MASTER 
 NEGA TIVE 
 NO. 91-80197 
 
MICROFILMED 1991 
 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES/NEW YORK 
 
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 t. 
 
AUTHOR: 
 
 MILLER, FRANK JUSTUS 
 
 TITLE: 
 
 r 
 
 TWO DRAMATIZATIONS 
 
 FROM VERGIL.. 
 
 PLACE: 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 DA TE : 
 
 1908 
 
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES 
 PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT 
 
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 BIBLIOGRAPHIC MICROFORM TARGET 
 
 Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record 
 
 87VL 
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 D87VL 
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 Aeneis. 
 English. 
 
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 Virffil 
 
 Two (Inuiializations from Vergil, i. Dido— the Plidjniri.ui 
 queen. II. The fall of Troy. Arran«;e(l and transhded into 
 Encrjish verso by Frank Jnstus Miller ... The sta<^e. direc- 
 tions and ninsic for (ho Dido arc contrihuled hy J, Ivjdei^h 
 Nelson. C)iioa*;o, The Univer.sity of Chieago pnvv^, 1J)()S. 
 
 V, I'JO p. front., plates, dinars. lOp. 
 
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 The first edition of this volume, contnlnlnp only the Dido: an epic 
 trnf:e<ly ... was putdlshed in lOOO.'*— I'ref. to 2d e<l. 
 Music : p. c^^'li-.^^.S^ 
 
 Cauv in College. «1917> vii. 120p. 
 
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 THE LIBRARIES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 NELSON GLENN McCREA 
 
 
I Two Dramatizations From 
 
 Vergil 
 
 I. DIDO — The Phoenician Queen 
 II. THE FALL OF TROY 
 
 ARRANGED AND TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK JUSTUS MILLER 
 
 Author of The Tragedies of Seneca, Translated into English Verse 
 
 The Stage Directions and Music for the Dido Are Contributed by 
 J. RALEIGH NELSON 
 
 • CHICAGO • • 
 THE UNIVEPSTTV OF CHICAGO PRESS 
 
 DIOO 
 
 357, J -" J ' 
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 Copyright 1908 By 
 Frank Justus Miller 
 
 Published September 1908 
 
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 exposed and Printed ^y ^ ] 
 . , 7^« University of 'Chicago Press' ' 
 
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 Chicago^ ltijh6rs, u. ;s. A. - 
 
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 • • • 
 
 • • • 
 
 • • » « » t 
 
 • « • • 
 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The epic is a drama on gigantic scale ; its acts are years 
 or centuries ; its actors, heroes ; its stage, the world of life ; 
 its events, those mighty cycles of activity that leave their 
 deep impress on human history. Homer's epics reenact 
 the stirring scenes of the ten years' siege of Troy, and the 
 perilous, long wanderings of Ulysses before he reached his 
 home; Vergil's epic action embraces the fall of Troy and 
 the never-ending struggles of ^Eneas and his band of exiles 
 till Troy should rise again in the western world; Tasso 
 pictures the heroic war of Godfrey and his crusaders, who 
 strove to free the holy city of Jerusalem; and Milton, 
 ignoring all bounds of time and space, fills his triple stage 
 of heaven, earth, and hell with angels, men, and devils, 
 all working out the most stupendous problems of human 
 destiny. 
 
 Such gigantic dramas could be presented on no human 
 stage. But in them all are lesser actions of marked dra- 
 matic possibility. Notable among these are the events 
 culminating in the death of Hector, the home coming of 
 Ulysses and his destruction of the suitors, Satan's rebellion 
 and expulsion from heaven, and the temptation and fall of 
 man. All these furnish abundant material for the tragic 
 stage; but all leave much to be supplied of speech and 
 action before the full-rounded drama could take form. In 
 the ^neid alone is found, among the minor parts which 
 make up the epic whole, a dramatic action well-nigh com- 
 plete—the love story of iEneas and Dido. 
 
 • • • 
 
 111 
 
 
 I 
 
IV 
 
 Preface 
 
 (/ 
 
 The ordinary student of Vergil is too much engrossed 
 with an intensive study of the text, and has too near a view 
 of the poem, to appreciate how fully this story is worked 
 out in detail ; how its speech, action, and events all lead to 
 a dramatic climax. There is need only here and there of 
 an interpolated lyric upon some suggested theme, a bit of 
 Vergil's description of action or feeling expressed in the 
 actor's words, an interjected line to relieve the strain of too 
 long speech -all else is Vergil's own, ready to be lifted out 
 of Its larger epic setting and portrayed upon the stage. 
 
 In arranging and translating this epic tragedy, the authors 
 have made only such minor additions and alterations of the 
 original as seemed necessary from the dramatic point of 
 view. Prominent among these are the introduction of 
 lyrics at certain points, the obviously necessary curtailing 
 of the banquet scene by the omission of the long narra- 
 tive of ^neas, and the removal behind the scenes of the 
 final tragedy of Dido's suicide. The lyrical parts have 
 been set to original music in sympathy with the themes; 
 stage action and scenery are suggested by outline drawings 
 of the different settings; and idealized figures and costumes 
 are reproduced from ancient vases and bas-reliefs. These 
 figures have, in some cases, been assigned by scholars to 
 other subjects; but they may be taken, for the pur- 
 poses of the present work, as illustrative of the characters 
 designated. 
 
 With full consciousness of the shortcomings of the work, 
 but with the hope also of assisting the student in school 
 and home to a fuller appreciation of the power and beauty 
 of Vergil, this volume is respectfully presented to the 
 public. 
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION 
 
 The first edition of this volume, containing only the 
 Dido: An Epic Tragedy, a dramatization of the love story of 
 -^neas and Dido, was published in 1900, and met with a 
 gratifying success. Teachers of Vergil have found the 
 book an interesting supplement to their study and presen- 
 tation of the text; and in numerous instances high-school 
 ani college classes have staged the play with most excellent 
 results. 
 
 The book has been out of print for several years; but 
 the continued demand from teachers who desire to use it 
 has made a second edition desirable. This is accordingly 
 offered in the present volume, under a new title, and con- 
 taining a second dramatization from Vergil — this from the 
 second JSneid, the story of the Fall of Troy. 
 
 F. J. M. 
 
 Chicago, 1908 
 
-* , .4 js,; 
 
 y^ 
 
 H 
 
 
 ) 
 
 
 THE ARGUMENT 
 
 For ten years the Greeks had besieged Troy, and on the 
 tenth they took and utterly destroyed that ancient city. The 
 tnhabttants who had escaped captivity and the sword, wan- 
 dered tn exile to many quarters of the earth. Now the chief 
 band of exiles was led by Jineas, son of Venus and Anchises 
 and son-tn-law of Priam, king of Troy. 
 
 After many adventures on land and sea, ^neas came, in 
 the sixth year, to Sicily, where he was kitidly entertained by 
 Acestes, king of that land, and where his aged father died 
 and was buried Thence setting sail in the summer of the 
 seventh year, he approached the shores of Africa. Here a 
 violent storm arose which scattered and all but destroyed the 
 1 rojan ships, ^neas, with a number of his companions 
 was cast upon a desert coast, where they passed the night 
 m gloomy forebodings. Tn the early morning, ^neas and 
 Achates set forth to explore the land, and came to the newly 
 Jounded city of Carthage. 
 
 Now Phcenician Dido, also, with a band of exiles, had fled 
 from her native Tyre, to escape the persecutions of her brother 
 Pygmalion, who had already slain Sycliceus, her husband 
 And to the land of Africa had she come, and built her a city 
 even the city of Carthage. 
 
 And so these two, ^neas, prince 6f Troy, and Dido, fugi- 
 ttve from Tyre, now meet in distant Africa and live the 
 tragedy which fate has held in store. 
 
THE PERSONS OF THE DRAMA 
 
 ^NEAS, prince of Troy, and leader of the Trojan exiles. 
 
 Achates, confidential friend of -^neas. 
 
 Ilioneus, a Trojan noble. 
 
 DIDO, the queen of Carthage. 
 
 Anna, sister of Dido. 
 
 Barce, nurse of Dido. 
 
 loPAS, a Carthaginian minstrel. 
 
 Iarbas, a Moorish prince, suitor for the hand of Dido. 
 
 Juno, queen of Jupiter and protectress of the Carthaginians, hos- 
 tile to Troy. 
 
 Venus, the goddess of love, mother of ^neas, and protectress 
 of the Trojans. 
 
 Cupid, son of Venus, god of love. 
 
 Mercury, the messenger of Jupiter. 
 
 Maidens, Courtiers, Soldiers, Attendants, Servants, etc., in 
 
 Dido*s train. 
 Nobles, Sailors, etc., in the band of ^neas. 
 
 THE PRELUDE 
 
 [For music, see p. 57] 
 
 Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris 
 Italiam, fato profugus, Lavinaque venit 
 Litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto 
 Vi superum, saevae memorem lunonis ob iram, 
 Multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem, 
 Inferretque deos Latio: genus unde Latinum 
 Albanique patres atque altae moenia Romse. 
 Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso, 
 Quidve dolens, regina deum tot volvere casus 
 Insignem pietate virum, tot adire labores 
 Impulerit. Tantaene animis caelestibus irse ? 
 
\ 
 
 i 
 
 Dido— The Phoenician Queen 
 
 Act I. Scene i 
 
 CarthaL Tn fhl Jf . P''' T^'" ^'^°'' '^^. ^""^P^^ ^^ J""« «" ^ height near 
 wTpf;h..^ 1 f*"i^i^'^^ ""^^^ '• 2' 3 appear mountains, and at their 
 Th. X5 f /• ^^l^^'^r^? ^bout the harbor where ships are riding at anchor 
 The effect of elevation is increased by the unfinished columns and the tree torn 
 jusl: showing above the low marble wall which enclose? thrsquarr Th^s 
 J? ItV^l "•""' 'H^ '' "• 3, to increase the perspective ^ '' 
 
 At the first wing on the right (5). a colonnade, leading to a flight of sten^ 
 
 WH '^' IV'^"'" ^!;r ^^" ^^^y ^^1°^- On the same sidl along the wall is a 
 broad marble seat (6), shaded by a wild crab tree, pink witKom The 
 
 fro t'of ZTeZl r7f^V' ^^ r^'^ T^^ ^^"7 P^^^' On thiTi isThe' 
 ironi 01 tne temple (7). Two large columns of white marble flank thri»i. 
 
 broad steps leading to the platfom. Above these columns the archi rave 
 beairsafneze representing scenes from the Trojan war Before the temole 
 door is an altar on which fire is burning ^ * 
 
 ar^Lin^ b '^ ?-^ the curtain a chorus of Carthaginian maidens, clad in white 
 
 to the da^";''^"^ ^'^''' '^' ^^^^^- ^^«^«-»p'« «teps; they sing a grretfi^ 
 
lO 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 Hymn to the Dawn 
 
 [For music, see p. 6i] 
 
 Wake, Aurora, Wake! 
 
 Come, rosy-fingered goddess of the dawn, 
 The saffron couch of old Tithonus scorning; 
 Fling wide the golden portals of the morning, 
 And bid the gloomy mists of night be gone. 
 
 Hail, Aurora, Hail! 
 
 The dewy stars have sped their silent flight, 
 The fuller glories of thy rays expecting; 
 With rosy beauty from afar reflecting. 
 Thy Orient steeds come panting into sight. 
 
 Rise, Apollo, Rise! 
 
 Send forth thy healing rays to greet the world, 
 Upon the lands thy blessed radiance streaming; 
 Arise, and fling afar, in splendor gleaming. 
 The banners of thy golden light unfurled. 
 
 Enter iEneas and Achates, on their way into the city, evidently attracted 
 hither by the singing, -^neas is resplendent in full armor. Achates wears 
 the Phrygian costume : long trousers of brown, a tunic of deep old blue, ornate 
 with embroidered patterns in gold and purple thread ; over this a travel- 
 ing cloak of brown. He carries two spears. The maidens withdraw and 
 as their voices grow fainter iEneas and Achates kneel before the altar. The 
 light brightens. A bugle call in the distance rouses them from their devotion. 
 They arise. Enter Venus, dressed as a huntress. 
 
 Venus {^neidy I. 321-324): 
 
 I crave your grace, good sirs. If my attendant maids 
 Have chanced to wander hither, quiver-girt, and clad 
 In tawny robes of fur, the trophies of the chase, 
 Or with triumphant shouts close pressing in pursuit 
 The foaming boar, — I fain would know their course. 
 
 
 ACHATES 
 
II 
 
 
 Act I. Scene i 
 
 JEneas (326-334) : 
 
 Fair maid, 
 No huntress of thy train have we beheld, nor heard 
 The clamor of their chase. — But oh, no mortal maid 
 Art thou ! Th* immortal beauty of thy face and voice 
 Proclaim thee goddess. Art thou Phoebus' sister then ? 
 Or some fair nymph ? Whoe'er thou art, we crave thy grace: 
 Be merciful and tell beneath what sky at length, 
 Upon what shores we 're tossed. For ignorant of men 
 And land we wander, driven on by wind and wave 
 In vast conspiracy. 
 
 Full many a victim slain 
 Upon thine altars shall repay thine aid. 
 
 Venus (335-350) : 
 
 For me, 
 I claim no homage due the gods. Behold a maid 
 Of ancient Tyre, with quiver girt and feet high shod 
 With purple buskin — such our country's garb. Thou seest 
 Before thee Punic realms ; the city and its men 
 Are both alike Phoenician ; but around them lie 
 The borders of the Libyans, hardy race, unmatched 
 In war. The city owns the sway of Dido, late 
 Escaped from Tyre and from her brother's threat'nings. Long 
 The stor}?- of her wrongs, and devious its way ; 
 But here I '11 trace the outline of her history. 
 Her husband was Sychaeus, of his countrymen 
 The richest far in wide possessions; well beloved 
 By his ill-fated bride was he, whose virgin hand 
 In wedlock's primal rite her sire had given him. 
 But Tyre's domain Pygmalion her brother held, 
 Surpassing all in crime. Between these Tyrian lords 
 A deadly feud arose. With impious hand and blind 
 
 f\ 
 
12 
 
 Dido— The Phcenician Queen 
 
 I 
 
 With love of gold, Pygmalion, at the altar-side, 
 With stealthy, unsuspected stroke Sychsus slew; 
 And little recked he of his sister's doting love. 
 
 y£fu^as(lIL 56, 57): 
 
 O awful, quenchless thirst of gold! 'T was ever thus 
 That thou hast spurred the hearts of men to deeds of blood. 
 
