thriftless herd. The work is all afire, and a scent of thyme
breathes from the fragrant honey. “O happy they, whose
city is rising already!” cries Æneas, as he looks upward
to roof and dome. In he goes, close fenced by his cloud,
miraculous to tell, threads his way through the midst, 10
and mingles with the citizens, unperceived of all.
A grove there was in the heart of the city, most plenteous
of shade—the spot where first, fresh from the buffeting of
wave and wind, the Punic race dug up the token which
queenly Juno had bidden them expect, the head of a fiery 15