Dido's Doom

Latin

At non infelix animi Phoenissa, nec umquam

Solvitur in somnos, oculisve aut pectore noctem

accipit: ingeminant curae, rursusque resurgens

saevit amor, magnoque irarum fluctuat aestu.

Sic adeo insistit, secumque ita corde volutat:

“En, quid ago? Rursusne procos inrisa priores

experiar, Nomadumque petam conubia supplex,

quos ego sim totiens iam dedignata maritos?

Iliacas igitur classes atque ultima Teucrum

iussa sequar? Quiane auxilio iuvat ante levatos,

et bene apud memores veteris stat gratia facti?

Quis me autem, fac velle, sinet, ratibusve superbis

invisam accipiet? Nescis heu, perdita, necdum

Laomedonteae sentis periuria gentis?

Quid tum? Sola fuga nautas comitabor ovantes,

an Tyriis omnique manu stipata meorum

inferar, et, quos Sidonia vix urbe revelli,

rursus agam pelago, et ventis dare vela iubebo?

Quin morere, ut merita es, ferroque averte dolorem.

Tu lacrimis evicta meis, tu prima furentem

his, germana, malis oneras atque obicis hosti.

Non licuit thalami expertem sine crimine vitam

degere, more ferae, tales nec tangere curas!

Non servata fides cineri promissa Sychaeo!

English Translation

The restless, anguished Punic queen slumps not

To sleep, accepts not night with eyes or chest:

Concerns redouble, rising on repeat

Her angry passion rages, undulates.

She rolls in sorrows from the heart, like this:

“What, then, am I doing? Must I suffer suitors from before?

If I seek men whom I often called unworthy of marriage

Would I be the Nomads’ laughingstock? Now I’m the suppliant.

Should I follow Trojan boats, then—what if I become a slave?  

Should I, since my helpful aid from long ago keeps them happy,

And because their goodwill for my age-old favor still endures?

But—imagine that I wanted to—will Trojan men really

Take me in at sea…them haughty and me hated? You are lost!

You don’t know the treachery of base Laomedon’s faction.

What then? Following triumphant sailors, in flight and alone?

Or, with all my Tyrians, surrounded by swarms of my men,

Leaving, driving men I just tore from Sidonia back to 

Sea, and telling them to grant our sails to open ocean winds.

No, no: die and turn away your pain with your sword. This you’ve earned.

Anna, sister, victim of my tears: it’s you who weighs me down

With these hopeless problems, giving mad me to my enemy.

You prevented me from living as a widow, innocent,

As a wild animal, not feeling this poisonous love.

I, unfaithful, broke my promise to the dead, to Sychaeus.