A wailing of thin voices Came to their ears, the souls of infants crying, Those whom the day of darkness took from the breast Before their share of living. And there were many Whom some false sentence brought to death. Here Minos Judges them once again; a silent jury Reviews the evidence. And there are others, Guilty of nothing, but who hated living, The suicides. How gladly, now, they would suffer Poverty, hardship, in the world of light! But this is not permitted; they are bound Nine times around by the black unlovely river; Styx holds them fast. They came to the Fields of Mourning, So-called, where those whom cruel love had wasted Hid in secluded pathways, under myrtle, And even in death were anxious. Procris, Phaedra, Eriphyle, displaying wounds her son Had given her, Caeneus, Laodamia, Caeneus, a young man once, and now again A young man, after having been a woman. And here, new come from her own wound, was Dido, Wandering in the wood. The Trojan hero, Standing near by, saw her, or thought he saw her, Dim in the shadows, like the slender crescent Of moon when cloud drifts over. Weeping, he greets her:-- “Unhappy Dido, so they told me truly That your own hand had brought you death. Was I-- Alas!--the cause? I swear by all the stars, By the world above, by everything held sacred Here under the earth, unwillingly, O queen, I left your kingdom. But the gods’ commands, Driving me now through these forsaken places, This utter night, compelled me on. I could not Believe my loss would cause so great a sorrow. Linger a moment, do not leave me; whither, Whom, are you fleeing? I am permitted only This last word with you.” But the queen, unmoving As flint or marble, turned away, her eyes Fixed on the ground: the tears were vain, the words, Meant to be soothing, foolish; she turned away, His enemy forever, to the shadows Where Sychaeus, her former husband, took her With love for love, and sorrow for her sorrow. And still Aeneas wept for her, being troubled By the injustice of her doom; his pity Followed her going.