 F^nus (I. 351-370): 
 
 He long concealed the deed with wanton, feigned excuse, 
 And mocked his sister, sick at heart, with empty hopes. 
 In vain : for in the visions of the night the shade, 
 The pallid shade of her unburied husband came; 
 The cruel altar and his pierced breast he showed. 
 And all the hidden guilt of that proud house revealed. 
 He bade her speed her flight and leave her fatherland. 
 And showed, to aid her cause, deep buried in the earth, 
 An ancient treasure, store of silver and of gold 
 Uncounted. 
 
 Thus forewarned the queen prepared her flight 
 And bade her comrades join her enterprise. They came, 
 Whom hatred or consuming terror of the prince 
 Inspired. A fleet of ships at anchor chanced to lie 
 In waiting. These they seized and quickly filled with gold; 
 Pygmalion's treasure, heaped with greedy care, was reft 
 Away upon the sea, a woman leading all. 
 They reached at last the place where now the mighty walls 
 And newly rising citadel of Carthage stand. 
 But who and whence are ye ? and whither do ye fare ? 
 
 ^«iftf J (372-385): 
 
 O goddess, if beginning at the first the tale 
 
 Of direful woes on land and deep I should relate, 
 
 : 
 
 I 
 
 VENUS IN THE GARB OF A HUNTRESS 
 
 
i 
 
 1 
 
 Act I. Scene i 
 
 13 
 
 The day, before my story's end, would sink to rest. 
 
 From Troy (perchance the name of Troy has reached your ears) 
 
 Borne over many seas, the fitful tempest's will 
 
 Has brought us to these shores. 
 
 . -^neas am I called, 
 
 The Pious, for that in my ships I ever bear 
 My country's gods, snatched from our burning Troy. My fame 
 O'erleaps the stars. My quest is Italy, a land 
 And race that mighty Jove hath promised me. For this. 
 With score of vessels staunch I braved the Phrygian sea,' 
 By Venus' star directed and by fate impelled. 
 But oh, alas for Venus' star, alas for fate! 
 Scarce seven shattered barks survive the waves, and I— 
 And I, a beggared stranger, wander helpless here, 
 A fugitive from all the world. 
 
 F<f«ftfj (387-401): 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, 
 Full sure am I the gods must love thee well, since thou 
 Through dangers manifold hast reached this Tynan realm. 
 But haste thee and with heart of cheer seek out the queen! 
 For lo, thy friends are rescued and thy fleet restored, 
 Unless in vain my parents taught me augury. 
 For see, those joyous swans are fluttering to the earth, 
 Which, swooping from the sky, but now the bird of Jove 
 Was harrying. As they, with fluttering wings and cries 
 Of joy regain the earth, so, by this token know, 
 Thy ships and comrades even now are safe in port, 
 Or with full sails the harbor's mouth are entering.' 
 Then fare thee on, and follow where the path of fate 
 May lead. 
 
 As Venus vanishes from the temple steps she is illumined in rosy light. 
 
14 
 
 Dido — The Phcenician Queen 
 
 j^neas (402-409): 
 
 Achates, see the bright refulgent glow 
 Upon her face! 'T is light divine! And from her locks 
 Ambrosial, heavenly odors breathe ! Her garments sweep 
 In stately folds, and she doth walk, a goddess all, 
 With tread majestic! 
 
 Lo, 't is Venus* self! O stay, 
 My heavenly mother, stay! Why dost thou, cruel too. 
 So often mock thy son with borrowed semblances ? 
 Why may we not join hands, each in his proper self. 
 And speak the words of truth ? Ah me! She 's vanished quite. 
 And I am left forlorn ! — 
 
 Deeply moved, he follows her vanishing figure. 
 
 Achates^ seeking to divert iEneas, leads him to the parapet and points out 
 to him the life awakening in the city below (422-429). 
 
 Behold this city with its gates and mighty walls, 
 And well-paved streets, where even now the Tyrians 
 With eager zeal press on their various toil. See there. 
 Some build the citadel and heave up massive stones 
 With straining hands; while some a humbler task essay, 
 And trace the furrow round their future homes. Behold, 
 Within the harbor others toil, and here thou seest 
 The deep foundations of the theater, where soon 
 Shall rise huge columns, stately set, to deck the scene. 
 
 ^ruas (430-437): 
 
 Yea all, like busy bees throughout the flowery mead, 
 Are all astir with eager toil. O blessed toil ! 
 O happy ye, whose walls already rise ! But I, — 
 When shall I see my city and my city's walls ? 
 He remains in deep dejection. 
 
 Act I. Scene i 
 
 Achates y observing the pediment of the temple itself (456-458) : 
 
 But here, O friend, behold, in carved imagery, 
 Our Trojan battles one by one, that mighty strife 
 Whose fame has filled the world. Here see Achilles fierce, 
 The sons of Atreus, — and, alas, our fallen king! 
 
 yEneaSy deeply affected (459-463) : 
 
 What place. Achates, what far corner of the world 
 Is not o'erburdened with our woes ? O fallen King, 
 E'en here our glorious struggle wins its meed of praise, 
 And those our mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown. 
 Are mourned by human tears. 
 
 Therefore our present cares 
 Let us dismiss. This fame shall bring us safety too. 
 
 Achates, continuing to examine the pediment (467, 468) : 
 
 See how the Greeks are fleeing, pressed by Trojan youth! 
 While here, alas, our warriors flee Achilles' might. 
 
 ^neas (469-478): 
 
 And here behold the ill-starred Rhesus' white-winged tents, 
 Where fierce Tydides slays his sleeping foe; and drives 
 Those snowy steeds to join the Grecian camp, before 
 They graze in Trojan meadows or the Xanthus drink. 
 Alas poor Troilus, I see thee too, ill-matched 
 With great Achilles. Prone thou liest within thy car. 
 While in the dust thy comely locks and valiant spear- 
 Are basely trailed. 
 
 Achates (479-482): 
 
 Here to Minerva's temple come 
 Our Trojan dames with suppliant mien and votive gifts; 
 With locks dishevelled, self-inflicted blows, and tears; 
 
 15 
 
i6 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 Act I. Scene i 
 
 But all for naught. All unappeased the goddess stands 
 With stem averted face, nor will she heed their prayers. 
 
 jEneas (483-487): 
 
 Thrice round the walls of Troy the fell Achilles drags 
 
 The body of my friend. — O Hector, Hector! Here 
 
 He sells thy lifeless body for accursed gold, 
 
 While aged Priam stretches forth his helpless hands. 
 
 Achates (488-497): 
 
 And here behold thyself amid the Grecian chiefs 
 In combat raging. See the swarthy Memnon's arms, 
 And that fierce maid, who, clad in gleaming armor, dares 
 To lead her Amazons and mingle in the fray. 
 
 Music is heard in the distance, flutes and zithers leading a chorus. 
 
 But hark! The distant strains of music greet my ear, 
 As of some stately progress fitly timed with flute 
 And zither. 
 
 See, it is the queen, who with her band 
 Of chosen youths and maidens hither takes her way. 
 
 y£neas (498-501): 
 
 How like Diana when she leads her bands by swift 
 Eurotas, or on Cynthus green, while round her press 
 A thousand graceful creatures of the wood; but she, 
 With shoulder quiver-girt, a very goddess moves 
 With stately tread among the lesser beings of 
 Her train. To such an one I liken yonder queen. 
 
 They conceal themselves in the foreground behind the columns of the temple. 
 Dido, accompanied by her bands of courtiers, crosses the stage and ascends the 
 
 17 
 
 temple steps. She seats herself on the throne which has been placed for her 
 at the temple door. 
 
 Dido throughout this act is dressed in white, the symbol of her widowhood. 
 Her dress, worn without himation, is of light filmy stuff draped in the Greek 
 style, and unornamented save for a border of gold thread. Anna wears a dress 
 of delicate blue, elaborately embroidered about the edges with a Greek pattern 
 in gold thread. Her himation, wrapped gracefully about her, is a tender shade 
 of rose pink. 
 
 In Dido's train all classes are represented, gayly dressed courtiers, soldiers, 
 and peasants. The men wear cloaks of dark blue and of rich brown over their 
 tunics. The women are clad in dresses of cream color, pink, and faint green. 
 
 ^Alien all are on the stage, the general effect should be a mingling of pink, 
 blue, brown, green, and white, which harmonize with the tints of the marble, 
 of the flowering crab tree, the blue sky, and the purple mountains. 
 
 Suddenly Ilioneus and his following of Trojans appear. They wear the 
 Phrygian costume, but over it the long brown traveling cloak. The singing 
 ceases, the guards lower their spears, and great excitement reigns. 
 
 j£neaSy aside (509, 510) : 
 
 Achates, can it be ? What! Antheus, and our brave 
 Cloanthus and Sergestus too ? 
 
 Ac hates y aside (51 1-5 14) : 
 
 Yea, all our friends 
 Whose ships the raging storm hath parted from our fleet 
 And driven far away. O joy! Come, let us go 
 And grasp their hands in greeting. 
 
 ^neaSy aside (515-521) : 
 
 Nay, not so, for still 
 Our fortune in the balance hangs. Here let us see 
 What fate befalls our friends, where they have left their fleet. 
 And why they hither come. For chosen messengers 
 In suppliant aspect do they seek this sacred fane, 
 While round them rage the mob.— But see, Ilioneus speaks. 
 
 Dido has arisen and with a gesture bids the soldiers stand aside. She 
 sends a page to lead Ilioneus to her throne. Ilioneus kneels before her ; she 
 extends the scepter, which he touches. 
 
i8 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 IKoneus^ rising and standing before the queen (522-558) : 
 
 O Queen to whom the king of heav'n hath given to found 
 
 A city and to curb proud nations with the reins 
 
 Of law, we Trojans in our need, the sport of winds 
 
 On every sea, implore thee, spare a pious race 
 
 And look, we pray, with nearer view upon our cause. 
 
 We have not come to devastate with fire and sword 
 
 The Libyan homes, or fill our ships with plundered stores. 
 
 Such violence and such high-handed deeds a race 
 
 By fate o'ercome may not attempt. There is a place, 
 
 Hesperia the Greeks have named it, ancient, rich 
 
 In heroes, and of fertile soil. CEnotrians 
 
 Once held the land ; but now, as rumor goes, their sons 
 
 In honor of their mighty leader have the place 
 
 Italia called. To this our seaward course was bent: 
 
 When suddenly, upstarting from the deep, all charged 
 
 With tempests, did Orion on the shallows drive 
 
 Our vessels, with the aid of boisterous winds and waves, 
 
 Through boiling, overtopping floods and trackless reefs, 
 
 And put us utterly to rout. To these thy shores 
 
 A few of us have drifted. But alas! what race 
 
 Of men is this ? What land permits such savage deeds 
 
 As these ? We are refused the barren refuge of 
 
 The sandy shore ; they seek a cause for mortal strife. 
 
 And will not that we set our feet upon the land. 
 
 What though the human race and mortal arms are naught 
 
 To thee; be sure that gods regard the evil and 
 
 The good. We had a king, ^neas, more than peer 
 
 Of all in justice, piety, and warrior's might. 
 
 If by decree of fate he still survives, if still 
 
 He draws the vital air of heav'n, and lies not low 
 
 Amid the gloomy shades, fear not, and let it not 
 
 19 
 
 ; 
 
 Act I. Scene i 
 
 Repent thee that in deeds of mercy thou didst strive 
 
 To be the first. We still possess both towns and lands 
 
 Upon Sicilia's isle; Acestes too, renowned. 
 
 And bom of Trojan blood, is ours. Our only prayer. 
 
 That we may draw our shattered fleet upon the shore, 
 
 And in the forest shade renew our weakened beams 
 
 And broken oars. That thus, if to Italia's realms. 
 
 Our comrades and our king regained, 't is ours again 
 
 To hold our way, with joy we may that selfsame land 
 
 And Latium's borders seek. But if in vain our hope, 
 
 And if, loved father of the Teucri, thou art held 
 
 By Libya's billows and no more we may upon 
 
 lulus rest our hopes, then let us seek the land 
 
 And homes reserved for us, whence, setting sail, we came 
 
 To these thy hostile shores, and make Acestes king. 
 
 Shouts of applause from the Trojans. 
 
 Dido^ with modest bearing (562-578) : 
 
 Let not a fear disturb your souls, O Teucrians ; 
 
 Away with all your cares. My cruel fortune and 
 
 My yet unstable throne compel me thus to guard 
 
 My bounds with wide and jealous watch. Who knows not well 
 
 -^neas and his race, their city Troy, their brave. 
 
 Heroic deeds ? Who has not seen the far-off flames 
 
 Of their great war ? We carry not such brutish hearts 
 
 Within our breasts, nor yet does Phoebus yoke his steeds 
 
 So far from this our land. Seek you the mighty west, 
 
 The land of Saturn's reign, or where your foster-king, 
 
 Acestes, rules within Sicilia's borders ? Lo, 
 
 In safety will I send you forth and gird you with 
 
 My aid. Or would you share with me this realm ? Behold, 
 
 The city which I build is yours. Draw up your ships. 
 
 / 
 
20 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician < Queen 
 
 To Trojan and to Tyrian will I favor show 
 
 In equal measure. Would that your Eneas' self, 
 
 Conducted by the same o'er-mastering gale, were here! 
 
 My messengers along the shore will I despatch, 
 
 And bid them search the farthest bounds of Libya, 
 
 If he in wood or city, rescued from the waves, 
 
 May chance to stray. 
 
