A spreading bay is there, impregnableto all invading storms; and Aetna's throatwith roar of frightful ruin thunders nigh.Now to the realm of light it lifts a cloudof pitch-black, whirling smoke, and fiery dust,shooting out globes of flame, with monster tonguesthat lick the stars; now huge crags of itself,out of the bowels of the mountain torn,its maw disgorges, while the molten rockrolls screaming skyward; from the nether deepthe fathomless abyss makes ebb and flow.Enceladus, his body lightning-scarred,lies prisoned under all, so runs the tale:o'er him gigantic Aetna breathes in firefrom crack and seam; and if he haply turnto change his wearied side, Trinacria's isletrembles and moans, and thick fumes mantle heaven.That night in screen and covert of a grovewe bore the dire convulsion, unawarewhence the loud horror came. For not a starits lamp allowed, nor burned in upper skythe constellated fires, but all was gloom,and frowning night confined the moon in cloud.

When from the eastern waves the light of mornbegan to peer, and from the upper skyAurora flamed away the dark and dew,out of the forest sprang a startling shapeof hunger-wasted misery; a manin wretched guise, who shoreward came with handsoutstretched in supplication. We turned backand scanned him well. All grime and foulness he,with long and tangled beard, his savage garbfastened with thorns; but in all else he seemeda Greek, and in his country's league of armssent to the seige of Troy. Then he beheldthe Dardan habit, and our Trojan steel,he somewhat paused, as if in dread dismaysuch sight to see, and falteringly moved;but soon with headlong steps he sought the shore,ejaculating broken sobs and prayers:“By stars above! By gods on high! O, hear!By this bright heavenly air we mortals breathe,save me, sweet Trojans! Carry me awayunto what land ye will! I ask no more.I came, I know it, in the ships of Greece;and I did war, 't is true, with Ilium's gods.O, if the crime deserve it, fling my corseon yonder waves, and in the boundless brinesink me forever! Give me in my deaththe comfort that by human hands I die.”He clasped our knees, and writhing on his ownclung fast. We bid him tell his race and name,and by what fate pursued. Anchises gavehis own right hand in swift and generous aid,and by prompt token cheered the exile's heart,who, banishing his fears, poured forth this tale :—

“My home was Ithaca, and I partookthe fortunes of Ulysses evil-starred.My name is Achemenides, my sirewas Adamastus, and I sailed for Troy,being so poor,—O, that I ne'er had changethe lot I bore! In yon vast Cyclops' cavemy comrades, flying from its gruesome door,left me behind, forgotten. 'T is a houseof gory feasts of flesh, 't is deep and dark,and vaulted high. He looms as high as heaven;I pray the blessed gods to rid the earthof the vile monster! None can look on him,none speak with him. He feeds on clotted goreof disembowelled men. These very eyessaw him seize two of our own company,and, as he lolled back in the cave, he clutchedand dashed them on the stones, fouling the floorwith torrent of their blood; myself I saw himcrunch with his teeth the dripping, bloody limbsstill hot and pulsing on his hungry jaw.But not without reward! For such a sightUlysses would not brook, and Ithaca forgot not in such strait the name he bore.For soon as, gorged with feasting and o'ercomewith drunken slumber, the foul giant laysprawled through the cave, his head dropped helpless down,disgorging as he slept thick drool of goreand gobbets drenched with bloody wine; then we,calling on Heaven and taking place by lot,drew round him like one man, and with a beamsharpened at end bored out that monster eye,which, huge and sole, lay under the grim brow,round as an Argive shield or Phoebus' star.Thus took we joyful vengeance for the shadesof our lost mates. But, O ill-fated men!Fly, I implore, and cut the cables freealong the beach! For in the land abide,like Polyphemus, who in hollow cavekept fleecy sheep, and milked his fruitful ewes,a hundred other, huge as he, who rovewide o'er this winding shore and mountains fair:Cyclops accursed, bestial! Thrice the moonhas filled her horns with light, while here I dwellin lonely woods and lairs of creatures wild;or from tall cliffs out-peering I discernthe Cyclops, and shrink shuddering from the soundof their vast step and cry. My sorry fareis berries and hard corners dropped from trees,or herb-roots torn out from the niggard ground.Though watching the whole sea, only today Have I had sight of ships. To you I fled.Whate'er ye be, it was my only prayerto 'scape that monster brood. I ask no more.O, set me free by any death ye will!”

