Of the orb of the wandering moon I sing, As she wheels through the darkening skies; Where the storm-brooding band of the Hyades swing, And the circling Triones arise; Of the sun’s struggling ball Which the shadows appall Till the menacing darkness flies; 2 Of the all-potent forces that dwell in the air, With its measureless reaches of blue; The soft floating clouds of gossamer there, And the loud-wailing storm-rack too; Of the rain and the winds And the lightning that blinds When its swift-darting bolt flashes through; 3 Of the marvels deep hid in the bowels of earth, In the dark caves of Ocean confined, Where the rivers in slow-trickling rills have their birth, And the dense tangled mazes unwind; In the deep under-land, In the dim wonderland, Where broods the vast cosmical mind. 4 Of the manifold wonders of life I sing, Its mysteries striving to scan, In the rippling wave, on the fluttering wing, In beast and all-dominant man. ‘T is the indwelling soul Of the god of the whole, Since the dawn of creation began. _Dido_, who has been gazing upon Æneas in rapt admiration (753-756): Now come, my guest, and from the first recount the tale Of Grecian treachery, thy friends’ sad overthrow And all thy toils; for lo, the seventh summer finds Thee wand’ring still in every land, on every sea. _Æneas_, rising (II. 3-13) Thou wouldst that I should feel a woe unspeakable, O Queen, and tell again how all our Trojan power And kingdom, endless source of grief, the Greeks o’erthrew: Those sad events which I myself beheld, and in Whose fabric I was wrought a part. Who, though he be Of fierce Achilles’ band, or in the train of hard Ulysses, telling such a tale could hold his tears? Now night sinks down the steeps of heaven, while setting stars And constellations summon us to rest. But if So strong is thy desire to know the story of Our woe, and hear Troy’s final agonies rehearsed, Though at the very thought my soul within me shrinks And has recoiled in grief, I will begin the tale. All the Trojans and Carthaginians crowd around the tables, seating themselves to listen. As all faces are turned toward Æneas, he sinks back upon his couch, overcome with emotion. There is a moment of silent sympathy. Curtain. ACT II ACT II. SCENE 1 [Illustration]