Meanwhile Aeneas, on the lofty stern, All things prepared, sure of his going, slumbers As Mercury comes down once more to warn him, Familiar blond young god: “O son of Venus, Is this a time for sleep? The wind blows fair, And danger rises all around you. Dido, Certain to die, however else uncertain, Plots treachery, harbors evil. Seize the moment While it can still be seized, and hurry, hurry! The sea will swarm with ships, the fiery torches Blaze, and the shore rankle with fire by morning. Shove off, be gone! A shifty, fickle object Is woman, always.” He vanished into the night. And, frightened by that sudden apparition, Aeneas started from sleep, and urged his comrades:-- “Hurry, men, hurry; get to the sails and benches, Get the ships under way. A god from heaven Again has come to speed our flight, to sever The mooring-ropes. O holy one, we follow, Whoever you are, we are happy in obeying. Be with us, be propitious; let the stars Be right in heaven!” He drew his sword; the blade Flashed, shining, at the hawser; and all the men Were seized in the same restlessness and rushing. They have left the shore, they have hidden the sea-water With the hulls of the ships; the white foam flies, the oars Dip down in dark-blue water. And Aurora Came from Tithonus’ saffron couch to freshen The world with rising light, and from her watch-tower The queen saw day grow whiter, and the fleet Go moving over the sea, keep pace together To the even spread of the sail; she knew the harbors Were empty of sailors now; she struck her breast Three times, four times; she tore her golden hair, Crying, “God help me, will he go, this stranger, Treating our kingdom as a joke? Bring arms, Bring arms, and hurry! follow from all the city, Haul the ships off the ways, some of you! Others, Get fire as fast as you can, give out the weapons, Pull oars! What am I saying? Or where am I? I must be going mad. Unhappy Dido, Is it only now your wickedness strikes home? The time it should have was when you gave him power. Well, here it is, look at it now, the honor, The faith of the hero who, they tell me, carries With him his household gods, who bore on his shoulders His agèd father! Could I not have seized him, Torn him to pieces, scattered him over the waves? What was the matter? Could I not have murdered His comrades, and Iulus, and served the son For a dainty at the table of his father? But fight would have a doubtful fortune. It might have, What then? I was going to die; whom did I fear? I would have, should have, set his camp on fire, Filled everything with flame, choked off the father, The son, the accursèd race, and myself with them. Great Sun, surveyor of all the works of earth,