He scarce had said, when moving o'er the crestof a high hill a giant shape we saw:that shepherd Polyphemus, with his flocksdown-wending to the well-known water-side;huge, shapeless, horrible, with blinded eye,bearing a lopped pine for a staff, he madehis footing sure, while the white, fleecy sheep,sole pleasure now, and solace of his woes,ran huddling at his side.Soon to the vast flood of the level brinehe came, and washed the flowing gore awayfrom that out-hollowed eye; he gnashed his teeth,groaning, and deep into the watery waystalked on, his tall bulk wet by scarce a wave.We fled in haste, though far, and with us borethe truthful suppliant; cut silentlythe anchor-ropes, and, bending to the oar,swept on with eager strokes clean out to sea.Aware he was, and toward our loud halloowhirled sudden round; but when no power had heto seize or harm, nor could his fierce pursuito'ertake the Ionian surges as they rolled,he raised a cry incredible; the seawith all its billows trembled; the wide shoreof Italy from glens and gorges moaned,and Aetna roared from every vaulted cave.

Then rallied from the grove-clad, Iofty islethe Cyclops' clan, and lined the beach and bay.We saw each lonely eyeball glare in vain,as side by side those brothers Aetna-bornstood towering high, a conclave dark and dire:as when, far up some mountain's famous crest,wind-fronting oaks or cone-clad cypresseshave made assembling in the solemn hills,Jove's giant wood or Dian's sacred grove.We, terror-struck, would fly we knew not where,with loosened sheet and canvas swelling strongbefore a welcome wind; but Helenusbade us both Scylla and Charybdis fear,where 'twixt the twain death straitly hems the way;and so the counsel was to veer our barkthe course it came. But lo! a northern galeburst o'er us from Pelorus' narrowed side,and on we rode far past Pantagia's bayof unhewn rock, and past the haven strongof Megara, and Thapsus Iying low.Such were the names retold, and such the shoresshown us by Achemenides, whose fatemade him familiar there, for he had sailedwith evil-starred Ulysses o'er that sea.

Off the Sicilian shore an island lies,wave-washed Plemmyrium, called in olden daysOrtygia; here Alpheus, river-god,from Elis flowed by secret sluice, they say,beneath the sea, and mingles at thy mouth,fair Arethusa! with Sicilian waves.Our voices hailed the great gods of the landwith reverent prayer; then skirted we the shore,where smooth Helorus floods the fruitful plain.Under Pachynus' beetling precipicewe kept our course; then Camarina rosein distant view, firm-seated evermoreby Fate's decree; and that far-spreading valeof Gela, with the name of power it takesfrom its wide river; and, uptowering far,the ramparts of proud Acragas appeared,where fiery steeds were bred in days of old.Borne by the winds, along thy coast I fled,Selinus, green with palm! and past the shoreof Lilybaeum with its treacherous reef;till at the last the port of Drepanum received me to its melancholy strand.Here, woe is me I outworn by stormful seas,my sire, sole comfort of my grievous doom,Anchises ceased to be. O best of sires!Here didst thou leave me in the weary way;through all our perils—O the bitter loss! —borne safely, but in vain. King Helenus,whose prophet-tongue of dark events foretold,spoke not this woe; nor did Celeno's curseof this forebode. Such my last loss and pain;such, of my weary way, the destined goal.From thence departing, the divine behestimpelled me to thy shores, O listening queen!

Such was, while all gave ear, the tale sublimefather Aeneas, none but he, set forthof wanderings and of dark decrees divine:silent at last, he ceased, and took repose.

