oft as night’s dewy shades invest the earth, oft as the fiery
stars arise, warning me in dreams and appalling me by his
troubled presence. There is my son Ascanius, and the
wrongs heaped on his dear head every day that I rob him
of the crown of Hesperia, and of the land that fate makes
his. Now, too, the messenger of the gods, sent down from 5
Jove himself (I swear by both our lives) has brought me
orders through the flying air. With my own eyes I saw
the god in clear daylight entering the walls, and took in his
words with the ears that hear you now. Cease then to