 She despatches courtiers to seek ^Eneas. /Ene&s and Achates, meantime, 
 are greatly agitated by her words. 
 
 Achates^ to ^Eneas, aside (582-585) : 
 
 iEneas, what thy purpose now ? 
 Thou seest all is well. Thy fleet and captains all. 
 Save one, are rescued. One we saw ourselves o'erwhelmed 
 Within the deep. All else thy mother's prophecy 
 Upholds. 
 
 At this, ^Eneas suddenly reveals himself, to the great surprise of both Tro- 
 jans and Carthaginians. 
 
 j£neaSy to Dido (595-609) : 
 
 O Queen, before thee, whom thou wouldst behold, am I, 
 
 -^neas. Prince of Troy, late rescued from the waves 
 
 Of Libya. O thou, who only o'er the woes. 
 
 The dreadful woes of Troy hast wept, who to thy town 
 
 And home dost welcome us, the leavings of the Greeks, 
 
 Who every peril of the land and sea have faced. 
 
 And lost our all : we may not thank thee worthily, 
 
 O Queen, nor yet the Trojan race, what remnant still 
 
 In distant lands in exile wanders. May the gods 
 
 A fitting gift bestow upon thee; if indeed 
 
 They feel a true regard for pious souls, if e'er 
 
 The truth and conscious virtue aught avail. But thee — 
 
 What blessed age, what mighty parents gave thee birth ? 
 
 (I 
 
s 
 
 5 
 
 :! 
 
 CL 
 
 Act I. Scene i 21 
 
 Whate'er my fate, while to the sea the rivers flow, 
 While o'er the mountains' rounded sides the shadows drift, 
 While on the plains of heav'n the stars shall feed, so long 
 Thine honor and thy name and praises shall abide. 
 
 The queen is silent with amazement, while ^neas greets his friends amid 
 general rejoicing. 
 
 Dtdo^ recovering from her astonishment (615-630) : 
 
 What fate, thou son of heav'n, decrees these perils vast ? 
 
 And what the power that drives thee on our savage shores ? 
 
 And art thou that ^neas whom to Ilium's prince, 
 
 Anchises, on the bank of Phrygian Simois, 
 
 The kindly Venus bore ? And now do I recall 
 
 That Teucer once to Sidon came as suppliant; 
 
 For exiled from his native Salamis he came. 
 
 'T was at the time when fertile Cyprus bowed beneath 
 
 My father's might, and by the victor's sway was held. 
 
 From that time on, thy name, and all the Grecian kings. 
 
 And the fortunes of thy city have been known to me. 
 
 Nay, Teucer' s self, though foeman, sang the praise of Troy, 
 
 And said that he himself from ancient Trojan stock 
 
 Had sprung. 
 
 Wherefore, O princes, come and make my halls 
 Your own. An equal fate has willed that I, like you, 
 The sport of many toils, should find a resting place 
 Within this land. With grief acquainted, I have learned 
 To comfort hapless wanderers oppressed with grief. 
 
 They prepare to leave the scene. Dido despatches men to bear gifts to the 
 Trojan fleet, and proclaims a banquet for the ensuing night in honor of 
 iSneas and the Trojan princes. 
 
22 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 /Eneas ^ to Achates (643-655) : 
 
 Go, speed thee, friend, to where, upon the sandy beach. 
 Our comrades camp about the ships. This joyful news 
 To young Ascanius bear, and bid him come with thee 
 To Dido's town. 
 
 Exit Achates. 
 To other Trojans ; 
 
 Go ye, and fetch from out the ships 
 The treasures that we saved from Ilium's fall: the robe. 
 Stiff wrought with golden pattern, and the flowing veil 
 All interwov'n with bright acanthus' yellow bloom. 
 Those beauteous robes of price which Argive Helen brought 
 From rich Mycenae when to Pergama she came, 
 
 2r mother's wondrous gift. And bring the scepter fair 
 \/hich once Ilione, the eldest daughter of 
 Our monarch, bore; the pearl-set necklace, and the crown, 
 Its double golden circlet spangled o'er with gems. 
 
 The Trojans withdraw to do his bidding. The music sounds, and as the 
 entire court moves from the scene, Dido sends some of her maidens back to 
 throw incense upon the flames. They kneel upon the steps and Anna advances 
 to the altar. As the smoke ascends, Dido and ^^neas turn to follow the rest. 
 Curtain. 
 
 Act I, Scene 2 
 
 A place in the deep, green forest. Ferns and flowers strew the ground and 
 the sunlight falls through the branches in flecks of gold. In the foreground are 
 two great moss-grown rocks, on one of which sits Cupid, draped with gar- 
 lands of wild flowers, shooting his arrows at a heart-shaped target hung from 
 the branches of a tree in the center of the stage. At one side sits Venus, 
 absorbed in deep, troubled meditation. She has resumed the flowing drap- 
 eries befitting a goddess. Pink or canary yellow will harmonize with the 
 scene. 
 
 Act I. Scene 2 23 
 
 Venus (657-662): 
 
 Ah me! I fear this Tyrian hospitality; 
 
 For well I know their faithless hearts and lying tongues, 
 
 And ever, mid the anxious watches of the night. 
 
 The savage threats of Juno agitate my soul. 
 
 If only this fair queen might feel the pulse of love 
 
 For this my hero son, then would her purposes 
 
 Of amity be fixed, and my anxiety 
 
 Be set at rest. — But how accomplish my design ? 
 
 Suddenly her face is lighted with a new thought. She goes to Cupid and 
 addresses him with insinuating gentleness. 
 
 Venus, to Cupid (664-688) : 
 
 O son, my comrade and my only source of might, 
 O thou, who scorn'st the giant-slaying darts of Jove, 
 To thee I come and humbly pray thy fav'ring aid. 
 How on the sea, from land to land, thy brother fares. 
 Pursued by Juno's unrelenting hate, is known 
 To thee, and often hast thou mingled in my grief. 
 Now Tyrian Dido holds him, and with fawning words 
 Delays his course ; and much do I distrust and fear 
 The shelter which our envious rival Juno gives. 
 For, in this pregnant crisis of affairs, be sure 
 She will be active. Wherefore now my mind is bent 
 With wiles to take the queen, ere Juno steel her heart. 
 And hold her fast in passion's net ; that at the best 
 Of Juno she her present purpose may not change, 
 But by a mighty love for this her Trojan guest 
 She may be bound to work my will 
 
 Now hear thy part : 
 Obedient to the summons of his doting sire. 
 The youthful prince Ascanius goes to Dido's town 
 
24 
 
 Dido — The Phcenician Queen 
 
 With gifts which Ocean and the flames of Troy have spared ; 
 
 Him, lapped in sleep, will I to far Cythera bear, 
 
 Or hide him in my sacred fane on Ida's top, 
 
 Lest he should know what we intend, and thwart our plans. 
 
 Do thou, if only for a night, assume the form 
 
 Of young Ascanius, that, when the queen with joy 
 
 To her embrace shall take thee, when amid the wine 
 
 And feasting she shall hold thee in her arms and kiss 
 
 Thy lips, thou mayst inflame her unsuspecting heart 
 
 With the subtle fires of love. 
 
 As she unfolds her plan, Cupid is filled with delight. He struts up and 
 down, comically imitating Ascanius. When his mother has finished, he hastens 
 to pick up his scattered arrows, puts them in his quiver, and struts ofiF, looking 
 back for his mother's smile of approval. Curtain. 
 
 , 
 
 Act I. Scene 3 
 
 A banquet hall in Dido's palace. Across the back of the stage is a colonnade 
 (2), raised above the level of the hall. Through the columns there is a view (i) 
 out over the moonlit sea. Two broad steps lead from the colonnade to a land- 
 ing, from which again three steps at each side descend to the level of the hall 
 (3). At the second wing (4) on each side, curtained doorways open into the 
 side rooms, from which the servants hurry with viands for the table. At the first 
 wing (5), half columns form the corner of the wall. In the center a sort of tri- 
 clinium (6) is set for the feast, a broad, three-sided table flanked by couches 
 upholstered in Tyrian purple and having pillows of blue and gold. 
 
 When the curtain rises, the moonlight is streaming down through the columns 
 upon the scene. A tripod burns before the triclinium. Otherwise there is no 
 light; except as it flashes from the side rooms when the curtains are parted 
 for an instant. Servants are strewing the banquet table with flowers and 
 briniging in dishes of gold. 
 
 The antique bronze lamps, hung between the columns, are lighted one by 
 one, till the scene is brilliant with light and color. 
 
 Music is heard within. The servants hastily finish their work. The royal 
 party enters along the colonnade. Dido is still clad in white, but Anna and the 
 other ladies of the court have assumed himations of royal purple, royal blue, 
 brilliant yellow, and deep green, ^neas has laid aside his helmet and greaves, 
 but still wears his breastplate of mail, although he carries on his shoulder a 
 cloak of royal purple. 
 
 25 
 
26 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 The Carthaginians are more elaborately and richly dressed than in the first 
 scene. The Trojans have put aside their outer cloaks, and wear tunics gayly 
 embroidered in colors. The servants wear tunics of white. 
 
 The guests recline upon the couches, ^neas is in the seat of honor, while 
 Dido has placed the supposed Ascanius upon the couch at her side. Many of 
 the Carthaginians and the Trojans fill the hall. 
 
 Dido rises. There is silence through the room. She intones the invocation. 
 
 Z>/V<? (731-735): 
 
 [For music, see p. 69] 
 
 O Jove, thou lord of gods and men, since *t is from thee 
 The rites of hospitality proceed, ordain 
 That this may be a day of joy to us of Tyre 
 And these the Trojan exiles; let its fame go down 
 To our descendants. May the god of wine and joy, 
 And fost'ring Juno grace and celebrate the day. 
 
 The entire company repeats the invocation in unison. When they have 
 finished, all bow and Dido pours forth the libation upon the table. Touching 
 the cup to her lips, she passes it to the guests of honor. 
 
 "While the cup is passing about, lopas and his chorus sing. 
 
 Song of lopas (suggested by 740-746) 
 
 [For music, see p. 73J 
 
 Of the orb of the wandering moon I sing, 
 As she wheels through the darkening skies; 
 Where the storm-brooding band of the Hyades swing, 
 And the circling Triones arise; 
 
 Of the sun's struggling ball 
 
 Which the shadows appall 
 Till the menacing darkness flies; 
 
 yCNEAS 
 
Act I. Scene 3 27 
 
 Of the all-potent forces that dwell in the air, 
 With its measureless reaches of blue ; 
 The soft floating clouds of gossamer there, 
 And the loud-wailing storm-rack too ; 
 Of the rain and the winds 
 And the lightning that blinds 
 When its swift-darting bolt flashes through; 
 
 Of the marvels deep hid in the bowels of earth, 
 
 In the dark caves of Ocean confined, 
 
 Where the rivers in slow-trickling rills have their birth, 
 
 And the dense tangled mazes unwind; 
 
 In the deep underland. 
 
 In the dim wonderland, 
 Where broods the vast cosmical mind. 
 
 Of the manifold wonders of life I sing, 
 Its mysteries striving to scan. 
 In the rippling wave, on the fluttering wing, 
 In beast and all-dominant man. 
 
 'T is the indwelling soul 
 
 Of the god of the whole. 
 Since the dawn of creation began. 
 
 DidOy who has been gazing upon ^Eneas in rapt admiration (753-756) 
 Now come, my guest, and from the first recount the tale 
 Of Grecian treachery, thy friends' sad overthrow 
 And all thy toils; for lo, the seventh summer finds 
 Thee wand' ring still in every land, on every sea. 
 
28 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 If i 
 
 i 
 
 ^neaSy rising (II. 3-13): 
 
 Thou wouldst that I should feel a woe unspeakable, 
 
 O Queen, and tell again how all our Trojan power 
 
 And kingdom, endless source of grief, the Greeks overthrew: 
 
 Those sad events which I myself beheld, and in 
 
 Whose fabric I was wrought a part. Who, though he be 
 
 Of fierce Achilles* band, or in the train of hard 
 
 Ulysses, telling such a tale could hold his tears ? 
 
 Now night sinks down the steeps of heaven, while setting stars 
 
 And constellations summon us to rest. But if 
 
 So strong is thy desire to know the story of 
 
 Our woe, and hear Troy's final agonies rehearsed, 
 
 Though at the very thought my soul within me shrinks 
 
 And has recoiled in grief, I will begin the tale. 
 
 All the Trojans and Carthaginians crowd around the tables, seating them- 
 selves to listen. As all faces are turned toward ^neas, he sinks back upon his 
 couch, overcome with emotion. There is a moment of silent sympathy 
 
 ACT II 
 
 
 I 
 
 29 
 
i 
 
 Act II. Scene i 
 
 Dido's chamber. At the left, in front, is a shrine (i). An antique bust with 
 an inscription above it, visible in the light from the glowing censer, indicates 
 that it is sacred to Sychaeus. Two broad steps raise it slightly from the level 
 of the stage. On the same side in the middle a door (2), flanked by half 
 columns. At the right, first wing, a door (3) ; half-way back on the same side 
 (4), a curtained recess in which are hung Dido's brilliant robes. In the center 
 of the background (5), is a window overlooking the city and harbor, which 
 show in the distance when the window is opened. It is reached by two steps 
 covered with rugs, and the seats about the three sides of the recess are richly 
 upholstered in green and gray. 
 
 Anna and Dido both wear simple white, while Barce, the aged nurse, is clad 
 plainly in brown. 
 
 Barce lies asleep on a couch near the shrine, her face lighted by the glowing 
 flame. Anna is asleep on a couch in the foreground. 
 
 Dido sits at the window in the moonlight, looking out into the night. She 
 gets up and moves restlessly about the room. She kneels before the altar, 
 replenishing the incense. She comes finally to her sister, and, wakening her, 
 tells of her struggle against the new love. 
 
 31 
 
32 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 Dido (IV. 9-29): 
 
 O sister, what dread visions of the night invade 
 
 My troubled soul! What of this stranger lodged within 
 
 Our halls, how noble in his mien, how brave in heart. 
 
