XLV. "If thee, Tyre-born, a Libyan town detain, What grudge to Troy Ausonia's land denies? We too may seek a foreign realm to gain. Me, oft as Night's damp shadows from the skies Have shrouded Earth, and fiery stars arise, My sire Anchises' troubled ghost in sleep Upbraids and scares, and ever louder cries The wrong, that on Ascanius' head I heap, Whom from Hesperia's plains, his destined realms, I keep. XLVI. "Now, too, Jove's messenger himself comes down-- Bear witness both--I heard the voice divine, I saw the God just entering the town. Cease then to vex me, nor thyself repine. Heaven's will to Latium summons me, not mine." Him, speaking thus and pleading but in vain, She viewed askance, rolling her restless eyne, Then scanned him o'er, long silent, in disdain, And thus at length broke out, and gave her wrath the rein. XLVII. "False traitor! Goddess never gave thee birth, Nor of thy race was Dardanus the first. Thy limbs were fashioned in the womb of Earth, The rugged rocks of Caucasus accurst. Hyrcanian tigresses thy childhood nursed. Why fawn and feign? what more have I to fear, What more to wait for, having known the worst? Moved he those eyes? dropped he a single tear Sighed he with me, or spake a lover's heart to cheer? XLVIII. "What first? what last? Nor Juno, nay, nor Jove With equal eyes beholds the wrongs I bear. Faithless is earth, and false is Heaven above. I took him in, an outcast, and bade spare, His ships and wandering comrades, let him share My home, and made him partner of my reign. Ah me! the Furies drive me to despair. Now Phoebus calls him, now the Lycian fane, Now Jove's own herald brings the dreadful news too plain: XLIX. "Fit task for Gods; such cares disturb their ease. I care not to confute thee nor delay. Go, seek thy Latin lordship o'er the seas. May Heaven--if Heaven be righteous--make thee pay Thy forfeit, left on ocean's rocks to pray For help to Dido. There shall Dido go With sulphurous flames, and vex thee far away. My ghost in death shall haunt thee. I shall know Thy punishment, false wretch, and hail the news below." L. Abrupt she ceased and, sickening with despair, Turns from his gaze, and shuns the light of day, And leaves the Dardan, faltering in his fear, And thinking of a thousand things to say. Back to her marble couch the maids convey The fainting Queen. The pious Prince, though fain With gentle words her anguish to ally, Sighing full sore, and racked with inward pain, Bows to the God's behest, and hastens to the main.