But now the Queen, that bale being built amid the inner house 'Neath the bare heavens, piled high with fir and cloven oak enow, Hangeth the garlands round the place, and crowns the bale with bough That dead men use: the weed he wore, his very effigy, His sword, she lays upon the bed, well knowing what shall be. There stand the altars, there the maid, wild with her scattered hair, Calls Chaos, Erebus, and those three hundred godheads there, 510 And Hecate triply fashionèd to maiden Dian's look; Water she scattered, would-be wave of dark Avernus' brook; And herbs she brought, by brazen shears 'neath moonlight harvested, All downy-young, though inky milk of venomed ill they shed. She brings the love-charm snatched away from brow of new-born foal Ere yet the mother snatcheth it. Dido herself the altars nigh, meal in her hallowed hands, With one foot of its bindings bare, and ungirt raiment stands, And dying calls upon the Gods, and stars that fateful fare; And then if any godhead is, mindful and just to care 520 For unloved lovers, unto that she sendeth up the prayer. Now night it was, and everything on earth had won the grace Of quiet sleep: the woods had rest, the wildered waters' face: It was the tide when stars roll on amid their courses due, And all the tilth is hushed, and beasts, and birds of many a hue; And all that is in waters wide, and what the waste doth keep In thicket rough, amid the hush of night-tide lay asleep, And slipping off the load of care forgat their toilsome part. But ne'er might that Phoenician Queen, that most unhappy heart, Sink into sleep, or take the night unto her eyes and breast: 530 Her sorrows grow, and love again swells up with all unrest, And ever midst her troubled wrath rolls on a mighty tide; And thus she broods and turns it o'er and o'er on every side.