 Of what puissant arms! From heav'n in truth his race 
 
 Must be derived, for fear betokens low-born souls. 
 
 Alas, how tempest- tossed of fate was he ! How to 
 
 The dregs the bitter cup of war's reverses hath 
 
 He drained! If in my soul the purpose were not fixed 
 
 That not to any suitor would I yield myself 
 
 In wedlock, since the time when he who won my love 
 
 Was reft away, perchance I might have yielded now. 
 
 For sister, I confess it, since my husband's fate. 
 
 Since that sad day when by his blood my father's house 
 
 Was sprinkled, this of all men has my feelings moved. 
 
 Again I feel the force of passion's sway. But no! 
 
 May I be gulfed within earth's yawning depths; may Jove 
 
 Almighty hurl me with his thunders to the shades. 
 
 The pallid shades of Erebus and night profound. 
 
 Before, O constancy, I violate thy laws! 
 
 He took my heart who first engaged my maiden love. 
 
 Still may he keep his own, and in the silent tomb 
 
 Preserve my love inviolate. — 
 
 Anna (31-53): 
 
 O dearer to thy sister than the light of life. 
 
 Wilt thou consume thy youth in loneliness and grief, 
 
 And never know the sacred joys of motherhood. 
 
 The sweets of love ? And dost thou think, that in the tomb 
 
 Thy husband's sleeping spirit recks of this ? Let be. 
 
 That never yet have other suitors moved thy heart 
 
 Which long has scorned the lords of Libya and of Tyre; 
 
 I 
 
 
 ANNA 
 
■ L. -«■ ■1.WJ. I 4 
 
 1 
 
 5 
 
 Act II. Scene i 33 
 
 Let prince larbas be rejected and the lords 
 
 Of Africa's heroic land: wilt still against 
 
 A pleasing love contend ? And hast considered then 
 
 Whose are the powers upon the borders of thy realm ? 
 
 Here are Gaetulia's cities, matchless race in war; 
 
 Here wild Numidians hedge thee round, and Ocean's shoals; 
 
 While yonder lies the sandy desert parched and wild, 
 
 Where fierce Barcaeans range. Why need I mention Tyre's 
 
 Dark -looming cloud of war, thy brother's threats ? For me, 
 
 I think that through the favor of the gods and care 
 
 Of Juno hath ^Eneas drifted to our shores. 
 
 And to what glory shalt thou see thy city rise. 
 
 What strong far-reaching sway upreared on such a tie! 
 
 Assisted by the Trojan arms, our youthful state 
 
 Up to the very pinnacle of fame shall soar. 
 
 Then pray the favor of the gods, and give its due 
 
 To sacred hospitality. Lo, to thy hand 
 
 Is cause of dalliance, while still the blustering winds 
 
 Of winter sweep the sea, Orion's storms prevail, 
 
 Their fleet is shattered, and the frowning heavens lower. 
 
 Dido, during this speech, has gone to her husband's shrine. There is a 
 mighty struggle in her soul between love and duty. 
 
 Bai-ce, wakened from her sleep and seeing her mistress pale and anguish- 
 stricken, throws herself before her. Dido finally yields and reaches her tremb- 
 ling hand to quench the censer. The old nurse clings to her in terrified appeal. 
 Dido frees herself from her. She quenches the flame and draws the curtain 
 before the shrine. Old Barce sits sobbing before the darkened altar. 
 
 Meanwhile the light has been changing into dawn and the sea and harbor 
 begin to be visible through the open window. Dido crosses the chamber, and 
 after a moment's struggle draws back the curtains from before the recess where 
 hang the brilliant garments laid aside during her widowhood. She takes down 
 a purple mantle, and standing before a mirror, girds it about her with a golden 
 
 girdle. u j* 
 
 The sound of a trumpet and the shouts of the sailors are heard m the dis- 
 tance. Anna goes to the window, and seeing JEnesiS and his men below on the 
 shore, draws Dido to the window. Dido gazes for a minute and then, filled 
 with her new passion, goes forth with her sister to meet iEneas. Curtain. 
 
 ' 
 
 !«1 
 
34 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 Act II. Scene 2 
 
 A fragrant nook on Mount Ida. Across the stage at the first wing a low, 
 broad marble wall (i), forming one end of a colonnade which leads back to an 
 arch (2), through which the distant sea is visible (3). The columns at the first 
 wing (4) and the wall between them are overclambered by a flowering vine, 
 which has strewn its delicate yellow petals over the wall and the marble floor- 
 before It. Behind the wall (5) a garden of brilliant blossoms, with a path 
 leading through it to the arch in the background. There is the pleasant sound 
 of falling water. 
 
 Venus, seated upon the low marble wall, is discovered keeping watch over 
 Ascanius, who lies asleep before her, his pink body hidden in a drift of yellow 
 petals. The deep blue himation, which has fallen in graceful folds across the 
 wall behind her, forms a rich contrast in color to the delicate tints of the 
 marble, of the flowers, and of her own dress of tender pink. Juno, in a bril- 
 liant purple dress, approaching through the garden, comes upon her in a fury 
 of wrath. ' 
 
 yuno (93-104): 
 
 Fair fame, in sooth, and booty rich thou shalt obtain, 
 Thou and thy boy, a lasting name, if by the guile 
 
 Act II. Scene 2 
 
 35 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 Of two divinities one woman is overcome! 
 
 Nor have I failed of late to see the jealous fear 
 
 In which thou boldest these our Carthaginian walls. 
 
 But come, in such a strife what motive can we have ? 
 
 Nay, rather shall we not a lasting peace secure 
 
 By Hymen's bonds ? Behold, thou hast what thou hast sought 
 
 W^ith all thy soul: fair Dido burns with ardent love, 
 
 And feels its thrill of passion dominate her heart. 
 
 Then let us rule this people, thou and I, on terms 
 
 Of amity. Let Dido wed the Trojan prince, 
 
 And give to thee, as royal dowry, Tyria's lords. 
 
 Venus {107-114): 
 
 How mad th' opponent who would such fair terms refuse ! 
 Or who would wish to strive by preference with thee ! 
 If only fortune favor what thou hast proposed: 
 But of the fates am I uncertain, whether Jove 
 Be willing that the Trojan exiles and the men 
 Of Carthage reign in common and a lasting bond 
 Of amity cement. Thou art his wife. 'T is right 
 For thee by prayer to try his will. Do thou lead on, 
 I follow. 
 
 Juno ( 1 15-126): 
 
 Mine the task thou sayest. Now the way 
 In which the matter may be perfected in brief 
 Will I reveal. Do thou attend my words. — The queen. 
 Unhappy Dido, and -^neas, to the wood 
 Prepare to lead the hunt, when first to-morrow's sun 
 Hath reared his radiant head and with his shining beams 
 Revealed the world. On these, while beaters force the game. 
 And hem the glades with circling nets, will I a storm 
 Of rain and mingled hail pour down and rack the sky 
 
36 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 From pole to pole. In all directions will they flee 
 
 Before the storm, and shield themselves in sheltering caves. 
 
 The queen and Trojan leader will together seek 
 
 The selfsame grot. And, if thy favoring purpose hold, 
 
 I shall in lasting union join and make them one. 
 
 Venus assents, and, bending over the sleeping boy, shows by a satiric smile 
 that she perceives the purpose of her rival. Curtain. 
 
 Act II. Scene 3 
 
 A forest scene. Huge trees and moss-grown rocks. Across the back, a cliff 
 in the face of which at the last wing on the left is the opening to a mighty 
 cavern. Through the trees growing along the summit of this cliff, comes the 
 shimmer of the distant sea. 
 
 Far and near through all the forest, trumpets are sounding. Attendants 
 armed with spears and nets, and with hounds in leash for the chase, hurry 
 across the scene. Dido, Anna, JEne&s, Ascanius, followed by the entire court 
 in brilliant array, cross the scene amid the flourish of trumpets. 
 
 All the costumes are very brilliant with gold, purple, deep blue, and wood 
 green. Dido is dressed in purple and gold, Anna in brown and green with a 
 leopard skin instead of a himation. i^neas is in full armor. All the Trojans 
 and Carthaginians are dressed and armed for the chase. 
 
 One of the attendants has seated himself in the foreground to mend his 
 broken bow. As the sound of the trumpets grows fainter, a band of Cartha- 
 ginian youth, hurrying to join the hunt, descry him and stop to laugh at him, 
 because he is left behind. He throws down his bow in disgust, and points in 
 the direction of the hunt with a gesture of impatience. 
 
 Attendant (191-194): 
 
 Now look you, to our shores has come this Trojan prince 
 Whom Dido, our fair queen, has taken as her lord. 
 And now in dalliance fond the winter's days they spend, 
 Unmindful of their heaven-appointed destinies, 
 And taken in the subtle snare of base desire. 
 
 Approval on the part of all the youth. 
 
 Meanwhile it has grown darker, and there comes a crash of thunder. All flee 
 in terror. As the storm increases, the courtiers flee across the scene in every 
 direction. The trumpets are heard calling through all the woods. 
 
 At last, amid the crash of thunder and the roar of the tempest. Dido and 
 iEneas enter, seeking a place of shelter. Discovering the cavern, they flee to 
 that. Lightning flashes, the thunder roars, the wild cries of the nymphs are heard. 
 
 The scene closes in almost utter darkness. Curtain. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 37 
 
 \k 
 
Act III. Scene i 
 
 The temple of Jupiter Ammon in Libya. In the center of the stage an altar 
 (i), raised high from the level of the stage by four broad steps (2). Pillars of 
 barbaric form and decoration at the first and second wings (3), between which 
 are hung curtains (4) of rich, oriental pattern. At the second wing a wall (5) 
 joins the two pillars. In the distance (6), across a wide tract of desert, Car- 
 thag;e can be seen, showing only as a cluster of glimmering lights except when 
 the lightning flashes fitfully along the horizon. The scene is lighted only by 
 the glare of the altar fire. 
 
 larbas wears a robe of scarlet worked in gold. 
 
 larbaSy kneeling before the altar, his face lifted defiantly upward (206-218) : 
 
 O Jove omnipotent, to whom the Moorish race 
 From *broidered couches pour their offering of wine, 
 Dost thou regard th' affairs of men ? or is 't in vain 
 
 39 
 
40 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 We tremble, father, when thou hurl'st thy thunderbolts ? 
 And is it only aimless flashings that we fear. 
 And meaningless vain mutterings that fill the sky ? 
 That vagrant queen to whom we gave within our bounds 
 A site whereon to build her town, a bit of shore 
 To till, and granted full possession of the place. 
 Hath this our suit disdained and to her realm received 
 -^neas as her lord. And now that puny prince, 
 That Paris, with his train of weaklings, and his locks 
 Perfumed, bedecked and sheltered by a Phrygian cap, 
 Hath carried off the prize. — And we, poor fools, bring gifts 
 Unto thy temple and adore an empty shrine! 
 
 Sullen mutterings of distant thunder. Curtain. 
 
 Scenes 2 and 3 
 
 The temple colonnade, as in Act I. Scene i. iEneas, surrounded by 
 Achates, Ilioneus, and many other Trojans, is directing the work in the city 
 below them. He has in his hands the plan of the citadel, which he is tracing 
 for his countr)mtien. Mercury appears upon the temple steps, crosses the stage, 
 and stands a moment behind ^Eneas and his companions, unnoticed. 
 
 Mercury y to iEneas, as the Trojans turn and discover him (265-276) : 
 
 And can it be that thou art building here the walls 
 Of Tyrian Carthage, and uprearing her fair towers. 
 Thou dotard, of thy realm and thy great destiny 
 Forgetful ! Jove himself, the ruler of the gods. 
 Who holds the heavens and earth and moves them at his will, 
 To thee from bright Olympus straight hath sent me here. 
 He bade me bear on speeding pinions these commands: 
 What dost thou here ? or with what hopes dost thou delay 
 Upon the Libyan shores ? If thou, indeed, art moved 
 By no regard for thine own glorious destiny, 
 
 DIDO 
 
i 
 
 Act III. Scenes 2 and 3 41 
 
 Respect at least the budding hopes of him, thy son, 
 Who after thee shall hold the scepter; for to him 
 Are due the realms of Italy, the land of Rome. 
 
 While Mercury is giving his message, Dido, followed by her maidens, comes 
 forth from the temple, and as she catches the import of his words, stands 
 horror-stricken upon the temple steps, unnoticed by JEneas or his men, whose 
 faces are turned intently toward Mercury. 
 
 ^ErteaSf overwhelmed with astonishment, aside (281-294) : 
 
 O Jove, and I had near forgot my destiny, 
 
 To oblivion lulled amid the sweets of this fair land ! 
 
 But now my heart's sole longing is for Italy, 
 
 V^hich waits me by the promise of the fates. But how 
 
 From this benumbing passion shall I free myself ? 
 
 How face the queen and put away her clinging love ? 
 
 To his attendants : 
 
 Go ye, and swiftly call the Trojans to the shore; 
 
 Bid them equip the vessels quickly for the sea. 
 
 And frame for this our sudden voyage some fitting cause. 
 
 Mnestheus and the others withdraw to perform his commands. yEneas 
 remains buried in deep thought. He turns and sees Dido standing before 
 him. They gaze at each other in silence. 
 
 Z>/V^ (305-330): 
 
 And didst thou hope that thou couldst hide thy fell design, 
 
 O faithless, and in silence steal away from this 
 
 My land ? Does not our love, and pledge of faith once given, 
 
 Nor thought of Dido, doomed to die a cruel death, 
 
 Detain thee ? Can it be that under wintry skies 
 
 Thou wouldest launch thy fleet and urge thy onward way 
 
 Mid stormy blasts across the sea, O cruel one ? 
 
42 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 But what if not a stranger's land and unknown homes 
 
 Thou soughtest; what if Troy, thy city, still remained: 
 
 Still wouldst thou fare to Troy along the wave-tossed sea ? 
 
