Classic Poem

And now we gan draw near unto the gate,
Right well escaped the danger, as me thought,
When that at hand a sound of feet we heard.
My father then, gazing throughout the dark,
Cried on me, ‘Flee, son! They are at hand!’
With that, bright shields and sheen armours I saw.
But then I know not what unfriendly god
My troubled wit from me biraft for fear.
For while I ran by the most secret streets,
Eschewing still the common haunted track,
From me caitiff, alas, bereaved was
Creusa, then, my spouse, I wot not how,
Whether by fate, or missing of the way,
Or that she was by weariness retained.
But never sith these eyes might her behold,
Nor did I yet perceive that she was lost,
Ne never backward turned I my mind
Till we came to the hill whereas there stood
The old temple dedicate to Ceres.
And when that we were there assembled all,
She only was away, deceiving us,
Her spouse, her son, and all her company.
What god or man did I not then accuse,
Near wood for ire? or what more cruel chance
Did hap to me in all Troy's overthrow?
Ascanius to my feers I then betook,
With Anchises, and eke the Troyan gods,
And left them hid within a valley deep.
And to the town I gan me hie again,
Clad in bright arms and bent for to renew
Adventures past, to search throughout the town,
And yield my head to perils once again.
And first the walls and dark entry I sought
Of the same gate whereat I issued out,
Holding backward the steps where we had come
In the dark night, looking all round about.
In every place the ugsome sights I saw,
The silence self of night, aghast my sprite.
From hence again I passed unto our house,
If she by chance had been returned home.
The Greeks were there, and had it all beset.
The wasting fire blown up by drift of wind
Above the roofs, the blazing flame sprang up,
The sound whereof with fury pierced the skies.
To Priam's palace and the castle then
I made; and there at Juno's sanctuair
In the void porches Phoenix, Ulysses eke,
Stern guardians stood, watching of the spoil.
The riches here were set, reft from the brent
Temples of Troy; the tables of the gods,
The vessels eke that were of massy gold,
And vestures spoiled, were gathered all in heap.
The children orderly and mothers pale for fright
Long ranged on a row stood round about.
So bold was I to show my voice that night,
With clepes and cries to fill the streets throughout,
With Creuse' name in sorrow, with vain tears,
And often sithes the same for to repeat.
The town restless with fury as I sought,
Th'unlucky figure of Creusa's ghost,
Of stature more than wont, stood fore mine eyen.
Abashed then I wox. Therewith my hair
Gan start right up, my voice stuck in my throat.
When with such words she gan my hart remove:
‘What helps to yield unto such furious rage,
Sweet spouse?’ quod she. ‘Without will of the gods
This chanced not; ne leful was for thee
To lead away Creusa hence with thee:
The king of the high heaven suff'reth it not.
A long exile thou art assigned to bear,
Long to furrow large space of stormy seas:
So shalt thou reach at last Hesperian land,
Where Lydian Tiber with his gentle stream
Mildly doth flow along the fruitful fields.
There mirthful wealth, there kingdom is for thee,
There a king's child prepared to be thy make.
For thy beloved Creusa stint thy tears.
For now shall I not see the proud abodes
Of Myrmidons, nor yet of Dolopes;
Ne I, a Troyan lady and the wife
Unto the son of Venus the goddess,
Shall go a slave to serve the Greekish dames.
Me here the gods' great mother holds.
And now farewell, and keep in father's breast
The tender love of thy young son and mine.’
This having said, she left me all in tears,
And minding much to speak; but she was gone,
And subtly fled into the weightless air.
Thrice raught I with mine arms t'accoll her neck,
Thrice did my hands' vain hold th'image escape,
Like nimble winds and like the flying dream.
So night spent out, return I to my feres.
And there wond'ring I find together swarmed
A new number of mates, mothers and men,
A rout exiled, a wretched multitude,
From each where flocked together, prest to pass,
With heart and goods, to whatsoever land
By sliding seas me listed them to lead.
And now rose Lucifer above the ridge
Of lusty Ide and brought the dawning light.
The Greeks held th'entries of the gates beset;
Of help there was no hope. Then gave I place,
Took up my sire, and hasted to the hill.
Such words enflamed the kindled mind with love,
Loosed all shame, and gave the doubtful hope.
And to the temples first they haste, and seek
By sacrifice for grace, with hogrels of two years
Chosen, as ought, to Ceres that gave laws,
To Phoebus, Bacchus, and to Juno chief
Which hath in care the bands of marriage.
Fair Dido held in her right hand the cup,
Which twixt the horns of a white cow she shed
In presence of the gods, passing before
The altars fat, which she renewed oft
With gifts that day and beasts deboweled,
Gazing for counsel on the entrails warm.
Ay me, unskilful minds of prophecy!
Temples or vows, what boot they in her rage?
A gentle flame the mary doth devour,
Whiles in the breast the silent wound keeps life.
Unhappy Dido burns, and in her rage
Throughout the town she wand'reth up and down,
Like to the stricken hind with shaft in Crete
Throughout the woods which chasing with his darts
Aloof, the shepherd smiteth at unwares
And leaves unwist in her the thirling head,
That through the groves and launds glides in her flight;
Amid whose side the mortal arrow sticks.
Aeneas now about the walls she leads,
The town prepared and Carthage wealth to show.
Off'ring to speak, amid her voice, she whists.
And when the day gan fail, new feasts she makes;
The Troys' travails to hear anew she lists
Enraged all, and stareth in his face
That tells the tale. And when they were all gone,
And the dim moon doth eft withhold the light,
And sliding stars provoked unto sleep,
Alone she mourns within her palace void,
And sets her down on her forsaken bed;
And absent him she hears, when he is gone,
And seeth eke. Oft in her lap she holds
Ascanius, trapped by his father's form,
So to beguile the love cannot be told.