Now felt the Queen the sharp, slow-gathering pangsof love; and out of every pulsing veinnourished the wound and fed its viewless fire.Her hero's virtues and his lordly linekeep calling to her soul; his words, his glance,cling to her heart like lingering, barbed steel,and rest and peace from her vexed body fly.A new day's dawn with Phoebus' lamp divinelit up all lands, and from the vaulted heavenAurora had dispelled the dark and dew;when thus unto the ever-answering heartof her dear sister spoke the stricken Queen:“Anna, my sister, what disturbing dreamsperplex me and alarm? What guest is thisnew-welcomed to our house? How proud his mien!What dauntless courage and exploits of war!Sooth, I receive it for no idle talethat of the gods he sprang. 'T is cowardicebetrays the base-born soul. Ah me! How fatehas smitten him with storms! What dire extremesof war and horror in his tale he told!O, were it not immutably resolvedin my fixed heart, that to no shape of manI would be wed again (since my first loveleft me by death abandoned and betrayed);loathed I not so the marriage torch and train,I could—who knows?—to this one weakness yield.Anna, I hide it not! But since the doomof my ill-starred Sichaeus, when our shrineswere by a brother's murder dabbled o'er,this man alone has moved me; he alonehas shaken my weak will. I seem to feelthe motions of love's lost, familiar fire.But may the earth gape open where I tread,and may almighty Jove with thunder-scourgehurl me to Erebus' abysmal shade,to pallid ghosts and midnight fathomless,before, O Chastity! I shall offendthy holy power, or cast thy bonds away!He who first mingled his dear life with minetook with him all my heart. 'T is his alone —o, let it rest beside him in the grave!”She spoke: the bursting tears her breast o'erflowed.

“O dearer to thy sister than her life,”Anna replied, “wouldst thou in sorrow's weedwaste thy long youth alone, nor ever knowsweet babes at thine own breast, nor gifts of love?Will dust and ashes, or a buried ghostreck what we do? 'T is true thy grieving heartwas cold to earlier wooers, Libya's now,and long ago in Tyre. Iarbas knewthy scorn, and many a prince and captain bredin Afric's land of glory. Why resista love that makes thee glad? Hast thou no carewhat alien lands are these where thou dost reign?Here are Gaetulia's cities and her tribesunconquered ever; on thy borders roveNumidia's uncurbed cavalry; here toolies Syrtis' cruel shore, and regions wideof thirsty desert, menaced everywhereby the wild hordes of Barca. Shall I tellof Tyre's hostilities, the threats and rageof our own brother? Friendly gods, I bow,wafted the Teucrian ships, with Juno's aid,to these our shores. O sister, what a throne,and what imperial city shall be thine,if thus espoused! With Trojan arms alliedhow far may not our Punic fame extendin deeds of power? Call therefore on the godsto favor thee; and, after omens fair,give queenly welcome, and contrive excuseto make him tarry, while yon wintry seasare loud beneath Orion's stormful star,and on his battered ships the season frowns.”

So saying, she stirred a passion-burning breastto Iove more madly still; her words infuseda doubting mind with hope, and bade the blushof shame begone. First to the shrines they wentand sued for grace; performing sacrifice,choosing an offering of unblemished ewes,to law-bestowing Ceres, to the godof light, to sire Lyeus, Iord of wine;but chiefly unto Juno, patronessof nuptial vows. There Dido, beauteous Queenheld forth in her right hand the sacred bowland poured it full between the lifted hornsof the white heifer; or on temple floorsshe strode among the richly laden shrines,the eyes of gods upon her, worshippingwith many a votive gift; or, peering deepinto the victims' cloven sides, she readthe fate-revealing tokens trembling there.How blind the hearts of prophets be! Alas!Of what avail be temples and fond prayersto change a frenzied mind? Devouring ever,love's fire burns inward to her bones; she feelsquick in her breast the viewless, voiceless wound.Ill-fated Dido ranges up and downthe spaces of her city, desperateher life one flame—like arrow-stricken doethrough Cretan forest rashly wandering,pierced by a far-off shepherd, who pursueswith shafts, and leaves behind his light-winged steed,not knowing; while she scours the dark ravinesof Dicte and its woodlands; at her heartthe mortal barb irrevocably clings.around her city's battlements she guidesaeneas, to make show of Sidon's gold,and what her realm can boast; full oft her voiceessays to speak and frembling dies away:or, when the daylight fades, she spreads anewa royal banquet, and once more will pleadmad that she is, to hear the Trojan sorrow;and with oblivious ravishment once morehangs on his lips who tells; or when her guestsare scattered, and the wan moon's fading hornbedims its ray, while many a sinking starinvites to slumber, there she weeps alonein the deserted hall, and casts her downon the cold couch he pressed. Her love from farbeholds her vanished hero and receiveshis voice upon her ears; or to her breast,moved by a father's image in his child,she clasps Ascanius, seeking to deceiveher unblest passion so. Her enterpriseof tower and rampart stops: her martial hostno Ionger she reviews, nor fashions nowdefensive haven and defiant wall;but idly all her half-built bastions frown,and enginery of sieges, high as heaven.

