Sits guard in blood-red robe beside the door,
Reckoning each pulsation of the roar,
Every whizz of the lash, moan of pain,
Grating of iron, rattling of the chain.
Æneas heard too; his feet in fear clove
To the ground as frozen; he could not move
From the spot he trod. “What sins punished there,
And how? Whose those hoarse wailings of despair?”
Repelled—attracted: his unuttered thought
She answered: