Th' immoderate Loves in their career,
Nor glory nor esteem attends,
But when the Cyprian Queen descends
Benignant from her starry sphere.
No Goddess can more justly claim
From man the grateful prayer.
[tr. Wodhull (1782)]

When fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge
Which rolls the tide of human woe?
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,
Can rouse the tortur’d breast no more;
The wild desire, the guilty flame,
Absorbs each wish it felt before.
But if Affection gently thrills
The soul, by purer dreams possest,
The pleasing balm of mortal ills
In love can sooth the aching breast:
If thus thou comest in disguise,
Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,
What heart, unfeeling, would despise
The sweetest boon the Gods have given?
[tr. Byron (1807)]

When with a wild impetuous sway
The Loves come rushing on the breast,
Each virtuous thought is rent away,
Each breath of fame supprest.
But when, confess'd her gentle reign,
Enchanting Venus deigns t'appear,
Of all the pow'rs of heav'n most dear,
She leads the Graces in her train.
[tr. Potter (1814)]

The wild loves that force eager way
Nor worth nor fame on man confer,
But if come Cypris with meet sway
There is no gracious god like her.
[tr. Webster (1868)]

When in excess and past all limits Love doth come, he brings not glory or repute to man; but if the Cyprian queen in moderate might approach, no goddess is so full of charm as she.
[tr. Coleridge (1891)]

The loves, when they come too impetuously, have given neither good report nor virtue among men, but if Venus come with moderation, no other Goddess is so benign.
[tr. Buckley (1892)]

Love bringeth nor glory nor honour to men when it cometh restraining
Not its unscanted excess: but if Kypris, in measure raining
Her joy, cometh down, there is none other Goddess so winsome as she.
[tr. Way (Loeb) (1894)]

Alas, the Love that falleth like a flood,
Strong-winged and transitory:
Why praise ye him? What beareth he of good
To man, or glory?
Yet Love there is that moves in gentleness,
Heart-filling, sweetest of all powers that bless.
[tr. Murray (1906)]

When love is in excess
It brings a man no honor
Nor any worthiness.
But if in moderation Cypris comes,
There is no other power at all so gracious.
[tr. Warner (1944)]

When the Loves descend in full force they never enhance
Men’s fame or virtue, but if Aphrodite approaches
With reserve, there is no more gracious goddess.
[tr. Podlecki (1989)]

Loves that come to us in excess bring no good name or goodness to men. If Aphrodite comes in moderation, no other goddess brings such happiness.
[tr. Kovacs (Loeb) (1994)]

When passions come upon men in strength beyond due measure, their gift is neither one of glory nor of greatness. But if the Cyprian tempers her visit, no other goddess is so gracious.
[tr. Davie (1996)]

When Aphrodite arrives in the hearts of people, with no fuss and with no exaggerated madness, she is a very enjoyable visitor but, alas, overwhelming lust brings neither honour nor glory to any one.
[tr. Theodoridis (2004)]

Love coming on too strong
does not give glory or virtue
to men. But if Kypris comes in moderation,
no other goddess is so gracious.
[tr. Luschnig (2007)]

Erotic love with too much passion
brings with it no fine reputation,
and nothing virtuous to men.
But if Aphrodite comes in smaller doses,
no other god is so desirable.
[tr. Johnston (2008)]

Excess of passion brings no glory or honour to men.
[ed. Yeroulanos (2016)]

Love that comes in great excess does not grant reputation or excellence; but if Aphrodite comes more gently, there is no other god who gives such great pleasure.
[tr. Ewans (2022)]

When loves come excessive and past all limit, they bring neither good repute nor high ideals [aretē] to men; but if Aphrodite approaches in moderate strength, no goddess is so full of charm as she.
[tr. Coleridge / Ceragioli / Nagy / Hour25]

Ah ignorant Priests, what availes temples, pray'r,
To ease th'inrag'd! whilst soft fire wastes her veins,
And in her breast, a silent wound remaines.
Unhappy Dido burnes ....
[tr. Ogilby (1649)]