But soon the chosen spouse of Jove perceivedthe Queen's infection; and because the voiceof honor to such frenzy spoke not, she,daughter of Saturn, unto Venus turnedand counselled thus: “How noble is the praise,how glorious the spoils of victory,for thee and for thy boy! Your names should bein lasting, vast renown—that by the snareof two great gods in league one woman fell!it 'scapes me not that my protected realmshave ever been thy fear, and the proud hallsof Carthage thy vexation and annoy.Why further go? Prithee, what useful endhas our long war? Why not from this day forthperpetual peace and nuptial amity?Hast thou not worked thy will? Behold and seehow Iove-sick Dido burns, and all her flesh'The madness feels! So let our common gracesmile on a mingled people! Let her servea Phrygian husband, while thy hands receiveher Tyrian subjects for the bridal dower!”

In answer (reading the dissembler's mindwhich unto Libyan shores were fain to shiftitalia's future throne) thus Venus spoke:“'T were mad to spurn such favor, or by choicebe numbered with thy foes. But can it bethat fortune on thy noble counsel smiles?To me Fate shows but dimly whether Joveunto the Trojan wanderers ordainsa common city with the sons of Tyre,with mingling blood and sworn, perpetual peace.His wife thou art; it is thy rightful dueto plead to know his mind. Go, ask him, then!For humbly I obey!” With instant wordJuno the Queen replied: “Leave that to me!But in what wise our urgent task and gravemay soon be sped, I will in brief unfoldto thine attending ear. A royal huntin sylvan shades unhappy Dido givesfor her Aeneas, when to-morrow's dawnuplifts its earliest ray and Titan's beamshall first unveil the world. But I will pourblack storm-clouds with a burst of heavy hailalong their way; and as the huntsmen speedto hem the wood with snares, I will arouseall heaven with thunder. The attending trainshall scatter and be veiled in blinding dark,while Dido and her hero out of Troy to the same cavern fly. My auspicesI will declare—if thou alike wilt bless;and yield her in true wedlock for his bride.Such shall their spousal be!” To Juno's willCythera's Queen inclined assenting brow,and laughed such guile to see. Aurora rose,and left the ocean's rim. The city's gatespour forth to greet the morn a gallant trainof huntsmen, bearing many a woven snareand steel-tipped javelin; while to and frorun the keen-scented dogs and Libyan squires.The Queen still keeps her chamber; at her doorsthe Punic lords await; her palfrey, bravein gold and purple housing, paws the groundand fiercely champs the foam-flecked bridle-rein.At last, with numerous escort, forth she shines:her Tyrian pall is bordered in bright hues,her quiver, gold; her tresses are confinedonly with gold; her robes of purple raremeet in a golden clasp. To greet her comethe noble Phrygian guests; among them smilesthe boy Iulus; and in fair arrayAeneas, goodliest of all his train.In such a guise Apollo (when he leavescold Lycian hills and Xanthus' frosty streamto visit Delos to Latona dear)ordains the song, while round his altars crythe choirs of many islands, with the pied,fantastic Agathyrsi; soon the godmoves o'er the Cynthian steep; his flowing hairhe binds with laurel garland and bright gold;upon his shining shoulder as he goesthe arrows ring:—not less uplifted mienaeneas wore; from his illustrious browsuch beauty shone. Soon to the mountains tallthe cavalcade comes nigh, to pathless hauntsof woodland creatures; the wild goats are seen,from pointed crag descending leap by leapdown the steep ridges; in the vales beloware routed deer, that scour the spreading plain,and mass their dust-blown squadrons in wild flight,far from the mountain's bound. Ascaniusflushed with the sport, spurs on a mettled steedfrom vale to vale, and many a flying herdhis chase outspeeds; but in his heart he praysamong these tame things suddenly to seea tusky boar, or, leaping from the hills,a growling mountain-lion, golden-maned.