 Is *t I thou fleest ? By these tears and thy right hand — 
 
 Since in my depth of crushing woe I 've nothing left — 
 
 And by our marriage bond and sacred union joined, 
 
 If ever aught of mercy I have earned of thee, 
 
 If I have ever giv'n thee one sweet drop of joy, 
 
 Have pity on my falling house, and change, I pray, 
 
 Thy cruel purpose if there still is room for prayer. 
 
 For thee the Libyan races hate me, and my lords 
 
 Of Tyre; for thee my latest scruple was o'ercome; 
 
 My fame, by which I was ascending to the stars. 
 
 My kingdom, fates, — all these have I giv'n up for thee. 
 
 And thou, for whom dost thou abandon me, O guest ? — 
 
 Since from the name of husband this sole name remains. 
 
 What wait I more ? Is 't till Pygmalion shall come, 
 
 And lay my walls in ruins, or the desert prince, 
 
 larbas, lead me captive home ? O cruel fate! 
 
 If only ere thou fled'st some pledge had been conceived 
 
 Of thee, if round my halls some son of thine might sport, 
 
 To bear thy name and bring thine image back to me, 
 
 Then truly should I seem not utterly bereft. 
 
 jEneas^ seemingly unmoved by her appeal (333-361) : 
 
 I never shall gainsay, O Queen, that thy desert 
 Can equal all and more than all that thou canst claim; 
 And ever in the days to come 't will be my joy 
 Fair Dido to recall while memory serves me, while 
 My spirit animates these limbs. — To thine appeal 
 A brief reply. I did not hope to leave thy shores 
 By stealth — believe it not — nor yet a husband's name 
 
 Act III. Scenes 2 and 3 
 
 Have I desired, nor have I claimed the marriage bonds. 
 
 If under omens of my own it were ordained 
 
 That I should live, and lay aside at will the weight 
 
 Of destiny, then first of all would I restore 
 
 My Trojan city and the dear remains of all 
 
 I called my own; old Priam's royal halls would still 
 
 Endure, and long ago would I have built again 
 
 Our ruined citadel of Pergama. But now 
 
 To mighty Italy Apollo's oracle. 
 
 To Italy his lots command that I repair. 
 
 This is my love and this must be my fatherland. 
 
 If thou, though born in distant Tyre, art linked to this 
 
 Thy Carthage in the land of Libya, why, I pray, 
 
 Shouldst thou begrudge to us, the Trojan wanderers, 
 
 Ausonia's land ? 'T is fate that we as well as thou 
 
 Should seek a foreign home. My sire Anchises' shade 
 
 Invades my dreams with threats and admonition stern. 
 
 Whene'er with dewy shadows night o'erspreads the earth. 
 
 And when I think upon Ascanius and the wrong 
 
 That I am bringing on his head, though innocent, 
 
 My heart reproaches me that I am thwarting fate. 
 
 Which promised him the destined fields of Italy. 
 
 And now the very messenger of heav'n sent down 
 
 By Jove himself — I swear by both our lives — has brought 
 
 The mandate through the wind-swept air; I saw the god 
 
 Myself in open day invade thy city's walls. 
 
 And with these very ears I heard his warning voice. 
 
 Then cease to vex thyself and me with these complaints; 
 
 *T is not of mine own will I fare to Italy. 
 
 43 
 
 ^ncas, as he speaks, has become as one seeing in vision the glorious future 
 of his race. Dido, who has stood with averted face and scornful look, now 
 turns upon him, in a passion of grief and rage. 
 
44 
 
 Dido — The Phcenician Queen 
 
 h 
 
 ( 
 
 Z>/V^ (365-387): 
 
 Thou art no son of Venus, nor was Dardanus 
 
 The ancient founder of thy race, thou faithless one: 
 
 But Caucasus with rough and flinty crags begot, 
 
 And fierce Hyrcanian tigers suckled thee. For why 
 
 Should I restrain my speech, or greater evil wait ? 
 
 Did he one sympathetic sigh of sorrow heave ? 
 
 Did he one tear let fall, o'er-mastered by my grief ? 
 
 Now neither Juno, mighty queen, nor father Jove 
 
 Impartial sees; for faith is everywhere betrayed. 
 
 That shipwrecked beggar in my folly did I take 
 
 And cause to sit upon my throne; I saved his fleet, 
 
 His friends I rescued — Oh, the furies drive me mad! 
 
 Now 't is Apollo's dictate, now the Lycian lots, 
 
 And now " the very messenger of heaven sent down 
 
 By Jove himself " to bring this mandate through the air! 
 
 A fitting task is that for heaven's immortal lords! 
 
 Such cares as these disturb their everlasting calm! 
 
 I seek not to detain nor answer thee; sail on 
 
 To Italy, seek fated realms beyond the seas. 
 
 For me, if pious prayers can aught avail, I pray 
 
 That thou amid the wrecking reefs mayst drain the cup 
 
 Of retribution to the dregs and vainly call 
 
 Upon the name of Dido. Distant though I be, 
 
 With fury's torch will I pursue thee, and when death 
 
 Shall free my spirit, will I haunt thee everywhere. 
 
 O thou shalt meet thy punishment, perfidious one: 
 
 My soul shall know, for such glad news would penetrate 
 
 The lowest depths of hell. 
 
 She works herself up to a frenzy, and as she finishes she turns to leave him 
 with queenly scorn, staggers, and falls. Her servants carry her from the scene, 
 leaving iEneas in agony of soul, struggling between love and duty. Curtain. 
 
 .1 
 
 >CN£A3 
 
Act IV. Scene i 
 
 Dido's chamber as in Act II. Scene i. Anna sits in the foreground, spin- 
 ning. The old nurse, Barce, is bustling about, hanging up her mistress' 
 brilliant robes, which she has cast aside for her old mourning gown of simple 
 white. Dido is seated at the latticed window watching the Trojans in the 
 harbor below prepare for their departure. She is weeping. 
 
 JBarce^ coming cautiously to Anna so that Dido may not hear (416-418) : 
 
 Behold, how eagerly the Trojans launch their ships. 
 In their mad zeal they hurry timbers from the woods, 
 Unhewn and rough, from which to shape their masts and oars, 
 While from the city shoreward rush the fleeing men. 
 
 The shouts of the sailors are heard. Dido groans. Anna, hastily putting 
 aside her work, goes to her sister, whose face is buried in her hands. Barce 
 takes up the spinning, stopping at times to wipe her eyes. 
 
 DtdOy lifting her face to her sister (416-418) : 
 
 Thou seest, Anna, how they haste from every side. 
 And how the bustle of departure fills the shore. 
 The vessels float, the swelling sails salute the breeze. 
 And now the sailors crown the stems with festive wreaths! 
 
 She gives way to her tears. 
 
 #- 
 
 Anna, caressing her sister : 
 
 Alas, my sister, for thy sighs and grieving tears. 
 
 Thy love abandoned and thy trusting faith betrayed! 
 
 Z>/V^ (419-434): 
 
 If this great grief in expectation I have borne. 
 Then truly shall I patience have to bear it still. 
 
 47 
 
48 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 But, sister, grant me in my woe this one request — 
 For yonder faithless one was wont to cherish thee 
 Alone, and trust to thee his heart; and thou alone 
 Dost know the fav'ring time and method of approach 
 To try the man : — go, sister, and in suppliant strain 
 Address our haughty foe: I took no oath with Greece 
 At wind-swept Aulis to o'erthrow the Trojan State, 
 Nor did I send a hostile fleet to Pergama, 
 Nor desecrate the sacred ashes of his sire, 
 That now he should refuse to bend his ear to me. 
 Go, say his hapless lover makes this last request: 
 That he wait an easy voyage and a fav'ring gale. 
 No longer do I ask a husband's love denied. 
 Nor yet that he abandon his fair land and realm; 
 Time, only time, I ask, a little space of rest 
 From this mad grief, till Fortune give me fortitude, 
 And teach me how to bear my woe. 
 
 Anna, preparing to go (412) : 
 
 O love betrayed, 
 To what despair dost thou not drive the hearts of men ? 
 
 Exit Anna. 
 
 Dido, at the window, watches her sister as she takes her way down to the 
 harbor. When she can no longer see her in the gathering twilight, she turns 
 with a sigh to her chamber. 
 
 The old nurse, Barce, totters to her. Dido places her head wearily on the 
 old woman^s shoulder. Barce, drawing her to a couch, tries to soothe her. 
 Dido starts up in terror, as if she saw some fearful shape. She flees before it 
 to her husband's shrine, and is only recalled from the fancy when she finds the 
 curtains drawn before it. 
 
 Barce comes tremblingly to her. Dido in bitter remorse draws the curtains 
 from the shrine and kneels before it. Barce hurries away and soon returns 
 with a lighted candle, which she brings to her mistress. Dido lights the 
 censer. Curtain. 
 
 Act IV. Scene 2 
 
 Act IV. Scene 2 
 
 49 
 
 The same chamber in Dido's palace. The shrine of Sychaeus is adorned 
 'frith flowers ; fire glows on the altar. Barce sits spinning at one side. 
 
 Dido is pacing the room with fierce energy. She goes to the window from 
 itime to time, then renews her fierce walking to and fro. Suddenly she presses 
 her hand to her head as if a new thought had come to her. Her face assumes 
 an expression of cunning. She picks up a golden goblet, and with a gesture 
 to the old woman sends her to fill it. 
 
 When Barce has gone. Dido stealthily but quickly takes y^neas' sword from 
 the wall, and, seating herself, with trembling fingers draws it from its scab- 
 bard. She feels the edge, shrinking in terror at the thought of her intended 
 suicide. With a shudder, she presses the cold blade against her neck. 
 
 As she is thus meditating, her sister is heard coming. Dido quickly conceals 
 the sword beneath the draperies of the couch. She assumes an air of gayety, 
 kissing her sister and drawing her to a seat. 
 
 .Z?/V^ (478-498); 
 
 I 've found a way, my sister — give me joy — to bring 
 Him back to me, or free me from the love of him. 
 Hard by the confines of the Ocean in the west 
 The -^thiop country lies, where mighty Atlas holds 
 Upon his giant shoulders heaven's vault, all set 
 With stars. There dwells a priestess skilled in magic art, 
 Of the Massylian race, and guardian of the shrine 
 Of the Hesperides ; her care, the dragon huge 
 To which she offers honeydew and soothing herbs. 
 The while she guards the precious boughs. — She claims the power 
 At will to free the soul from sorrow with her charms. 
 Or burden it with care; to stop the rapid stream. 
 And backward roll the stars; the shades of darkness too 
 Can she awake, and at her bidding shalt thou hear 
 The rumbling earth beneath thy feet, and see the trees 
 Descend the mountain slopes. — I swear it by the gods 
 And thee, unwillingly I seek the magic art. 
 Do thou within the palace rear a lofty pyre. 
 And place upon its top the faithless hero's arms 
 4 
 
so 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 K 
 
 Which in his flight he left within our halls, yea all 
 That he has left, and then our wedding couch, my cause 
 Of woe; my heart is set to banish every trace 
 Of that perfidious one, and this the priestess bids. 
 
 Anna assents to her plan, and hurries away to execute it. Dido quickly 
 takes the sword from its hiding-place and in tremulous haste hangs it again 
 upon the wall. Barce enters. Dido turns, fearing detection, but seeing that 
 the old nurse has not suspected her, she takes the cup in her trembling fin- 
 gers and drains it. Curtain. 
 
 Act IV. Scene 3 
 
 Dido's chamber, night. Dido is seated in the moonlight that streams through 
 the open casement. A band of maidens, clad in white, are singing softly to 
 her. 
 
 Chorus of maidens (apropos of 522-528) : 
 
 [For music, see p. 8i] 
 
 'T is eve; *t is night; a holy quiet broods 
 O'er the mute world — winds, waters are at peace; 
 The beasts lie couch*d amid unstirring woods, 
 The fishes slumber in the sounds and seas; 
 No twitt'ring bird sings farewell from the trees. 
 Hushed is the dragon's cry, the lion's roar; 
 Beneath her glooms a glad oblivion frees 
 The heart from care, its weary labors o'er, 
 Carrying divine repose and sweetness to its core. 
 
 [Selected from Tasso.] 
 They quietly withdraw. Dido is convulsed with weeping. 
 
 z>/V/<? (529-532; 534-552): 
 
 But not for me, unhappy one, this night's sweet calm; 
 My cares redouble and o'erwhelm me with their flood. 
 
 She leaves the window and paces the room. 
 
 Act IV. Scene 3 51 
 
 Ah me, what shall I do ? My former suitors seek 
 
 And be again rejected ? Shall I humbly court 
 
 Numidia's lords whose suit I have so often scorned ? 
 
 Or shall I rather follow haughty Ilium's fleet, 
 
 Submissive to their every will ? — Because in sooth, 
 
 *T is sweet to be delivered, and my former aid 
 
 Still dwells within their faithful memory ? But who. 
 
 Though I should wish it, would permit me, or receive 
 
 The hated Dido in their haughty ships ? Ah, poor. 
 
 Deluded one, dost thou not know, dost thou not still 
 
 Perceive the frailty of a Trojan oath ? What then ? 
 
 Shall I forsake my kingdom and accompany 
 
 The joyful sailors, or with all my Tyrian bands 
 
 Around me, follow in pursuit and force again 
 
 My friends upon the deep and bid them spread their sails, 
 
 My comrades whom with pain I weaned from Sidon's halls ? 
 
 Nay, nay! as thou deservest, die, and with the sword 
 
 Thy sorrows end. O why was it not given me 
 
 To spend my life from wedlock and its sorrows free, 
 
 As beasts within their forest lairs ? Or why, alas, 
 
 Was not my promise to Sychaeus' ashes kept ? 
 
 She sprinkles incense on the flame at the shrine of Sychaeus. Dawn begins 
 to brighten. The sailors are heard singing in the distance. Dido starts. She 
 rushes to the window, and looking out, sees the Trojan fleet sailing away over 
 the sea. She cries out in frenzy. 
 
