Sire and son And all their race had perished with the past, And I, too, perished with them.

O great Sun, Whose torch reveals whate'er on Earth is done, Juno, who know'st the passion that devours Poor Dido; Hecate, where crossways run Night-howled in cities; ye avenging Powers, Friends, Furies, Gods that guard Elissa's dying hours! LXXX.

"Mark this, compassionate these woes, and bow To supplication.

If the Fates demand-- Curst be his head!--that he escape me now, And touch his haven, and float up to land.
If so Jove wills, and fixt his edicts stand, Then, scourged with warfare by a daring race, In vain for succour let him stretch his hand, And see his people perish with disgrace, An exile, torn from home and from his son's embrace.
LXXXI.

"And when hard peace the traitor stoops to buy, No realm be his, nor happy days in store.
Cut off in prime of manhood let him die, And rot unburied on the sandy shore.
This dying curse, this utterance I pour, The latest, with my life-blood,--this my prayer.
Them and their children's children evermore Ye Tyrians, with immortal hate outwear.
This gift--'twill please me best--for Dido's shade prepare.
LXXXII.