There was a grove in the middle of the city, Most happy in its shade; this was the place Where first the Tyrians, tossed by storm and whirlwind, Dug up the symbol royal Juno showed them, The skull of a war-horse, a sign the race to come Would be supreme in war and wealth, for ages, And Dido here was building a great temple In Juno’s honor, rich in gifts, and blessed With the presence of the goddess. Lintel and rafter Were bronze above bronze stairways, and bronze portals Swung on bronze hinges. Here Aeneas first Dared hope for safety, find some reassurance In hope of better days: a strange sight met him, To take his fear away. Waiting the queen, He stood there watching, under the great temple, Letting his eyes survey the city’s fortune, The artist’s workmanship, the craftsman’s labor, And there, with more than wonder, he sees the battles Fought around Troy, and the wars whose fame had travelled The whole world over; there is Agamemnon, Priam, and Menelaus, and Achilles, A menace to them all. He is moved to tears. “What place in all the world,” he asks Achates, “Is empty of our sorrow? There is Priam! Look! even here there are rewards for praise, There are tears for things, and what men suffer touches The human heart. Dismiss your fear; this story Will bring some safety to you.” Sighing often, He could not turn his gaze away; it was only A picture on a wall, but the sight afforded Food for the spirit’s need. He saw the Greeks, Hard-pressed, in flight, and Trojans coming after, Or, on another panel, the scene reversed, Achilles in pursuit, his own men fleeing; He saw, and tears came into his eyes again, The tents of Rhesus, snowy-white, betrayed In their first sleep by bloody Diomedes With many a death, and the fiery horses driven Into the camp, before they ever tasted The grass of Troy, or drank from Xanthus’ river. Another scene showed Troilus, poor youngster, Running away, his arms flung down; Achilles Was much too good for him; he had fallen backward Out of his car, but held the reins, and the horses Dragged him along the ground, his hair and shoulders Bounding in dust, and the spear making a scribble. And there were Trojan women, all in mourning, With streaming hair, on their way to Pallas’ temple, Bearing, as gift, a robe, but the stern goddess Kept her gaze on the ground. Three times Achilles Had dragged the body of Hector around the walls, And was selling it for money. What a groan Came from Aeneas’ heart, seeing that spoil, That chariot, and helpless Priam reaching His hands, unarmed, across the broken body! And he saw himself there, too, fighting in battle Against Greek leaders, he saw the Eastern columns, And swarthy Memnon’s arms. Penthesilea, The Amazon, blazes in fury, leading