But neither Gods nor Parent didft thou bear;
Smooth Stories all to please a Woman's Ear,
Falfe as the Tale of thy Romantick Life.
Nor yet am I thy first-deluded Wife :
Left to pursuing Foes Creüfa ftay'd,
By thee, bafe Man, forfaken and betray'd.
This, when thou told'ft me, ftruck my tender Heart,
That fuch Requital follow'd fuch Desert.
Nor doubt I but the Gods, for Crimes like thefe,
Sev'n Winters kept thee wand'ring on the Seas.
Thy ftarv'd Companions, caft afhore, I fed,
Thy felf admitted to my Crown and Bed.
To harbour Strangers, fuccour the Diftreft,
Was kind enough; but, oh, too kind the rest!
Curft be the Cave which first my Ruin brought,
Where, from the Storm, we common Shelter fought!
A dreadful Howling echo'd round the Place:
The Mountain Nymphs, thought I, my Nuptials grace.
I thought fo then, but now too late I know
The Furies yell'd my Fun'rals from below.
O Chaflity and violated Fame,
Exact your Dues to my
dead Husband's Name!
By Death redeem my Reputation loft,
And to his Arms restore my guilty Ghost.
Close by my Palace, in a gloomy Grove,
Is rais'd a Chapel to my murder'd Love ;
There, wreath'd with Boughs and Wool, his Statue ftands,
The pious Monument of Artful Hands.
Laft Night, methought, he call'd me from the Dome,
And thrice, with hollow Voice, cry'd, Dido, come.
She comes; thy Wife thy lawful Summons hears;
But comes more flowly, clogg'd with confcious Fears.
Forgive the Wrong I offer'd to thy Bed;
Strong were his Charms, who my weak Faith mif-led.
His Goddess Mother, and his Aged Sire
Born on his Back, did to my Fall confpire.
O! fuch he was, and is, that, were he true,
Without a Blush I might his Love pursue.
But cruel Stars my Birth-day did attend ;
And as my Fortune open'd, it must end.
My plighted Lord was at the Altar flain,
Whose Wealth was made my bloody Brother's Gain,
Friendless, and follow'd by the Murd'rer's Hate,
To foreign Countries I remov'd my Fate ;
And here, a Suppliant, from the Natives Hands
I bought the Ground on which my City stands,
With all the Coast that stretches to the Sea;
E'en to the friendly Port that shelter'd thee:
Then rais'd these Walls, which mount into the Air,
At once my Neighbours Wonder, and their Fear.
For now they arm; and round me Leagues are made,
My scarce eftablish'd Empire to invade.
To man my new-built Walls I must prepare,
An helpless Woman, and unskill'd in War.
Yet thousand Rivals to my Love pretend;
And for my Perfon wou'd my Crown defend :
Whofe jarring Votes in one Complaint agree,
That each unjustly is difdain'd for thee.
To proud Hyarbas give me up a Prey;
(For that must follow, if thou goeft away.)
Or to my Husband's Murd'rer leave my Life,
That to the Husband he may add the Wife.
Go then, fince no Complaints can move thy Mind:
Go, perjur'd Man, but leave thy Gods behind.
Touch not thofe Gods, by whom thou art forfworn,
Who will in impious Hands no more be born:
Thy Sacrilegious Worship they disdain,
And rather wou'd the Grecian Fires fuftain.
Perhaps my greateft Shame is ftill to come,
And part of thee lies hid within my Womb.
The Babe unborn must perish by thy Hate,
And perish guiltless in his Mother's Fate.
Some God, thou fay'ft, thy Voyage does command;
Wou'd the fame God had barr'd thee from my Land !
The fame, I doubt not, thy Departure fteers,
Who kept thee out at Sea so many Years ;
While thy long Labours were a Price so great,
As thou to purchase Troy would'st not repeat.
But Tyber now thou seek'st, to be at best,
When there arriv'd, a poor precarious Guest.
