P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid
Theodore C. Williams, Ed.

She said. From point to point her purpose flew,
seeking without delay to quench the flame
of her loathed life. Brief bidding she addressed
to Barce then, Sichaeus' nurse (her own
lay dust and ashes in a lonely grave
beside the Tyrian shore), “Go, nurse, and call
my sister Anna! Bid her quickly bathe
her limbs in living water, and procure
due victims for our expiating fires.
bid her make haste. Go, bind on thy own brow
the sacred fillet. For to Stygian Jove
it is my purpose now to consummate
the sacrifice ordained, ending my woe,
and touch with flame the Trojan's funeral pyre.”
The aged crone to do her bidding ran
with trembling zeal. But Dido (horror-struck
at her own dread design, unstrung with fear,
her bloodshot eyes wide-rolling, and her cheek
twitching and fever-spotted, her cold brow
blanched with approaching death)—sped past the doors
into the palace garden; there she leaped,
a frenzied creature, on the lofty pyre
and drew the Trojan's sword; a gift not asked
for use like this! When now she saw the garb
of Ilian fashion, and the nuptial couch
she knew too well, she lingered yet awhile
for memory and tears, and, falling prone
on that cold bed, outpoured a last farewell:

“Sweet relics! Ever dear when Fate and Heaven
upon me smiled, receive my parting breath,
and from my woe set free! My life is done.
I have accomplished what my lot allowed;
and now my spirit to the world of death
in royal honor goes. The founder I
of yonder noble city, I have seen
walls at my bidding rise. I was avenged
for my slain husband: I chastised the crimes
of our injurious brother. Woe is me!
Blest had I been, beyond deserving blest,
if but the Trojan galleys ne'er had moored
upon my kingdom's bound!”