of the varied games, Juno, Saturn’s daughter, has
sped down Iris from heaven to the feet of Ilion, with breath
of winds to waft her on her way—Juno, deep-brooding 30
over many thoughts, her ancient wrath yet unsated.
Speeding along her many-coloured bow, seen of none, runs
swiftly down the celestial maid. She beholds that mighty
concourse; she looks round on the coast, and sees harbour
abandoned and fleet forsaken. Far away, in the privacy 35
of a solitary beach, the Trojan dames were weeping for
lost Anchises, and, as they wept, were gazing, one and all,