 Dido (590-629): 
 
 Ye gods ! and shall he go, and mock our royal power ? 
 Why not to arms and send our forces in pursuit. 
 And bid them hurry down the vessels from the shore ? 
 Ho there, my men, quick, fetch the torches, seize your arms, 
 And man the oars! — What am I saying ? where am I ? 
 What madness turns my brain ? O most unhappy queen. 
 
52 
 
 Dido— The Phoenician Queen 
 
 Is it thus thy evil deeds are coming back to thee ? 
 
 Such fate was just when thou didst yield thy scepter up. — 
 
 Lo, there 's the fealty of him who, rumor says, 
 
 His country's gods with him in all his wandering bears 
 
 And on his shoulders bore his sire from burning Troy! 
 
 Why could I not have torn his body limb from limb. 
 
 And strewed his members on the deep ? and slain his friends, 
 
 His son Ascanius, and served his mangled limbs 
 
 To grace his father's feast ?— Such conflict might have had 
 
 A doubtful issue. — Grant it might, but whom had I, 
 
 Foredoomed to death, to fear ? I might have fired his camp, 
 
 His ships, and wrapped in common ruin father, son. 
 
 And all the race, and given myself to crown the doom 
 
 Of all. — O Sun, who with thy shining rays dost see 
 
 All mortal deeds; O Juno, who dost know and thus 
 
 Canst judge the grievous cares of wedlock; thou whom wild 
 
 And shrieking women worship through the dusky streets, 
 
 O Hecate; and ye avenging Furies;— ye. 
 
 The gods of failing Dido, come and bend your power 
 
 To these my woes and hear my prayer. If yonder wretch 
 
 Must enter port and reach his land decreed by fate, 
 
 If thus the laws of Jove ordain, this order holds: 
 
 But, torn in war, a hardy people's foeman, far 
 
 From friends and young lulus' arms, may he be forced 
 
 To seek a Grecian stranger's aid, and may he see 
 
 The death of many whom he loves. And when at last 
 
 A meager peace on doubtful terms he has secured, 
 
 May he no pleasure find in kingdom or in life; 
 
 But may he fall untimely, and unburied lie 
 
 Upon some solitary strand. This, this I pray. 
 
 And with my latest breath this final wish proclaim. 
 
 Then, O my Tyrians, with a bitter hate pursue 
 
 The whole accursed race, and send this to my shade 
 
 Act IV. Scene 3 
 
 53 
 
 As welcome tribute. Let there be no amity 
 Between our peoples. Rise thou from my bones, 
 O some avenger, who with deadly sword and brand 
 Shall scathe the Trojan exiles, now, in time to come. 
 Whenever chance and strength shall favor. Be our shores 
 To shores opposed, our waves to waves, and arms to arms, 
 Eternal, deadly foes through all posterity. 
 
 The servants rush in terrified during her passionate speech, and as she utters 
 her curse, stand cowering before her. She dismisses with a gesture all except 
 old Barce, who approaches her mistress. 
 
 (634-640) : 
 
 Go, bring my sister Anna hither, dearest nurse: 
 
 In flowing water bid her haste to bathe her limbs, 
 
 And bring the rightful sacrifices of the flock. 
 
 So let her come. And thou with pious fillets gird 
 
 Thy temples; for to Stygian Jove my mind is fixed 
 
 To carry on the magic sacrifice begun, 
 
 And end my cares, and to devouring flames consign 
 
 The relics of that cursed son of Dardanus. 
 
 Barce totters away to do her bidding. Dido takes i£neas* mantle and sword 
 from the wall, and unsheathes the sword. 
 
 (651-662): 
 
 Sweet pledges of my lord, while fate and god allowed. 
 
 Accept this soul of mine, and free me from my cares. 
 
 For I have lived and run the course that Fortune set; 
 
 And now my stately soul to Hades shall descend. 
 
 A noble city have I built; my husband's death 
 
 Have I avenged, and on my brother's head my wrath 
 
 Inflicted. Happy, ah too happy, had the keels 
 
 Of Troy ne'er touched my shores! — And shall I perish thus ? — 
 
54 
 
 Dido — The Phoenician Queen 
 
 But let me perish. Thus, oh thus, *t is sweet to seek 
 The land of shadows. — May the heartless Trojan see, 
 As on he fares across the deep, my blazing pyre. 
 And bear with him the gloomy omens of my death. 
 
 She rushes forth from the chamber in her frenzy. The sailors' chorus is 
 repeated fainter and fainter. In a moment her death cry is heard. The ser- 
 vants rush in, and finding their mistress gone, hasten in the direction of her cry. 
 Their lamentation is heard. They return bearing the body of the queen upon 
 a couch. She has fainted, and upon her bosom the wound shows red and 
 terrible. Anna enters, beside herself with grief. 
 
 AntUZy kneeling beside the couch, addresses Dido, who revives enough to 
 smile upon her sister (676-685) : 
 
 Was it for this, O sister, thou didst seek to hide 
 
 Thy heart from me ? Was this the meaning of the pyre, 
 
 And this the altar fires ? What plaint in my despair 
 
 Shall I offer first ? And didst thou spurn me, in thy death ? 
 
 Thou shouldst instead have bidden me to share thy fate; 
 
 The selfsame moment should have reft the lives of both. 
 
 And with these impious hands did I thine altar rear, 
 
 And with this voice unto our country's gods appeal, 
 
 That, heartless, I might fail thee in this final hour ? 
 
 O sister, here hast thou destroyed thyself and me. 
 
 Thy people, thy Sidonian fathers and thy realm. 
 
 With soothing water let me bathe her flowing wounds, 
 
 And if there hovers on her lips the fleeting breath. 
 
 With my own lips I claim it in the kiss of death. 
 
 The sailors' chorus sounds in the distance. Aroused by this, the dying 
 queen half raises herself upon the couch. The servants throw open the case- 
 ment and the Trojan ships are seen far away, sailing off over the sea. 
 
 Dido falls back lifeless. Curtain. 
 
 MUSIC 
 
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 The authors are indebted to Professor A. A. Stanley of the 
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 Invocation 69 
 
 Song of Iopas ........ 72 
 
 Slumber Song 81 
 
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 II 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
Illustrious Troy! renown 'd in every clime 
 
 Through the long records of succeeding time; 
 
 Who saw protecting gods from heaven descend 
 
 Full oft, thy royal bulwarks to defend. 
 
 Though chiefs unnumber'd in her cause were slain, 
 
 With fate the gods and heroes fought in vain; 
 
 That refuge of perfidious Helen's shame 
 
 At midnight was involved in Grecian flame; 
 
 And now, by time's deep ploughshare harrow'd o'er, 
 
 The seat of sacred Troy is found no more. 
 
 No trace of her proud fabrics now remains. 
 
 But corn and vines enrich her cultured plains. 
 
 Falconer, Shipwreck. 
 
 91 
 
THE PERSONS OF THE DRAMA 
 
 -/Eneas, son of Anchises and Venus, son-in-law of Priam, and, 
 since the death of Hector, the leader of the Trojan war- 
 chiefs. 
 
 Priam, king of Troy, now enfeebled by age. 
 
 Anchises, the aged father of -^neas. 
 
 Laocoon, a son of Priam and priest of Apollo. 
 
 Panthus, a Trojan noble, priest of Apollo. 
 
 CoRCEBUS, a Phrygian noble, ally of Priam, in love with Cassandra. 
 
 The Ghost of Hector. 
 
 Ascanius, son of -^neas and Creiisa (silent). 
 
 Venus, the goddess of love, mother of ^Eneas. 
 
 Hecuba, wife of Priam. 
 
 Creusa, wife of -^neas. 
 
 Cassandra, daughter of Priam, reputed to be mad. 
 
 Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, leader of the Greeks in their final 
 attack upon Troy. 
 
 Sinon, a Greek tool, through whose treachery the Trojans were 
 induced to admit the wooden horse within their walls. 
 
 Androgeos, a Greek chieftain. 
 
 Trojan warriors, nobles, and commons, shepherds, priestly 
 attendants, boys, women, etc. 
 
 Greek warriors. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 93 
 
i \ 
 
 The Fall of T 
 
 roy 
 
 Act I. Scene i 
 
 The plain in front of Troy; the city walls; the sea; and, in the distance, 
 Tenedos. Morning, without the gates. Joyful crowds of men, women, and 
 children pour through the open doors. They gather about the strange wooden 
 horse which stands without, and excitedly inquire what it means, and what 
 shall be done with it. Thymoetes voices the sentiment of one party that it 
 should be taken within the walls and set upon the citadel; while Capys and 
 his adherents urge that they should examine the mystery where it stands, and 
 destroy it. Great confusion reigns. The sentiment of Thymoetes seems about 
 to prevail (26-39). 
 
 Enter Laocoon, running, followed by a band of priestly attendants, and 
 shouting while still at some distance. 
 
 Laocoon (42-49): 
 
 What madness, wretched citizens, is this? 
 Can you believe your enemies have fled, 
 Or can you think that any gifts of Greeks 
 Are innocent of guile? So have you learned 
 To judge Ulysses? No, within this horse 
 The crafty Greeks are lying even now, 
 Or else its towering bulk has been contrived 
 To give them spying place upon our homes, 
 Or chance to scale our city's battlements. 
 Be sure some dark design is hidden here. 
 Trust not the horse, my friends; whate'er it is, 
 I fear the Greeks, though armed with gifts alone. 
 
 He hurls his spear, which sticks fast in the wooden horse and stands 
 quivering there. 
 
 95 
 
96 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
 Act I. Scene 2 
 
 97 
 
 I 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 Enter Trojan shepherds, dragging in a man bound with thongs. They 
 approach the king. The bystanders jibe at and mock the captive. The 
 unknown stands as if bewildered and distraught, and at last cries (69-72): 
 
 Where now, alas, can I a refuge find 
 On land or sea? What chance of life remains 
 For one who can no longer claim a place 
 Among the Greeks? and now his bloody death 
 The vengeful sons of Dardanus demand. 
 
 The Trojans in wonder and with growing pity urge him to explain himself. 
 He at last proceeds, having with an apparent effort regained his self-control 
 (77-104): 
 
 All things and truly will I tell to thee, 
 O king, whatever comes; nor will I seek 
 To hide that I am Grecian born. This first; 
 For though in woe my fate has plunged me deep 
 It shall not make me false and faithless too. 
 If any chance report has touched your ears 
 With Palamedes' name, great Belus' son, 
 Whom, though he was all innocent of guile, 
 Yet still, because his voice was ever raised 
 Against the war, by accusations false 
 The Greeks condemned, and sent to gloomy death; 
 But whom they now with fruitless grief lament: 
 To him my sire, while yet the war was young. 
 By poverty impelled, consigned his son 
 To serve the prince, by double ties endeared 
 Of blood and comradeship. 
 
 While he in power 
 And in the councils of the kings stood high, 
 I, too, by his reflected light, enjoyed 
 Both name and fair renown. But when at last, 
 
 Through false Ulysses* murderous hate and guile, 
 
 (I speak what you do know), his death was wrought; 
 
 In deep distress, in darkness and in woe 
 
 I spent my days, and mourned the hapless fate 
 
 Of my poor friend. And, maddened by my grief, 
 
 I would not hold my peace, but loudly swore, 
 
 That if the fates of war should bring me back 
 
 As victor to my native land of Greece, 
 
 I should full vengeance take; and by my words 
 
 Dire hatred 'gainst my luckless self I roused. 
 
 Here was the fountain source of all my woes; 
 
 From now Ulysses, crafty enemy, 
 
 Began to spread vague hints among the Greeks, 
 
 Prefer strange charges, and to seek some cause 
 
 Against me, conscious in his heart of guilt. 
 
 Nor did he rest, until by Calchas' aid — 
 
 But why do I rehearse this senseless tale 
 
 To heedless ears? Or wherefore should I seek 
 
 To stay your hands, if 'tis enough to hear 
 
 That I am Greek, and in your hostile minds 
 
 All Greeks are judged alike. 
 
 Come, glut your hate 
 Upon me. For Ulysses would rejoice 
 To know that I am dead, and Atreus' sons 
 Would gladly purchase this with great reward. 
 
 Here the stranger pauses in seeming despair and resignation to his fate. 
 The Trojans urge him to go on with his story. He resumes (108-144): 
 
 Full oft the Greeks, in utter weariness 
 Of that long siege, desired to abandon Troy, 
 And seek their homes again. Oh, that they had! 
 But whensoe'er they addressed them to the sea, 
 
98 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
 Rough wintry blasts and storms affrighted them. 
 
 And when this horse, of wooden timbers framed, 
 
 Completed stood, a votive offering, 
 
 The winds from every quarter of the heavens 
 
 Howled threateningly. To seek the will of Heaven, 
 
 The anxious Greeks despatch Eurypylus 
 
 To Phoebus' oracle. He straight reports 
 
 Apollo's mandate grim and terrible: 
 
 " Before, O Greeks, ye sailed to Troia's shores, 
 
 Ye first had need to appease the angry winds 
 
 With bloody sacrifice — a maiden's death. 
 
 E'en so, by blood must your return be sought; 
 
 Again must Grecian life atonement make." 
 
 When this dire oracle among the crowd, 
 
 From ear to ear, from lip to lip was spread, 
 
 They stood with horror stunned, and chilling fear 
 
 Their inmost hearts with dire forebodings filled. 
 
 They trembling ask for whom the fates prepare, 
 
 Whom does Apollo seek in punishment ? 
 
 Then comes the Ithacan with clamor loud. 
 
 The prophet Calchas dragging in our midst, 
 
 And bids with charge insistent that he tell 
 
 The will of heaven. And now from many lips 
 
 The grim forebodings of Ulysses' guile 
 
 Assail my ears, while all in silence wait 
 
 To see the end. Ten days the seer was mute, 
 
 Hid in his tent, refusing steadily 
 
 By word of his to doom a man to death. 
 
 At length, his feigned reluctance at an end, 
 
 And goaded by Ulysses' clamors loud, 
 
 He spoke, and named me as the sacrifice. 
 
