Atlas, whose head, with piny forests crowned, Is beaten by the winds, with foggy vapours bound. Snows hide his shoulders; from beneath his chin The founts of rolling streams their race begin; A beard of ice on his large breast depends.-- Here, poised upon his wings, the god descends: Then, rested thus, he from the towering height Plunged downward with precipitated flight, Lights on the seas, and skims along the flood. As water-fowl, who seek their fishy food, Less, and yet less, to distant prospect show; By turns they dance aloft, and dive below: Like these, the steerage of his wings he plies, And near the surface of the water flies, Till, having passed the seas, and crossed the sands, He closed his wings, and stooped on Libyan lands, Where shepherds once were housed in homely sheds; Now towers within the clouds advance their heads. Arriving there, he found the Trojan prince New ramparts raising for the town's defence. A purple scarf, with gold embroidered o'er, (Queen Dido's gift) about his waist he wore; A sword, with glittering gems diversified, For ornament, not use, hung idly by his side. Then thus, with winged words, the god began, Resuming his own shape--"Degenerate man! Thou woman's property! what mak'st thou here, These foreign walls and Tyrian towers to rear, Forgetful of thy own? All-powerful Jove, Who sways the world below and heaven above, Has sent me down with this severe command: What means thy lingering in the Libyan land? If glory cannot move a mind so mean, Nor future praise from flitting pleasure wean, Regard the fortunes of thy rising heir: The promised crown let young Ascanius wear, To whom the Ausonian sceptre, and the state Of Rome's imperial name, is owed by Fate." So spoke the god; and, speaking, took his flight, Involved in clouds, and vanished out of sight. The pious prince was seized with sudden fear; Mute was his tongue, and upright stood his hair. Revolving in his mind the stern command, He longs to fly, and loaths the charming land. What should he say? or how should he begin?} What course, alas! remains to steer between} The offended lover and the powerful queen? } This way, and that, he turns his anxious mind, And all expedients tries, and none can find. Fixed on the deed, but doubtful of the means, After long thought, to this advice he leans: Three chiefs he calls, commands them to repair The fleet, and ship their men, with silent care: Some plausible pretence he bids them find, To colour what in secret he designed. Himself, meantime, the softest hours would chuse, Before the love-sick lady heard the news; And move her tender mind, by slow degrees, To suffer what the sovereign power decrees: Jove will inspire him, when, and what to say.-- They hear with pleasure, and with haste obey. But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise: (What arts can blind a jealous woman's eyes?)