There was nothing he could say. Jove bade him keep Affection from his eyes, and grief in his heart With never a sign. At last, he managed something:-- “Never, O Queen, will I deny you merit Whatever you have strength to claim; I will not Regret remembering Dido, while I have Breath in my body, or consciousness of spirit. I have a point or two to make. I did not, Believe me, hope to hide my flight by cunning; I did not, ever, claim to be a husband, Made no such vows. If I had fate’s permission To live my life my way, to settle my troubles At my own will, I would be watching over The city of Troy, and caring for my people, Those whom the Greeks had spared, and Priam’s palace Would still be standing; for the vanquished people I would have built the town again. But now It is Italy I must seek, great Italy, Apollo orders, and his oracles Call me to Italy. There is my love, There is my country. If the towers of Carthage, The Libyan citadels, can please a woman Who came from Tyre, why must you grudge the Trojans Ausonian land? It is proper for us also To seek a foreign kingdom. I am warned Of this in dreams: when the earth is veiled in shadow And the fiery stars are burning, I see my father, Anchises, or his ghost, and I am frightened; I am troubled for the wrong I do my son, Cheating him out of his kingdom in the west, And lands that fate assigns him. And a herald, Jove’s messenger--I call them both to witness-- Has brought me, through the rush of air, his orders; I saw the god myself, in the full daylight, Enter these walls, I heard the words he brought me. Cease to inflame us both with your complainings; I follow Italy not because I want to.”