And good Aeneas, longing To ease her grief with comfort, to say something To turn her pain and hurt away, sighs often, His heart being moved by this great love, most deeply, And still--the gods give orders, he obeys them; He goes back to the fleet. And then the Trojans Bend, really, to their work, launching the vessels All down the shore. The tarred keel swims in the water, The green wood comes from the forest, the poles are lopped For oars, with leaves still on them. All are eager For flight; all over the city you see them streaming, Bustling about their business, a black line moving The way ants do when they remember winter And raid a hill of grain, to haul and store it At home, across the plain, the column moving In thin black line through grass, part of them shoving Great seeds on little shoulders, and part bossing The job, rebuking laggards, and all the pathway Hot with the stream of work. And Dido saw them With who knows what emotion: there she stood On the high citadel, and saw, below her, The whole beach boiling, and the water littered With one ship after another, and men yelling, Excited over their work, and there was nothing For her to do but sob or choke with anguish. There is nothing to which the hearts of men and women Cannot be driven by love. Break into tears, Try prayers again, humble the pride, leave nothing Untried, and die in vain:--“Anna, you see them Coming from everywhere; they push and bustle All up and down the shore: the sails are swelling, The happy sailors garlanding the vessels. If I could hope for grief like this, my sister, I shall be able to bear it. But one service Do for me first, dear Anna, out of pity. You were the only one that traitor trusted, Confided in; you know the way to reach him, The proper time and place. Give him this message, Our arrogant enemy: tell him I never Swore with the Greeks at Aulis to abolish The Trojan race, I never sent a fleet To Pergamus, I never desecrated The ashes or the spirit of Anchises: Why does he, then, refuse to listen to me? What is the hurry? Let him give his lover The one last favor: only wait a little, Only a little while, for better weather And easy flight. He has betrayed the marriage, I do not ask for that again; I do not Ask him to give up Latium and his kingdom. Mere time is all I am asking, a breathing-space, A brief reprieve, until my luck has taught me To reconcile defeat and sorrow. This Is all I ask for, sister; pity and help me: If he grants me this, I will pay it ten times over After my death.” And Anna, most unhappy, Over and over, told her tears, her pleading; No tears, no pleading, move him; no man can yield When a god stops his ears. As northern winds