st, Tyrian the people, and the city of
Agenor's kin; but their borders are Libyan, a race unassailable in war.
Dido sways the sceptre, who flying her brother set sail from the Tyrian
town. Long is the tale of crime, long and intricate; but I will briefly
follow its argument. Her husband was Sychaeus, wealthiest in lands of
the Phoenicians, and loved of her with ill-fated passion; to whom with
virgin rites her father had given her maidenhood in wedlock. But the
kingdom of Tyre was in her brother Pygmalion's hands, a monster of guilt
unparalleled. Between these madness came; the unnatural brother, blind
with lust of gold, and reckless of his sister's love, lays Sychaeus low
before the altars with stealthy unsuspected weapon; and for long he hid
the deed, and by many a crafty pretence cheated her love-sickness with
hollow hope. But in slumber came the very ghost of her unburied husband;
lifting up a face pale in wonderful wise, he exposed the merciless
altars and [356-387]his breast stabbed through with steel, and unwove
all the blind web of household guilt. Then he counsels hasty flight out
of the country, and to aid her passage discloses treasures long hidden
underground, an untold mass of silver and gold. Stirred thereby, Dido
gathered a company for flight. All assemble in whom hatred of the tyrant
was relentless or fear keen; they seize on ships that chanced to lie
ready, and load them with the gold. Pygmalion's hoarded wealth is borne
overseas; a woman leads the work. They came at last to the land where
thou wilt descry a city now great, New Carthage, and her rising citadel,
and bought ground, called thence Byrsa, as much as a bull's hide would
encircle. But who, I pray, are you, or from what coasts come, or whither
hold you your way?'

At her question he, sighing and drawing speech deep from his breast,
thus replied:

'Ah goddess, should I go on retracing from the fountain head, were time
free to hear the history of our woes, sooner would the evening star lay
day asleep in the closed gates of heaven. Us, as from ancient Troy (if
the name of Troy hath haply passed through your ears) we sailed over
alien seas, the tempest at his own wild will hath driven on the Libyan
coast. I am Aeneas the good, who carry in my fleet the household gods I
rescued from the enemy; my fame is known high in heaven. I seek Italy my
country, my kin of Jove's supreme blood. With twenty sail did I climb
the Phrygian sea; oracular tokens led m