Meanwhile low thunders in the distant skymutter confusedly; soon bursts in fullthe storm-cloud and the hail. The Tyrian troopis scattered wide; the chivalry of Troy,with the young heir of Dardan's kingly line,of Venus sprung, seek shelter where they may, with sudden terror; down the deep ravinesthe swollen torrents roar. In that same hourQueen Dido and her hero out of Troy to the same cavern fly. Old Mother-Earthand wedlock-keeping Juno gave the sign;the flash of lightnings on the conscious airwere torches to the bridal; from the hillsthe wailing wood-nymphs sobbed a wedding song.Such was that day of death, the source and springof many a woe. For Dido took no heedof honor and good-name; nor did she meanher loves to hide; but called the lawlessnessa marriage, and with phrases veiled her shame.

Swift through the Libyan cities Rumor sped.Rumor! What evil can surpass her speed?In movement she grows mighty, and achievesstrength and dominion as she swifter flies.small first, because afraid, she soon exaltsher stature skyward, stalking through the landsand mantling in the clouds her baleful brow.The womb of Earth, in anger at high Heaven,bore her, they say, last of the Titan spawn,sister to Coeus and Enceladus.Feet swift to run and pinions like the windthe dreadful monster wears; her carcase hugeis feathered, and at root of every plumea peering eye abides; and, strange to tell,an equal number of vociferous tongues,foul, whispering lips, and ears, that catch at all.At night she spreads midway 'twixt earth and heavenher pinions in the darkness, hissing loud,nor e'er to happy slumber gives her eyes:but with the morn she takes her watchful thronehigh on the housetops or on lofty towers,to terrify the nations. She can clingto vile invention and malignant wrong,or mingle with her word some tidings true.She now with changeful story filled men's ears,exultant, whether false or true she sung:how, Trojan-born Aeneas having come,Dido, the lovely widow, Iooked his way,deigning to wed; how all the winter longthey passed in revel and voluptuous ease,to dalliance given o'er; naught heeding nowof crown or kingdom—shameless! lust-enslaved!Such tidings broadcast on the lips of menthe filthy goddess spread; and soon she hiedto King Iarbas, where her hateful songto newly-swollen wrath his heart inflamed.

Him the god Ammon got by forced embraceupon a Libyan nymph; his kingdoms widepossessed a hundred ample shrines to Jove,a hundred altars whence ascended everthe fires of sacrifice, perpetual seatsfor a great god's abode, where flowing bloodenriched the ground, and on the portals hunggarlands of every flower. The angered King,half-maddened by malignant Rumor's voice,unto his favored altars came, and there,surrounded by the effluence divine,upraised in prayer to Jove his suppliant hands.“Almighty Jupiter, to whom each day,at banquet on the painted couch reclined,Numidia pours libation! Do thine eyesbehold us? Or when out of yonder heaven,o sire, thou launchest the swift thunderbolt,is it for naught we fear thee? Do the cloudsshoot forth blind fire to terrify the soulwith wild, unmeaning roar? O, Iook uponthat woman, who was homeless in our realm,and bargained where to build her paltry town,receiving fertile coastland for her farms,by hospitable grant! She dares disdainour proffered nuptial vow. She has proclaimedAeneas partner of her bed and throne.And now that Paris, with his eunuch crew,beneath his chin and fragrant, oozy hairties the soft Lydian bonnet, boasting wellhis stolen prize. But we to all these fanes,though they be thine, a fruitless offering bring,and feed on empty tales our trust in thee.”

