Enter Æneas and Achates, on their way into the city, evidently attracted hither by the singing. Æneas is resplendent in full armor. Achates wears the Phrygian costume: long trousers of brown, a tunic of deep old blue, ornate with embroidered patterns in gold and purple thread; over this a traveling cloak of brown. He carries two spears. The maidens withdraw and as their voices grow fainter Æneas and Achates kneel before the altar. The light brightens. A bugle call in the distance rouses them from their devotion. They arise. Enter Venus, dressed as a huntress. _Venus_ (_Æneid_, I. 321-324): I crave your grace, good sirs. If my attendant maids Have chanced to wander hither, quiver-girt, and clad In tawny robes of fur, the trophies of the chase, Or with triumphant shouts close pressing in pursuit The foaming boar,—I fain would know their course. _Æneas_ (326-334): Fair maid, No huntress of thy train have we beheld, nor heard The clamor of their chase.—But oh, no mortal maid Art thou! Th’ immortal beauty of thy face and voice Proclaim thee goddess. Art thou Phœbus’ sister then? Or some fair nymph? Whoe’er thou art, we crave _thy_ grace: Be merciful and tell beneath what sky at length, Upon what shores we ‘re tossed. For ignorant of men And land we wander, driven on by wind and wave In vast conspiracy. Full many a victim slain Upon thine altars shall repay thine aid. _Venus_ (335-350): For me, I claim no homage due the gods. Behold a maid Of ancient Tyre, with quiver girt and feet high shod With purple buskin—such our country’s garb. Thou seest Before thee Punic realms; the city and its men Are both alike Phœnician; but around them lie The borders of the Libyans, hardy race, unmatched In war. The city owns the sway of Dido, late Escaped from Tyre and from her brother’s threat’nings. Long The story of her wrongs, and devious its way; But here I ‘ll trace the outline of her history. Her husband was Sychæus, of his countrymen The richest far in wide possessions; well beloved By his ill-fated bride was he, whose virgin hand In wedlock’s primal rite her sire had given him. But Tyre’s domain Pygmalion her brother held, Surpassing all in crime. Between these Tyrian lords A deadly feud arose. With impious hand and blind With love of gold, Pygmalion, at the altar-side, With stealthy, unsuspected stroke Sychæus slew; And little recked he of his sister’s doting love. _Æneas_ (III. 56, 57): O awful, quenchless thirst of gold! ‘T was ever thus That thou hast spurred the hearts of men to deeds of blood. _Venus_ (I. 351-370):