LV. "Go, sister, meekly tell the haughty foe,
Not I at [Aulis] with the Greeks did swear
To smite the Trojans and their towers o'erthrow,
Nor sought his father's ashes to uptear.
Whom shuns he? wherefore would he spurn my prayer?
Beg him, in pity of poor love, to stay
Till flight is easy, and the winds breathe fair.
Not now for wedlock's broken vows I pray,		487
Nor bid him lose for me fair Latium and his sway.
LVI. "I ask but time—a respite and reprieve—
A little truce, my passion to allay,
Till fortune teach my baffled love to grieve.
Grant, sister, this, the latest grace I pray,
And Death with interest shall the debt repay."
She spake; sad Anna to the Dardan bears
Her piteous plea. But Fate hath barred the way:
Deaf stands Æneas to her prayers and tears:		496
Jove, unrelenting Jove, hath stopped his gentle ears.
LVII. E'en as when Northern Alpine blasts contend
This side and that to lay an oak-tree low,
Aged but strong: the branches creak and bend,
And leaves thick-falling all the ground bestrow:
The trunk clings firmly to the rock below:
High as it rears its weather-beaten crest,
So dive its roots to Tartarus. Even so
Beset with prayers, the hero stands distrest;		505
So vain are Anna's tears, so moveless is his breast.

LVIII. Then—then unhappy Dido prays to die,
Maddened by Fate, aweary of the day,
Aweary of the over-arching sky.
And lo! an omen seems to chide delay,
And steel her purpose. As, in act to pay
Her gifts, with incense at the shrine she kneels,
Black turns the water, horrible to say;
To loathsome gore the sacred wine congeals.		514
Not e'en to Anna's self this vision she reveals.
LIX. Nay more; within the precincts of her house
There stood a marble shrine, with garlands bright
And snow-white fleeces, sacred to her spouse.
Hence, oft as darkness shrouds the world from sight,
Voices she hears, and accents of affright,
As though Sychæus told aloud his wrong,
Hears from the roof-top, through the livelong night,
The solitary screech-owl's funeral song,		523
Wailing an endless dirge, the dismal notes prolong.

LX. Dim warnings, given by many an ancient seer,
Affright her. Ever wandering, ever lost,
In dreams she sees the fierce Æneas near,
And seeks her Tyrians on a lonely coast.
So raving [Pentheus] sees the Furies' host,
Twin suns and double Thebes. So, mad with Fate,
Blood-stained [Orestes] flees his mother's ghost,
Armed with black snakes and firebrands; at the gate		532
The avenging Fiends, close-crouched, the murderer await.
LXI. So now, possessed with Furies, the poor queen,
O'ercome with grief and resolute to die,
Settles the time and manner. Joy serene
Smiles on her brow, her purpose to belie,
And hope dissembled sparkles in her eye.
"Dear Anna," thus she hails with cheerful tone
Her weeping sister, "put thy sorrow by,
And joy with me. Indulgent Heaven hath shown		541
A way to gain his love, or rid me of my own.
LXII. "Near Ocean's limits and the sunset, lies
A far-off land, by Æthiopians owned,
Where mighty Atlas turns the spangled skies.
There a Massylian priestess I have found,
The warder of the Hesperian fane renowned.
'Twas hers to feed the dragon, hers to keep
The golden fruit, and guard the sacred ground,
The dragon's food in honied drugs to steep,		550
And mix the poppy drowse, that soothes the soul to sleep.