 All gave assent; and while each feared a doom 
 
 Which might befall himself, they calmly bore 
 
 Act I. Scene 2 
 
 99 
 
 When on my wretched head they saw it light. 
 
 And now the day of horror was at hand. 
 
 All things were ready for the sacrifice; 
 
 The salted meal was sprinkled on my head, 
 
 And round my brows the fatal fillets twined. 
 
 Then, I confess it, did I break my bonds. 
 
 I fled from death and in the sedgy reeds 
 
 Along the muddy margin of a lake 
 
 All night I lay in hiding, hoping there 
 
 To lurk until their homeward sails were spread. 
 
 And now my country dear I ne'er shall see. 
 
 My darling children and my aged sire 
 
 Whose face I long to see. But they are doomed 
 
 To pay the penalty which I escaped. 
 
 And by their death repair this fault of mine. 
 
 But by the gods above, divinities 
 
 Who with impartial eyes behold the truth, 
 
 If anywhere there still abides with men 
 
 Unsullied faith, I beg you, pity me 
 
 Who have endured so dire a weight of woe, 
 
 A soul that has been foully overborne. 
 
 The Trojans are moved to tears by this tale of woe; and Priam bids the 
 chains be stricken from him. He then addresses the prisoner with friendly words. 
 
 Priam (i 48-1 51): 
 
 Who'er thou art, away with thoughts of Greeks. 
 
 Be man of ours. And, as I question thee. 
 
 Give true reply. What means this monster horse? 
 
 Who first proposed, and what its purpose here? 
 
 Is it some votive gift, or does it stand 
 
 Against our walls as enginery of war? 
 
 Sinon stretches his freed hands to the heavens. He speaks excitedly and 
 as one inspired. 
 
lOO 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
 Sinon (154-194): 
 
 O ye eternal fires, be witness now, 
 
 Ye heavenly stars, divine, inviolate, 
 
 Ye cursed knives, and altars which I fled, 
 
 Ye fillets which as victim doomed I wore: 
 
 'Tis right for me to break all sacred oaths 
 
 Which bound me to the Greeks; 'tis right to hate. 
 
 And blab their secrets to the common air. 
 
 I'll not be held by any ties of land 
 
 Or law. Do thou but keep thy promises, 
 
 O Troy, and, saved by me, keep plighted faith, 
 
 If I with truth shall make thee rich returns. 
 
 Recovering himself, he goes on more quietly, and with an air of perfect 
 sincerity. ^ 
 
 The Greeks' whole hope and confidence in war 
 
 Had rested from the first on Pallas' aid. 
 
 But from the time when godless Diomede, 
 
 And that curst Ithacan, expert in crime. 
 
 Dared desecrate the goddess' sacred fane, 
 
 Dared drag her mystic image forth, and kill 
 
 Her faithful guard, and on her virgin locks 
 
 Lay bloody, lustful hands unconsecrate: 
 
 From then their hopes kept ebbing back and back. 
 
 Their powers were shattered and their goddess' aid 
 
 Denied. And she with no uncertain signs 
 
 Revealed at once her outraged deity. 
 
 Scarce had the sacred image reached the camp, 
 
 When glittering flames blazed from the staring eyes. 
 
 And salty perspiration down her limbs 
 
 Went streaming; and, oh wonderful to say, 
 
 Act I. Scene 2 
 
 Thrice from the ground, accoutered as she was 
 
 With shield and quivering spear, the image leaped. 
 
 Straitway did Calchas prophecy that all 
 
 Must forth again in flight upon the sea; 
 
 That Troy could never by Argolic arms 
 
 Be overthrown, save as they back again 
 
 To sacred Argos fared and there regained 
 
 That heavenly favor which they first had brought 
 
 To Ilium. 
 
 And now have they indeed 
 Gone back to Greece, to seek fresh auspices. 
 And win once more the blessing of the gods. 
 And soon, and suddenly, the sea retraced, 
 Will they be here again. So Calchas bade. 
 Meanwhile, by that same prophet warned, did they 
 This wooden image fashion to appease 
 Th* offended goddess, and atonement make 
 To her outraged divinity. And more — 
 The prophet bade them form an image huge 
 Of oaken beams, of such proportions vast 
 That through no gate of Troy could it be led. 
 Nor set within the walls, lest thus once more 
 The people from their ancient deity 
 Protection find. For if Minerva's gift 
 Should by your hands be desecrated, then 
 Would dreadful doom (Heaven send it on their heads) 
 Upon old Priam and his Phrygians come; 
 But if within your walls this sacred horse 
 Should by your voluntary hands be set. 
 Then would all Asia rise with one accord, 
 And sweep in mighty war against the Greeks, 
 And that dire doom upon our grandsons fall. 
 
 lOI 
 
102 The Fall of Troy 
 
 Scene 3 
 
 The Trojans are entirely satisfied with this explanation and treat Sinon with 
 respectful consideration. At this juncture, two huge serpents come up out of 
 the sea and, while the people flee shrieking away on all sides, they make their 
 way to Laocoon where he stands sacrificing at the altar, and enfold him and 
 nis two sons in their deadly coils (195-227). 
 
 Scene 4 
 
 Great excitement follows. People say that Laocoon has perished justly, 
 since he impiously violated the sacred horse; and loudly demand that the 
 creature be taken within the walls (228-249). 
 
 A voice from the crowd: 
 
 Oh, dreadful punishment, but well deserved; 
 For with his impious spear he smote the oak, 
 The sacred wood to Pallas consecrate. 
 
 Another voice: 
 
 Now haste we and within our city lead 
 
 This horse portentous, and with humble prayer 
 
 Minerva's aid and pardoning favor seek. 
 
 They hastily enlarge the gate, attach ropes to the horse, and put rollers 
 under its feet; many willing hands lay hold of the ropes and pull the horse 
 
 . I\?' .u ^? ^. f'""^^ "^^"^^ *°^ ^^'^^ around the workers. The horse sticks 
 at the threshold of the gate, and Cassandra, who has been looking on as one 
 entranced, cries out forebodingly. 
 
 Cassandra : 
 
 O fatherland! O Ilium, home of gods! 
 Ye walls of Troy, in war illustrious! 
 See there, upon the threshold of the gate. 
 The monster halts — again — and yet again! 
 And from its rumbling hold I hear the sound 
 Of clashing arms! O Troy! O fatherland! 
 
 But the people, not heeding her, press on and disappear within the city 
 walls with the wooden horse, on the way to the citadel. Everywhere are heard 
 sounds of delinous joy. 
 
 ACT II 
 
Act II. Scene i 
 
 Night. The chamber of ^neas. He lies sleeping calmly upon his couch. 
 Enter Ghost of Hector, wan and terrible, bearing in his hands the sacred 
 images of the Penates. 
 
 yEneaSy starting up to a sitting posture, as if talking in a dream (281-286): 
 
 O light of Troy, O prop of Trojan hopes. 
 
 What slow delays have held thee from our sight, 
 
 O long awaited one? Whence com'st thou here ? 
 
 We see thee now, with hardships overborne, 
 
 But only after many of thy friends 
 
 Have met their doom, and after struggles vast 
 
 Of city and of men. — But what, alas. 
 
 Has so defiled thy features? Whence these wounds 
 
 And horrid scars I see? 
 
 Hector, with deep sighs and groans (289-295): 
 
 Oh, get thee hence, 
 Thou son of Venus, flee these deadly flames. 
 Our foemen hold the walls; our ancient Troy 
 Is fallen from her lofty pinnacle. 
 Enough for king and country has been done; 
 If Troy could have been saved by any hand, 
 This hand of mine would have defended her. 
 But now to thee she trusts her sacred gods 
 And all their sacred rites; take these with thee 
 As comrades of thy fates; seek walls for these. 
 Which, when the mighty deep thou hast o'ercome, 
 Thou shalt at length in lasting empire set. 
 
 He makes as if to give the sacred images to iEneas, and vanishes. 
 
 105 
 
h 
 
 1 06 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
 A confused sound of distant shouting and clashing of arms fills the room. 
 yEneas leaps from his couch, now fully awake, and stands with strained and 
 attentive ears. The truth dawns upon him as the sounds grow clearer, and as 
 he can see from his window the red flames of burning Troy. He snatches up 
 his arms and is rushing from the room when Panthus hurries in bearing sacred 
 images in his hands and leading his little grandson. 
 
 Apneas (322): 
 
 My friend, where lies the battle's central point? 
 What stronghold do we keep against the foe? 
 
 Panthus (324-335): 
 
 The last, the fated day of Troy is come. 
 The mighty glory of the Trojan state 
 Is of the past, and we, alas, no more 
 May call ourselves of Ilium; for lo. 
 The cruel gods have given all to Greece, 
 And foemen lord it in our blazing town; 
 The great horse stands upon our citadel. 
 And from his roomy side pours armed men; 
 While Sinon, gloating o'er his victory. 
 With blazing torch is busy everywhere. 
 Down at the double gates still others press 
 For entrance, all Mycenae's clamorous hosts, 
 And weapons thick beset the narrow streets. 
 In battle order stand the long drawn lines 
 Of gleaming steel prepared for deadly strife. 
 Scarce do the sturdy watchmen of the gates 
 Attempt to hold their posts against the foe. 
 But in the smothering press fight blindly on. 
 
 At this, i^neas joins Panthus and together they rush out into the city. 
 
 Act II. Scene 2 
 
 107 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 A street of Troy, lit by the moonlight and the glare of burning buildings. 
 Trojans rush in from different sides and rally to yEneas. 
 
 ^«^d!J (348-354): 
 
 O comrades, O ye hearts most brave in vain, 
 If you have steadfast minds to follow one 
 On desperate deeds intent, you see our case: 
 The gods, who long have buttressed up our state. 
 Have fled their sacred altars and their shrines. 
 And left us to our fate. You seek to aid 
 A city wrapped in flames. Then let us die 
 And in the midst of death our safety find: 
 Our safety's single hope — to hope for none. 
 
 The little band hurries off toward the noise of battle in neighboring streets. 
 
 Enter from the other direction straggling bands of Greeks, drunk with victory. 
 
 They burn and pillage on all sides, temples and homes alike. Re-enter 
 Trojans led by ^neas. Androgeos, a Greek, thinking them to be Greeks, 
 goes up to them. 
 
 Androgeos {1^1-11^'. 
 
 Now haste ye, men; what time for sloth is this? 
 The rest on fire and pillage are intent. 
 While you but now address you to the task. 
 
 Androgeos suddenly perceives that these are foes, and is struck dumb with 
 amazement. The Trojans rush upon him and slay him together with the 
 others of his band. 
 
 
 CorabuSy one of Eneas' band, exultingly (387-391): 
 
 O friends, where kindly fortune first doth show 
 The path of safety, let us follow there. 
 With these slain Greeks let us our shields exchange. 
 Their helms and breastplates let us don, and so 
 
io8 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
 In all things seem as Greeks. When foemen strive, 
 Who questions aught of trickery or might? 
 Our foes against themselves shall lend us arms. 
 
 They exchange arms with the dead Greeks. Thus arrayed, they mingle with 
 the parties of Greeks who straggle in, and slay them. The Greeks, not under- 
 standing this strange turn of affairs, flee away in terror. This action is 
 repeated at intervals several times. 
 
 Enter a band of Greeks led by Ajax, the Atridse, and others, dragging Cas- 
 sandra roughly along by the hair. Her hands are tied with thongs. Coroebus. 
 though the o<Ws are overwhelmingly against him, rushes in to save his beloved 
 Cassandra. The other Trojans, because of their disguise of Greek armor, are 
 attacked by their own friends stationed at near-by points of vantage; and now 
 the Greeks themselves, recognizing the ruse at last, overwhelm the little Troian 
 band by force of numbers. Other Greeks pour in from all sides and add their 
 Tro*?ns°f 11 ' ^ ^^^ Trojans. In the desperate encounter many of the 
 
 ^neas performs Herculean feats of arms, and slays many Greeks, but is 
 himself unhurt. At last he and a few followers escape into a street leading to 
 i'nam s palace, whence loud and continued shouting can be heard 
 
 Scene 3 
 
 At Priam's palace (viewed from without), desperately attacked by Greeks 
 and defended by Trojans, (a) The assailants attempt by scaling ladders to 
 mount to the flat, turreted roof of the palace, while the defendants hurl down 
 upon these darts and stones, and pry off whole towers which fall with a mighty 
 crash. The air is filled with the thunderous noise of these falling masses and 
 with the other confused shouts and sounds of a desperate conflict. 
 
 {d) Pyrrhus with a strong band of Greeks is endeavoring to batter down the 
 gates of the palace at its main entrance. 
 
 Scene 4 
 
 Priam's palace from within. All is confusion and terror. Women rush 
 from room to room, with disheveled hair streaming, and with cries of wild 
 despair. A crowded mass of men are attempting to defend the main entrance. 
 Overhead can be seen and heard the defenders on the roof opposinj? the 
 attack from without. ° 
 
 In the central open court of the palace, upon the steps of a great altar over- 
 shadowed by a laurel tree, Hecuba and a group of women have seated them- 
 selves, huddling there m the hope of protection from the sanctity of the altar. 
 Suddenly old Priam comes out into the court, hurriedly adjusting his armor. 
 
 Act II. Scene 4 
 
 Hecuba^ calling to him (519-524): 
 
 What dost thou there, of reason all bereft, 
 O wretched husband? What avail those arms? 
 Or whither speedest thou with tottering steps? 
 Such aid and such defense as thou canst give 
 Cannot avail us now, nor Hector's self, 
 Could he come back to us. Come hither then; 
 These sacred altar stairs shall shield us all. 
 Or in their sight will we together die. 
 
 Priam joins the women at the altar. 
 
 But see, Polites comes, by Pyrrhus pressed; 
 Through hostile arms, through halls and colonnades, 
 He flees alone in sore distress of wounds, 
 While Pyrrhus follows hard with deadly aim. 
 And now. Oh, now he grasps and thrusts him through. 
 Polites falls dead at the feet of Priam and Hecuba. 
 
