy blood can quench this guilty flame. Ah, sister! vanquished with my passion, thou Betray'dst me first, dispensing with my vow. Had I been constant to Sichæus still, And single lived, I had not known this ill!'

Such thoughts torment the Queen's enragèd breast, While the Dardanian does securely rest

In his tall ship, for sudden flight prepared;

To whom once more the son of Jove appeared;
Thus seems to speak the youthful deity,

Voice, hair, and colour, all like Mercury.

'Fair Venus' seed! canst thou indulge thy sleep, Nor better guard in such great danger keep? Mad, by neglect to lose so fair a wind! If here thy ships the purple morning find, Thou shalt behold this hostile harbour shine With a new fleet, and fires, to ruin thine; She meditates revenge, resolved to die; Weigh anchor quickly, and her fury fly.'

men,

This said, the god in shades of night retired. Amazed Æneas, with the warning fired, Shakes off dull sleep, and rousing up his 'Behold! the gods command our flight again; Fall to your oars, and all your canvas spread; What god soe'er that thus vouchsafes to lead, We follow gladly, and thy will obey; Assist us still, smoothing our happy way, And make the rest propitious!'-With that word He cuts the cable with his shining sword; Through all the navy doth like ardour reign, They quit the shore, and rush into the main; Placed on their banks, the lusty Trojans sweep Neptune's smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep.

AS

ON THE PICTURE OF A FAIR YOUTH,

TAKEN AFTER HE WAS DEAD.

S gathered flowers, while their wounds are new, Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew; Torn from the root that nourished them, awhile (Not taking notice of their fate) they smile, And, in the hand which rudely plucked them, show Fairer than those that to their autumn grow; So love and beauty still that visage grace; Death cannot fright them from their wonted place. Alive, the hand of crooked Age had marred Those lovely features, which cold death had spared. No wonder then he sped in love so well, When his high passion he had breath to tell; When that accomplished soul, in this fair frame, No business had but to persuade that dame, Whose mutual love advanced the youth so high, That, but to heaven, he could no higher fly.