arses the dangers to which he is leaving her (343-374). AEneas
is obdurate. Although he loves Dido, he is the slave of a destiny
which he must at all costs fulfil (375-410). After calling down a
solemn curse upon him Dido swoons, but crushing the impulse to
comfort her, he hastens his preparations for departure (411-468).
Dido sends Anna with a last appeal to AEneas, who nevertheless, in
spite of struggles, obeys the gods (469-513). In utter misery Dido,
on pretext of burning all AEneas' love-gifts, prepares a pyre and
summons a sorceress. Her preparations complete, she utters her last
lament (514-639). Mercury repeats his warning to AEneas, who sails
forthwith (640-671). Daybreak reveals his flight, and Dido--cursing
her betrayer--falls by her own hand, to the despair of her sister
and the consternation of her subjects (672-837).

I. Long since a prey to passion's torturing pains,
The Queen was wasting with the secret flame,
The cruel wound was feeding on her veins.
Back to the fancy of the lovelorn dame
Came the chief's valour and his country's fame.
His looks, his words still lingered in her breast,
Deep-fixt. And now the dewy Dawn upcame,
And chased the shadows, when her love's unrest
Thus to her sister's soul responsive she confessed:

II. "What dreams, dear Anna, fill me with alarms;
What stranger guest is this? like whom in face?
How proud in portance, how expert in arms!
In sooth I deem him of celestial race;
Fear argues souls degenerate and base;
But he--how oft by danger sore bestead,
What warlike exploits did his lips retrace.
Were not my purpose steadfast, ne'er to wed,
Since love first played me false, and mocked me with the dead,

III. "Were I not sick of bridal torch and bower,
This once, perchance, I had been frail again.
Anna--for I will own it--since the hour
When, poor Sychaeus miserably slain,
A brother's murder rent a home in twain,
He, he alone my stubborn will could tame,
And stir the balance of my soul. Too plain
I know the traces of the long-quenched flame;
The sparks of love revive, rekindled, but the same.

IV. "But O! gape Earth, or may the Sire of might
Hurl me with lightning to the Shades amain,
Pale shades of Erebus and abysmal Night,
Ere, wifely modesty, thy name I stain,
Or dare thy sacred precepts to profane.
Nay, he whose love first linked us long ago,
Took all my