Book 4
and Jove, the son of Saturn, heed no more
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where justice lies. No trusting heart is safe
in all this world. That waif and castaway
I found in beggary and gave him share—
fool that I was!—in my own royal glory.
His Iost fleet and his sorry crews I steered
from death away. O, how my fevered soul
unceasing raves! Forsooth Apollo speaks!
His Lycian oracles! and sent by Jove
the messenger of Heaven on fleeting air
the ruthless bidding brings! Proud business
for gods, I trow, that such a task disturbs
their still abodes! I hold thee back no more,
nor to thy cunning speeches give the lie.
Begone! Sail on to Italy, thy throne,
through wind and wave! I pray that, if there be
any just gods of power, thou mayest drink down
death on the mid-sea rocks, and often call
with dying gasps on Dido's name—while I
pursue with vengeful fire. When cold death rends
the body from the breath, my ghost shall sit
forever in thy path. Full penalties
thy stubborn heart shall pay. They'll bring me never
in yon deep gulf of death of all thy woe.”
Abrupt her utterance ceased; and sick at heart
she fled the light of day, as if to shrink
from human eyes, and left Aeneas there
irresolute with horror, while his soul
framed many a vain reply. Her swooning shape
her maidens to a marble chamber bore
and on her couch the helpless limbs reposed.
Aeneas, faithful to a task divine,
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though yearning sore to remedy and soothe
such misery, and with the timely word
her grief assuage, and though his burdened heart
was weak because of love, while many a groan
rose from his bosom, yet no whit did fail
to do the will of Heaven, but of his fleet
resumed command. The Trojans on the shore
ply well their task and push into the sea
