IX. Herself, the lovely Dido, bowl in hand, O'er a white heifer's forehead pours the wine, Or by the Gods' rich altars takes her stand, And piles the gifts, and o'er the slaughtered kine Pores, from the quivering heartstrings to divine The doom of Fate. Blind seers, alas! what art To calm her frenzy, now hath vow or shrine? Deep in her marrow feeds the tender smart, Unseen, the silent wound is festering in her heart. X. Poor Dido burns, and roams from street to street, Wild as a doe, whom heedless, far away, Some swain hath pierced amid the woods of Crete, And left, unware, the flying steel to stay, While through the forests and the lawns his prey Roams, with the death-bolt clinging to her side. Now to AEneas doth the queen display Her walls and wealth, the dowry of his bride; Oft she essays to speak, so oft the utterance died. XI. Again, when evening steals upon the light, She seeks the feast, again would fain give ear To Troy's sad tale and, ravished with delight, Hangs on his lips; and when the hall is clear, And the moon sinks, and drowsy stars appear, Alone she mourns, clings to the couch he pressed, Him absent sees, his absent voice doth hear, Now, fain to cheat her utter love's unrest, Clasps for his sire's sweet sake Ascanius to her breast. XII. No longer rise the growing towers, nor care The youths in martial exercise to vie, Nor ports nor bulwarks for defence prepare. The frowning battlements neglected lie, And lofty scaffolding that threats the sky. Her, when Saturnian Juno saw possessed With love so tameless, as would dare defy The shame that whispers in a woman's breast, Forthwith the queen of Jove fair Venus thus addressed: XIII. "Fine spoils, forsooth, proud triumph ye have won, Thou and thy boy,--vast worship and renown! Two gods by fraud one woman have undone. But well I know ye fear the rising town, The homes of Carthage offered for your own. When shall this end? or why a feud so dire? Let lasting peace and plighted wedlock crown The compact. See, thou hast thy heart's desire, Poor Dido burns with love, her blood is turned to fire. XIV. "Come then and rule we, each with equal power, These folks as one. Let Tyrian Dido bear A Phrygian's yoke, and Tyrians be her dower." Then Venus, for she marked the Libyan snare To snatch Italia's lordship, "Who would care To spurn such offer, or with thee contend, Should fortune follow on a scheme so fair? 'Tis Fate, I doubt, if Jupiter intend The sons of Tyre and Troy in common league to blend.