As thus he prayed and to the altars clung,th' Omnipotent gave ear, and turned his gazeupon the royal dwelling, where for lovethe amorous pair forgot their place and name.Then thus to Mercury he gave command:“Haste thee, my son, upon the Zephyrs call,and take thy winged way! My mandate bearunto that prince of Troy who tarries nowin Tyrian Carthage, heedless utterlyof empire Heaven-bestowed. On winged windshasten with my decrees. Not such the manhis beauteous mother promised; not for thistwice did she shield him from the Greeks in arms:but that he might rule Italy, a landpregnant with thrones and echoing with war;that he of Teucer's seed a race should sire,and bring beneath its law the whole wide world.If such a glory and event supremeenkindle not his bosom; if such taskto his own honor speak not; can the sirebegrudge Ascanius the heritageof the proud name of Rome? What plans he now?What mad hope bids him linger in the lapof enemies, considering no morethe land Lavinian and Ausonia's sons.Let him to sea! Be this our final word:this message let our herald faithful bear.”

He spoke. The god a prompt obedience gaveto his great sire's command. He fastened firstthose sandals of bright gold, which carry himaloft o'er land or sea, with airy wingsthat race the fleeting wind; then lifted hehis wand, wherewith he summons from the gravepale-featured ghosts, or, if he will, consignsto doleful Tartarus; or by its powergives slumber or dispels; or quite unsealsthe eyelids of the dead: on this relying,he routs the winds or cleaves th' obscurityof stormful clouds. Soon from his flight he spiedthe summit and the sides precipitousof stubborn Atlas, whose star-pointing peakprops heaven; of Atlas, whose pine-wreathed browis girdled evermore with misty gloomand lashed of wind and rain; a cloak of snowmelts on his shoulder; from his aged chindrop rivers, and ensheathed in stiffening iceglitters his great grim beard. Here first was stayedthe speed of Mercury's well-poising wing;here making pause, from hence he headlong flunghis body to the sea; in motion likesome sea-bird's, which along the levelled shoreor round tall crags where rove the swarming fish,flies Iow along the waves: o'er-hovering sobetween the earth and skies, Cyllene's godflew downward from his mother's mountain-sire,parted the winds and skimmed the sandy mergeof Libya. When first his winged feetcame nigh the clay-built Punic huts, he sawAeneas building at a citadel,and founding walls and towers; at his sidewas girt a blade with yellow jaspers starred,his mantle with the stain of Tyrian shellflowed purple from his shoulder, broidered fairby opulent Dido with fine threads of gold,her gift of love; straightway the god began:“Dost thou for lofty Carthage toil, to buildfoundations strong? Dost thou, a wife's weak thrall,build her proud city? Hast thou, shameful loss! Forgot thy kingdom and thy task sublime?From bright Olympus, I. He who commandsall gods, and by his sovran deitymoves earth and heaven—he it was who bademe bear on winged winds his high decree.What plan is thine? By what mad hope dost thoulinger so Iong in lap of Libyan land?If the proud reward of thy destined waymove not thy heart, if all the arduous toilto thine own honor speak not, Iook uponIulus in his bloom, thy hope and heirAscanius. It is his rightful duein Italy o'er Roman lands to reign.”After such word Cyllene's winged godvanished, and e'er his accents died away,dissolved in air before the mortal's eyes.

