hiding her light, and the setting stars invite to slumber,
alone she mourns in the empty hall, and presses the
couch he has just left; him far away she sees and hears,
herself far away; or holds Ascanius long in her lap, spellbound 35
by his father’s image, to cheat, if she can, her ungovernable
passion. The towers that were rising rise no
longer; the youth ceases to practise arms, or to make
ready havens and bulwarks for safety in war; the works
are broken and suspended, the giant frowning of the
walls, and the engine level with the sky.