Of passion at the bosom's inmost seat.
She dreads the treacherous house, the double
She burns, she frets-by Juno's rancour stung;
The calm of night is powerless to remove
These cares, and thus she speaks to wingèd Love:
"O son, my strength, my power! who dost despise
(What, save thyself, none dares through earth and skies)
The giant-quelling bolts of Jove, I flee,
O son, a suppliant to thy deity!
What perils meet Æneas in his course,
How Juno's hate with unrelenting force
Pursues thy brother—this to thee is known;
And oft-times hast thou made my griefs thine own.
Him now the generous Dido by soft chains
Of bland entreaty at her court detains;
Junonian hospitalities prepare
Such apt occasion that I dread a snare.
Hence, ere some hostile God can intervene,
Would I, by previous wiles, inflame the queen
With passion for Æneas, such strong love
That at my beck, mine only, she shall move.
Hear, and assist ;-the father's mandate calls
His young Ascanius to the Tyrian walls;
He comes, my dear delight,-and costliest things
Preserv'd from fire and flood for presents brings.
Him will I take, and in close covert keep,
'Mid groves Idalian, lull'd to gentle sleep,
Or on Cythera's far-sequestered steep,
That he may neither know what hope is mine,
Nor by his presence traverse the design.
Do thou, but for a single night's brief space,
Dissemble; be that boy in form and face!
And when enraptured Dido shall receive
Thee to her arms, and kisses interweave
With many a fond embrace, while joy runs high,
And goblets crown the proud festivity,
Instil thy subtle poison, and inspire,
At every touch, an unsuspected fire."
Love, at the word, before his mother's sight Puts off his wings, and walks, with proud delight, Like young Iulus; but the gentlest dews
Of slumber Venus sheds, to circumfuse
The true Ascanius steep'd in placid rest;
Then wafts him, cherish'd on her careful breast,
Through upper air to an Idalian glade,
Where he on soft amaracus is laid,
With breathing flowers embraced, and fragrant shade.
But Cupid, following cheerily his guide
Achates, with the gifts to Carthage hied;
And, as the hall he entered, there, between
The sharers of her golden couch, was seen
Reclin'd in festal pomp the Tyrian queen.
The Trojans too (Æneas at their head),
On couches lie, with purple overspread:
Meantime in canisters is heap'd the bread,
Pellucid water for the hands is borne,
And napkins of smooth texture, finely shorn.
Within are fifty handmaids, who prepare,
As they in order stand, the dainty fare;
And fume the household deities with store
Of odorous incense; while a hundred more
Match'd with an equal number of like age,
But each of manly sex, a docile page,
Marshal the banquet, giving with due grace
To cup or viand its appointed place.
The Tyrians rushing in, an eager band,
Their painted couches seek, obedient to command. They look with wonder on the gifts-they gaze Upon Iulus, dazzled with the rays
That from his ardent countenance are flung,
And charm'd to hear his simulating tongue;
Nor pass unprais'd the robe and veil divine,
Round which the yellow flowers and wandering
foliage twine.
But chiefly Dido, to the coming ill
Devoted, strives in vain her vast desires to fill; 80 She views the gifts; upon the child then turns Insatiable looks, and gazing burns.
To ease a father's cheated love he hung
Upon Æneas, and around him clung;
Then seeks the queen; with her his arts he tries; She fastens on the boy enamour'd eyes,
Clasps in her arms, nor weens (O lot unblest!)
How great a God, incumbent o'er her breast,
Would fill it with his spirit. He, to please
His Acidalian mother, by degrees
Blots out Sichaeus, studious to remove
The dead, by influx of a living love,
By stealthy entrance of a perilous guest,
Troubling a heart that had been long at rest.
Now when the viands were withdrawn, and
The first division of the splendid feast,
While round a vacant board the chiefs recline, Huge goblets are brought forth; they crown the
Voices of gladness roll the walls around;
Those gladsome voices from the courts rebound;
From gilded rafters many a blazing light
Depends, and torches overcome the night.
The minutes fly-till, at the queen's command,
A bowl of state is offered to her hand:
Then she, as Belus wont, and all the line
From Belus, filled it to the brim with wine;
Silence ensued. "O Jupiter, whose care
Is hospitable dealing, grant my prayer!
Productive day be this of lasting joy
To Tyrians, and these exiles driven from Troy; 110
A day to future generations dear!
Let Bacchus, donor of soul-quick'ning cheer,
Be present; kindly Juno, be thou near!
And, Tyrians, may your choicest favours wait
Upon this hour, the bond to celebrate!"
She spake and shed an offering on the board;
Then sipp'd the bowl whence she the wine had
And gave to Bitias, urging the prompt lord;
He rais'd the bowl, and took a long deep
Then every chief in turn the beverage quaff'd. 120
Graced with redundant hair, Iopas sings The lore of Atlas, to resounding strings,
The labours of the Sun, the lunar wanderings; When human kind, and brute; what natural
Engender lightning, whence are falling showers.
He chaunts Arcturus,-that fraternal twain
The glittering Bears, the Pleiads fraught with
-Why suns in winter, shunning heaven's steep heights
Post seaward,-what impedes the tardy nights. The learned song from Tyrian hearers draws 130 Loud shouts, the Trojans echo the applause. -But, lengthening out the night with converse
Large draughts of love unhappy Dido drew;
Of Priam ask'd, of Hector-o'er and o'er-
What arms the son of bright Aurora wore ;-
What steeds the car of Diomed could boast;
Among the leaders of the Grecian host
How looked Achilles, their dread paramount-
"But nay-the fatal wiles, O guest, recount,
Retrace the Grecian cunning from its source,
Your own grief and your friends'-your wander-
ing course;
For now, till this seventh summer have ye rang'd The sea, or trod the earth, to peace estrang'd.'
AUTHOR'S VOYAGE DOWN THE RHINE (THIRTY YEARS AGO).
This sonnet appears in "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820," published 1822; it was never reprinted by the author. -ED.
THE Confidence of Youth our only Art,
And Hope gay Pilot of the bold design,
We saw the living Landscapes of the Rhine,
Reach after reach, salute us and depart;
Slow sink the Spires, and up again they start! 5
But who shall count the Towers as they recline
O'er the dark steeps, or on the horizon line
Striding, with shattered crests, the eye athwart ?
More touching still, more perfect was the pleasure,
When hurrying forward till the slack'ning stream 10
Spread like a spacious Mere, we there could
A smooth free course along the watery gleam,
Think calmly on the past, and mark at leisure
Features which else had vanished like a dream.
COMPOSED WHEN A PROBABILITY EXIS-
TED OF OUR BEING OBLIGED
QUIT RYDAL MOUNT AS A RESIDENCE.
First published in Professor Knight's "Life of Wordsworth,"
vol. iii. pp. 117-123. No. IX. of "Inscriptions" (p. 78) seems to
have been written on the same occasion. The date is 1826.-ED.
THE doubt to which a wavering hope had clung
Is fled; we must depart, willing or not;
Sky-piercing Hills! must bid farewell to you
And all that ye look down upon with pride,
With tenderness embosom; to your paths,
And pleasant dwellings, to familiar trees
And wild-flowers known as well as if our hands
Had tended them and O pellucid Spring!
Unheard of, save in one small hamlet, here
Not undistinguished, for of wells that ooze
Or founts that gurgle from yon craggy steep,
Their common sire, thou only bear'st his name.
Insensibly the foretaste of this parting
Hath ruled my steps, and seals me to thy side,
Mindful that thou (ah! wherefore by my Muse 15
So long unthanked) hast cheered a simple board
With beverage pure as ever fixed the choice
Of hermit, dubious where to scoop his cell;
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