Aeneas at the sight stood terror-dumbwith choking voice and horror-rising hair.He fain would fly at once and get him gonefrom that voluptuous land, much wonderingat Heaven's wrathful word. Alas! how stir?What cunning argument can plead his causebefore th' infuriate Queen? How break such news?Flashing this way and that, his startled mindmakes many a project and surveys them all.But, pondering well, his final counsel stoppedat this resolve: he summoned to his sideMnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus bold,and bade them fit the fleet, all silentlygathering the sailors and collecting gear,but carefully dissembling what emprisesuch novel stir intends: himself the while(Since high-born Dido dreamed not love so fondcould have an end) would seek an audience,at some indulgent time, and try what shiftsuch matters may require. With joy they heard,and wrought, assiduous, at their prince's plan.

But what can cheat true love? The Queen foreknewhis stratagem, and all the coming changeperceived ere it began. Her jealous fearcounted no hour secure. That unclean tongueof Rumor told her fevered heart the fleetwas fitting forth, and hastening to be gone.Distractedly she raved, and passion-tossedroamed through her city, like a Maenad rousedby the wild rout of Bacchus, when are heardthe third year's orgies, and the midnight screamto cold Cithaeron calls the frenzied crew.Finding Aeneas, thus her plaint she poured:“Didst hope to hide it, false one, that such crimewas in thy heart,—to steal without farewellout of my kingdom? Did our mutual joynot move thee; nor thine own true promise givenonce on a time? Nor Dido, who will diea death of sorrow? Why compel thy shipsto brave the winter stars? Why off to seaso fast through stormy skies? O, cruelty!If Troy still stood, and if thou wert not boundfor alien shore unknown, wouldst steer for Troy through yonder waste of waves? Is it from methou takest flight? O, by these flowing tears,by thine own plighted word (for nothing moremy weakness left to miserable me),by our poor marriage of imperfect vow,if aught to me thou owest, if aught in meever have pleased thee—O, be mercifulto my low-fallen fortunes! I implore,if place be left for prayer, thy purpose change!Because of thee yon Libyan savagesand nomad chiefs are grown implacable,and my own Tyrians hate me. Yes, for theemy chastity was slain and honor fair,by which alone to glory I aspired,in former days. To whom dost thou in deathabandon me? my guest!—since but this nameis left me of a husband! Shall I waittill fell Pygmalion, my brother, razemy city walls? Or the Gaetulian king,Iarbas, chain me captive to his car? .O, if, ere thou hadst fled, I might but bearsome pledge of love to thee, and in these hallswatch some sweet babe Aeneas at his play,whose face should be the memory of thine own —I were not so forsaken, Iost, undone!”

She said. But he, obeying Jove's decree,gazed steadfastly away; and in his heartwith strong repression crushed his cruel pain;then thus the silence broke: “O Queen, not oneof my unnumbered debts so strongly urgedwould I gainsay. Elissa's memorywill be my treasure Iong as memory holds,or breath of life is mine. Hear my brief plea!'T was not my hope to hide this flight I take,as thou hast dreamed. Nay, I did never lighta bridegroom's torch, nor gave I thee the vowof marriage. Had my destiny decreed,that I should shape life to my heart's desire,and at my own will put away the weightof foil and pain, my place would now be foundin Troy, among the cherished sepulchresof my own kin, and Priam's mansion proudwere standing still; or these my loyal handshad rebuilt Ilium for her vanquished sons.But now to Italy Apollo's powercommands me forth; his Lycian oraclesare loud for Italy. My heart is there,and there my fatherland. If now the towersof Carthage and thy Libyan colonydelight thy Tyrian eyes; wilt thou refuseto Trojan exiles their Ausonian shore?I too by Fate was driven, not less than thou,to wander far a foreign throne to find.Oft when in dewy dark night hides the world,and flaming stars arise, Anchises' shadelooks on me in my dreams with angered brow.I think of my Ascanius, and the wrongto that dear heart, from whom I steal awayHesperia, his destined home and throne.But now the winged messenger of Heaven,sent down by Jove (I swear by thee and me!),has brought on winged winds his sire's command.My own eyes with unclouded vision sawthe god within these walls; I have receivedwith my own ears his word. No more inflamewith lamentation fond thy heart and mine.'T is not my own free act seeks Italy.”