 109 
 
 Priam ^ springing up and facing Pyrrhus (535-543): 
 
 For that base crime of thine, that impious deed, 
 I pray the gods, if there are gods in heaven 
 Who care for men, to grant thee dire return. 
 And give thee what thou hast so richly earned. 
 For thou hast slain my son before my face, 
 And with his blood defiled his father's eyes. 
 But that Achilles, whom thou falsely claim'st 
 As sire, did not so treat his royal foe. 
 But held in reverence the sacred laws. 
 My Hector's corpse he gave for burial 
 And sent me back in safety to my home. 
 
 He hurts his spear with feeble strength at Pyrrhus. The spear sticks 
 ineffectually in the opposing shield. 
 
no 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
 i . 
 
 Pyrrhus, scornfully (S47-550): 
 Then bear this message to my noble sire: 
 Fail not to tell him all my impious deeds, 
 And how unworthy has his Pyrrhus proved. 
 Now die. 
 
 \.^^ ^'u^^f*'^''^'^ ™*" ^? ^^^ ^^^" ^"^ s^ays hi«» there. Exit Pyrrhus 
 leaving the bloody corpse of the old man upon the ground. The women are 
 earned off as prisoners by the Greeks who now come thronging in 
 
 Scene 5 
 
 In the now deserted palace near the shrine of Vesta 
 protection within the shrine. 
 
 Helen is lurking for 
 
 yEneaSf passing by and seeing Helen (577-587): 
 
 Shall this, the common scourge of friend and foe, 
 
 Unscathed, behold her native land again? 
 
 Her husband, home, her sire and children see? 
 
 Shall she as conquering queen go proudly back, 
 
 Attended by a throng of Trojan slaves? 
 
 Shall Troy have burned for this, old Priam die, 
 
 And all the Trojan plain have reeked with blood? 
 
 It shall not be. No fame, I know, is earned 
 
 By woman's punishment; such victory 
 
 Has little praise; but yet I shall be praised 
 
 For having utterly destroyed this wretch. 
 
 And on her head inflicted vengeance dire. 
 
 It will be sweet to feed my passion's flame, 
 
 And satisfy the ashes of my friends. 
 
 appelrl'be7ot' h!m"'° '""^ '^""' "^'' ^^^"'^ ^"°^' "^^^ ^"^^^^^ Venus 
 Venus (594-620): 
 
 What grief inflames thee to this boundless wrath? 
 What madness this, my son ? And whither, pray, 
 Has fled thy care for us? Bethink thee, first. 
 
 Act II. Scene 5 
 
 Where thou hast left thy father, spent with age; 
 
 Whether thy wife, Creusa, still survives; 
 
 Bethink thee of Ascanius thy son. 
 
 For they are hemmed about on every side 
 
 By hostile Greeks; but for my shielding care. 
 
 Already would the flames have swept them off. 
 
 And swords of enemies have drunk their blood. 
 
 'Tis not the beauty of the Spartan queen 
 
 That should arouse thy hate, nor shouldst thou blame 
 
 Thy kinsman, Paris; for the cruel gods. 
 
 The gods, I say, have laid thy city low. 
 
 And overthrown the lofty walls of Troy. 
 
 Behold — for I will straight remove the mist 
 
 Which, dense and clinging, clouds thy mortal sight; 
 
 Do thou but be obedient to my words; 
 
 Here, where thou seest huge masses overthrown. 
 Rocks torn from rocks, commingled smoke and dust. 
 Great Neptune with his trident's fearful stroke 
 Causes the walls to rock upon their base. 
 Here Juno, first of all, with savage mien. 
 Besets the Scaean gates, and, girt with steel, 
 In fury calls her allies from the ships. 
 Now turn thine eyes unto the citadel. 
 And there behold Triton ian Pallas stand. 
 All blazing with the war-cloud's lurid glare. 
 And that fell Gorgon's head. Nay Jove himself 
 Inspires the Greeks with courage, gives them strength. 
 And whets the gods against the Trojans' arms. 
 Betake thee then to flight and end thy toils. 
 For I will never leave thee, till at last 
 I bring thee safely to thy father's house. 
 iEneas, overcome by these revelations, and resigned to fate, retires. 
 
 Ill 
 

 I 
 
 Act III. Scene i 
 
 _ The atrium in the palace of ^neas. The aged Anchises lies prone upon 
 the couch. Creusa, Ascanius, and other members of the household are huddled 
 together in the same room, listening in awestruck silence to the confused 
 sounds of battle without. The room is lit by the red glare of burninir 
 buildings. Enter ^neas, breathless with his haste. ^ 
 
 .^neas, going up to his father and attempting to lift him in his arms (635, 636): 
 O father, all is lost; come, flee with me, 
 While still the fates and angry gods allowj 
 Come, let me bear thee on my shoulders broad 
 Unto the shelter of Mount Ida's slopes. 
 
 Anchises, resisting (637-649): 
 
 If all is o'er, and Troy is in the dust, 
 Why should I wish to prolong this worthless life 
 In exiled wanderings? Turn ye to flight. 
 Who feel the blood of youth within your veins, 
 Whose sturdy powers still flourish in their prime. 
 If heavenly gods had wished me still to live. 
 They would have saved this home wherein to dwell. 
 Enough and more, that I have seen one fall 
 Of Troy, and once outlived my captured town. 
 Then, even as I lie in seeming death. 
 Address my lifeless body and be gone. 
 I'll quickly gain the boon of death I seek: 
 The enemy will pity me and slay. 
 Or else will slay me for my noble spoils. 
 As for the loss of burial due the dead, 
 'Twill not be hard to bear. Too long on earth 
 I spend my useless years, abhorred of heaven, 
 
 115 
 
* 
 
 ii6 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
 Since when the sire of gods and king of men 
 Blasted my body with his lightning's breath, 
 And marked me with his scorching bolt of flame. 
 
 ^neas and all the household join in entreating Anchises to go with them 
 (651-653): 
 
 The heavy hand of fate is on us all; 
 But do not thou, O father, seek to add 
 To this our weight of sorrow, and o'erthrow 
 Our fortunes utterly. 
 
 But the old man stubbornly persists in his refusal. 
 
 ^neaSy seeing his father immovable (656-670): 
 
 And didst thou think that I could leave thee here, 
 
 O father, and betake myself to flight? 
 
 And has such monstrous utterance as this 
 
 Fall'n from a father's lips? If heaven has willed 
 
 That nothing from this city vast survive; 
 
 And if thy mind is firmly set to die, 
 
 And 'tis thy pleasure to our ruined Troy 
 
 To add thyself and all thy family — 
 
 The door to that destruction opens wide: 
 
 Soon Pyrrhus will be here, his murderous hands 
 
 Reeking with Priam's blood, who slays the son 
 
 Before his father's eyes, and eke the sire 
 
 Upon the sacred altar's very steps. 
 
 Was it for this that thou, through sword and flame, 
 
 fostering mother, didst deliver me, 
 That midst the very sanctities of home 
 
 1 should behold the foe, that I should see 
 Ascanius, my father, and my wife 
 
 All weltering in one another's blood? 
 
 Act III. Scene 
 
 117 
 
 Nay rather, arms! My men, in haste bring arms! 
 
 Attendants bring him his sword and shield which he hurriedly fits in place. 
 The last day calls the vanquished to their death. 
 Let me go forth to meet the Greeks again. 
 Once more sustain the desperate battle shock. 
 We shall not all in helpless slaughter die. 
 
 ..'^^"rvf- '".["'^ v^/""^*'^ ^^^ ^°°^' ^^^^ C^eusa intercepts him, pushing 
 toward him their little son, Ascanius. pusuiug 
 
 CJreusa, kneeling (675-678): 
 
 If thou art going forth to seek thy death. 
 
 Oh, take us, too, with thee to share thy fate; 
 
 But if thy wisdom bids thee still to hope 
 
 In sword and shield, here make thy final stand, 
 
 And guard thy home. To whose protection, pray, 
 
 Is young lulus left, to whose thy sire? 
 
 To whom can I, once called thy wife, appeal? 
 
 Suddenly a tongue of flame is seen to leap and play among the locks of the 
 Doy. His parents, in consternation, attempt to extinguish this, but to no effect. 
 
 Anchtsgs, seeing the portent, starts up with wondering joy, stretching his 
 hands upward in prayer (689-691): 
 
 O Jove, if thou art moved by any prayer, 
 Look on us now; this only do I ask; 
 And, if our piety deserves the boon. 
 Help us, O father, and confirm these signs. 
 
 A sudden crash of thunder resounds without, and through the open implu- 
 vium a bright star is seen shooting across the sky. 
 
 Anchises y rising from his couch in trembling haste (701-704): 
 Now, now is no delay; I'll follow thee, 
 O son, wherever thou wouldst have me go. 
 O gods, on whom our fatherland depends, 
 
ii8 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
 11! 
 
 Preserve my house, preserve my grandson too. 
 
 From you has come this heavenly augury, 
 
 And on your will divine does Ilium rest. 
 
 I yield me then, O son, into thy hands. 
 
 And would no more refuse to go with thee. 
 
 Meanwhile from without the glare of the conflagration increases, and the 
 shouting of the victorious Greeks is heard approaching nearer and nearer. 
 
 ^neas (707-720): 
 
 Come then, dear father, mount upon my back; 
 
 For on my shoulders will I carry thee, 
 
 Nor will I find that burden overhard. 
 
 Whatever comes, 'twill come to both of us; 
 
 We'll share misfortune and deliverance too. 
 
 He takes the old man upon his shoulders, first spreading over his back a 
 lion's skin. 
 
 Let young lulus fare along with me. 
 
 But at a distance let my wife note well 
 
 The way I take. And ye, attendants, hark 
 
 To what I say. Without the city walls 
 
 There is a mound, where stands an ancient fane 
 
 Of Ceres, all alone; a cypress tree 
 
 Of ancient stock, preserved with reverent care 
 
 For many generations, overhangs 
 
 The temple walls. Be this our meeting place, 
 
 To which by devious ways in many bands 
 
 We all shall come. 
 
 Do thou, my father, carry in thy hands 
 
 The sacred emblems and our household gods; 
 
 For me, late come from strife, and stained with blood, 
 
 'Twere sacrilege to touch the holy things, 
 
 Till I have cleansed me in some running stream. 
 
 With his father upon his shoulders and leading lulus by the hand he takes 
 his way out of the house. The household follows, leaving the room deserted. 
 
 Act III. Scenes 2, 3, and 4 
 
 119 
 
 Scene 2 
 
 A dark street near the Ida gate, ^neas, Anchises, and Ascanius as before 
 Suddenly through the darkness there comes the distant sound of feet and 
 shouting as of pursuers. ° 
 
 Anchises, peering in the direction of the sound (733, 734): 
 
 Oh, speed thy steps, my son; the foe are near; 
 
 I see their gleaming shields and flashing spears. 
 
 afttr Wm! "^"^^^ ^^'*^°' ^'' '^^^^ ^"^ ^^^"^^^ '^^ '"°^' ^'« ^^"d hurrying 
 
 Scene 3 
 
 At the ancient temple of Ceres without the walls. The fugitives come 
 straggling m in various bands, a motley array, ^neas and his immediate fol 
 lowers among the rest, ^neas watches them as they come and gather about 
 h,m, counting and identifying them. He now discovers that Creusfu missing! 
 yEneas (738-748): 
 Alas, Creiisa, by what wretched fate 
 Hast thou been overwhelmed? Where art thou now? 
 Hast wandered from the way, or, spent with toil. 
 Hast thou given o'er the journey? Woe is me! 
 My eyes shall never more behold thy face! 
 
 What god or man is guilty of this crime? 
 
 Or what more cruel deed have I beheld 
 
 In all our stricken town? 
 
 To his friends: 
 
 Behold, my friends, 
 
 To you my son and sire and household gods 
 
 Do I commend, while I reseek the streets 
 
 And ruined dwellings of our fallen Troy, 
 
 If haply I may find her once again. 
 
 ^_ He puts on his full armor, and rushes back through the dark gate into the 
 
 Scene 4 
 
 A deserted street in Troy, lit up fitfully by smoldering fires. yEneas enters 
 
 Vr^l ''sudt^^ ^^r? °%^^^ ^^^^^'^"^ -"-^ lo^udly upof the name of 
 nis wite. Suddenly a shadowy form appears before him. 
 
120 
 
 The Fall of Troy 
 
 The Ghost of Creusa (776-789): 
 
 What boots it to indulge this storm of grief, 
 
 O dearest husband? For be sure of this, 
 
 That not without permission of the gods 
 
 Have these things come to pass. 'Twas not allowed 
 
 That thy Creusa should go hence with thee. 
 
 Nor does Olympus' ruler suffer it. 
 
 To distant lands, long exiled must thou roam, 
 
 Must plow the water of the vasty deep, 
 
 Until thou come to that far western land, 
 
 Where Lydian Tiber's gently murmuring stream 
 
 Rolls down through rich and cultivated fields. 
 
 There joyful state and kingdom wait for thee, 
 
 There one who is allotted for thy wife. 
 
 Then dry the tears which now affection sheds 
 
 For thy well-loved Creusa, once thy wife; 
 
 For 'tis not mine to see the haughty seats 
 
 Of Myrmidonian or Dolopian foes; 
 
 Nor shall I go to serve the Grecian dames. 
 
 Proud princess of Dardania that I am, 
 
 By marriage made the child of Venus' self. 
 
 But Cybele, great mother of the gods. 
 
 Detains me still upon these Trojan shores. 
 
 Then look thy last upon me, and farewell. 
 
 And let our common son employ your love. 
 
 iEneas starts forward with a cry to embrace the ghost, but it eludes his 
 grasp and vanishes from sight. He sorrowfully turns away and leaves the 
 scene. 
 
 Scene 5 
 
 The gray dawn breaks; Mount Ida looms dimly in the distance; the exiles 
 a weary, discouraged band of men, women, and children, take their way out 
 into the unknown world. 
 
{ I- 
 
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