What priestly rites, alas! what pious art,
What vows avail to cure a bleeding heart!
A gentle fire she feeds within her veins,
Where the soft god secure in silence reigns.
[tr. Dryden (1697)]

Alas, how ignorant the minds of seers! what can prayers, what can temples, avail a raging lover? The gentle flame preys all the while upon her vitals and the secret wound rankles in her breast. Unhappy dido burns ....
[tr. Davidson/Buckley (1854)]

Alas! but seers are blind to day:
Can vows, can sacrifice allay
     A frantic lover's smart?
The very marrow of her frame
Is turning all the while to flame,
     The wound is at her heart.
Unhappy Dido! all ablaze ....
[tr. Conington (1866)]

Alas, the ignorance
Of all prophetic lore! What vows, what shrines
Can help her raging love? The soft flame burns,
Meanwhile, the marrow of her life; the wound
Lives silently, and rankles 'neath her breast.
The unhappy Dido [...] with burning bosom ....
[tr. Cranch (1872), l. 85ff]

Ah, witless souls of soothsayers! how may vows or shrines help her madness? all the while the subtle flame consumes her inly, and deep in her breast the wound is silent and alive.
[tr. Mackail (1885)]

Woe's me! the idle mind of priests! what prayer, what shrine avails
The wild with love!—and all the while the smooth flame never fails
To eat her heart: the silent wound lives on within her breast:
Unhappy Dido burneth up ....
[tr. Morris (1900), l. 65ff]

Blind seers, alas! what art
To calm her frenzy, now hath vow or shrine?
Deep in her marrow feeds the tender smart,
Unseen, the silent wound is festering in her heart.
Poor Dido burns ....
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 9-10; l. 71ff]

How blind the hearts of prophets be! Alas!
Of what avail be temples and fond prayers
to change a frenzied mind? Devouring ever,
love's fire burns inward to her bones; she feels
quick in her breast the viewless, voiceless wound.
[tr. Williams (1910)]

Ah, blind souls of seers! Of what avail are vows or shrines to one wild with love? All the while the flame devours her tender heart-strings, and deep in her breast lives the silent wound. Unhappy Dido burns ....
[tr. Fairclough (1916)]

Alas, poor blind interpreters! What woman
In love is helped by offerings or altars?
Soft fire consumes the marrow-bones, the silent
Wound grows, deep in the heart.
Unhappy Dido burns ....
[tr. Humphries (1951)]

Ah, little the soothsayers know! What value have vows or shrines
For a woman wild with passion, the while love's flame eats into
Her gentle flesh and love's wound works silently in her breast?
So burns the ill-starred Dido ....
[tr. Day Lewis (1952)]

But oh the ignorance of the augurs! How
can vows and altars help one wild with love?
Meanwhile the supple flame devours her marrow;
within her breast the silent wound lives on.
Unhappy Dido burns ....
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), l. 86ff]

Alas, what darkened minds have soothsayers!
What good are shrines and vows to maddened lovers?
The inward fire eats the soft marrow away,
And the internal wound bleeds on in silence.
Unlucky Dido, burning ...
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981), l. 91ff]

But priests, as we know, are ignorant. What use are prayers and shrines to a passionate woman? The flame was eating the soft marrow of her bones and the wound lived quietly under her breast. Dido was on fire with love ....
[tr. West (1990)]

Ah, the unknowing minds of seers! What use are prayers
or shrines to the impassioned? Meanwhile her tender marrow
is aflame, and a silent wound is alive in her breast.
Wretched Dido burns ....
[tr. Kline (2002)]

But what do prophets know? How much can vows,
Or shrines, help a raging heart? Meanwhile the flame
Eats her soft marrow, and the wound lives,
Silent beneath her breast. Dido is burning.
[tr. Lombardo (2005)]

But what can prophets know? What use are vows
and shrines to the obsessed? The flame devoured her soft marrow;
the silent wound throbbed in her heart.
Unhappy Dido burned.
[tr. Bartsch (2021)]