The tears arisen as she spake did all her bosom fill. 30 But Anna saith: "Dearer to me than very light of day, Must thou alone and sorrowing wear all thy youth away, Nor see sweet sons, nor know the joys that gentle Venus brings? Deem'st thou dead ash or buried ghosts have heed of such-like things? So be it that thy sickened soul no man to yield hath brought In Libya as in Tyre; let be Iarbas set at nought, And other lords, whom Africa, the rich in battle's bliss, Hath nursed: but now, with love beloved,--must thou be foe to this? Yea, hast thou not within thy mind amidst whose bounds we are? Here the Gætulian cities fierce, a folk unmatched in war, 40 And hard Numidia's bitless folk, and Syrtes' guestless sand Lie round thee: there Barcæans wild, the rovers of the land, Desert for thirst: what need to tell of wars new-born in Tyre, And of thy murderous brother's threats? Meseems by very will of Gods, by Juno's loving mind, The Ilian keels run down their course before the following wind. Ah, what a city shalt thou see! how shall the lordship wax With such a spouse! with Teucrian arms our brothers at our backs Unto what glory of great deeds the Punic realm may reach! But thou, go seek the grace of Gods, with sacrifice beseech; 50 Then take thy fill of guest-serving; weave web of all delays: The wintry raging of the sea, Orion's watery ways, The way-worn ships, the heavens unmeet for playing seaman's part." So saying, she blew the flame of love within her kindled heart, And gave her doubtful soul a hope and loosed the girth of shame. Then straight they fare unto the shrines, by every altar's flame Praying for peace; and hosts they slay, chosen as custom would, To Phoebus, Ceres wise of law, Father Lyæus good, But chiefest unto Juno's might, that wedlock hath in care. There bowl in hand stands Dido forth, most excellently fair, 60 And pours between the sleek cow's horns; or to and fro doth pace Before the altars fat with prayer, 'neath very godhead's face, And halloweth in the day with gifts, and, gazing eagerly Amid the host's yet beating heart, for answering rede must try. --Woe's me! the idle mind of priests! what prayer, what shrine avails The wild with love!--and all the while the smooth flame never fails To eat her heart: the silent wound lives on within her breast: Unhappy Dido burneth up, and, wild with all unrest, For ever strays the city through: as arrow-smitten doe, Unwary, whom some herd from far hath drawn upon with bow 70 Amid the Cretan woods, and left the swift steel in the sore, Unknowing: far in flight she strays the woods and thickets o'er, 'Neath Dictæ's heights; but in her flank still bears the deadly reed.