Yet it deludes thy Search: Perhaps it will
To thy Old Age lie undiscover'd ftill.
A ready Crown and Wealth in Dow'r I bring,
And, without conqu'ring, here thou art a King.
Here thou to Carthage may'st transfer thy Troy :
Here young Afcanius may his Arms employ ;
And, while we live fecure in soft Repose,
Bring many Laurels home from conquer'd Foes.
By Cupid's Arrows, I adjure thee stay ;
By all the Gods, Companions of thy Way.
So may thy Trojans, who are yet alive,
Live ftill, and with no future Fortune strive;
So may thy youthful Son old Age attain,
And thy dead Father's Bones in Peace remain :
As thou haft pity on unhappy me,
Who knew no Crime, but too much Love of thee.
I am not born from fierce Achilles' Line,
Nor did my Parents against Troy combine.
To be thy Wife if I unworthy prove,
By fome inferior Name admit
To be fecur'd of ftill poffeffing thee,
What wou'd I do, and what wou'd I not be!
Our Libyan Coafts their certain Seasons know,
When free from Tempefts Paffengers may go :
But now with Northern Blafts the Billows roar,
And drive the floating Sea-Weed to the Shore.
Leave to my Care the Time to fail away;
When fafe, I will not fuffer thee to ftay.
Thy weary Men wou'd be with Ease content;
Their Sails are tatter'd, and their Mafts are spent,
'If by no Merit I thy Mind can move,
What thou deny'ft my Merit, give my Love.
Stay, 'till I learn my Lofs to undergo;
And give me time to ftruggle with my Woe.
If not, know this, I will not fuffer long;
My Life's too loathfome, and my Love too ftrong.
Death holds my Pen and dictates what I say,
While cross my Lap the Trojan Sword I lay,
My Tears flow down; the sharp edge cuts their Flood,
And drinks my Sorrows that muft drink my Blood.
How well thy Gift does, with my Fate agree!
My Fun'ral Pomp is cheaply made by thee.
To no new Wounds my Bofom I display:
The Sword but enters where Love made the Way.
But thou, dear Sifter, and yet dearer Friend,
Shalt my cold Afhes to their Urn attend.
Sichaus' Wife let not the Marble boast,
I loft that Title, when my Fame I loft.
This short Infcription only let it bear :
"Unhappy Dido lies in Quiet here.
"The Caufe of Death, and Sword by which the dy'd, Le Eneas gave: : The rest her Arm supply'd.
From O VID'S AMOURS,
Book i. Eleg. 1.
OR mighty Wars I thought to tune my Lute,
And make my Measures to my Subject fuit. -
Six Feet for ev'ry Verse the Muse defign'd:
But Cupid, laughing, when he faw my Mind,
From ev'ry fecond Verfe a Foot purloin'd.
Who gave thee, Boy, this arbitrary fway,
On Subjects, not thy own, Commands to lay,
Who Phabus only and his Laws obey ?
'Tis more abfurd than if the Queen of Love
Shou'd in Minerva's Arms to Battle move;
Or manly Pallas from that Queen fhou'd take
Her Torch, and o'er the dying Lover shake.
In Fields as well may Cynthia fow the Corn,
Or Ceres wind in Woods the Bugle-horn.
As well may Phebus quit the trembling String,
For fword and Shield; and Mars may learn to fing.
Already thy Dominions are too large;
Be not ambitious of a foreign Charge.
If thou wilt reign o'er all, and ev'ry where,
The God of Mufick for his Harp may fear.
Thus when with foaring Wings I feek Renown,
Thou pluck'it my Pinions, and I flutter down.
Cou'd I on fuch mean Thoughts my Mufe employ,
I want a Mistress or a blooming Boy.
Thus I complain'd: His Bow the Stripling bent,
And chose an Arrow fit for his intent.
The Shaft his purpose fatally pursues ;
Now, Poet, there's a Subject for thy Mufe.
He faid Too well, alas, he knows his Trade ;
For in my Breast a mortal Wound he made.
|