Yea, all our friends Whose ships the raging storm hath parted from our fleet And driven far away. O joy! Come, let us go And grasp their hands in greeting. _Æneas_, aside (515-521): Nay, not so, for still Our fortune in the balance hangs. Here let us see What fate befalls our friends, where they have left their fleet, And why they hither come. For chosen messengers In suppliant aspect do they seek this sacred fane, While round them rage the mob.—But see, Ilioneus speaks. Dido has arisen and with a gesture bids the soldiers stand aside. She sends a page to lead Ilioneus to her throne. Ilioneus kneels before her; she extends the scepter, which he touches. _Ilioneus_, rising and standing before the queen (522-558): O Queen to whom the king of heav’n hath given to found A city and to curb proud nations with the reins Of law, we Trojans in our need, the sport of winds On every sea, implore thee, spare a pious race And look, we pray, with nearer view upon our cause. We have not come to devastate with fire and sword The Libyan homes, or fill our ships with plundered stores. Such violence and such high-handed deeds a race By fate o’ercome may not attempt. There is a place, Hesperia the Greeks have named it, ancient, rich In heroes, and of fertile soil. Œnotrians Once held the land; but now, as rumor goes, their sons In honor of their mighty leader have the place Italia called. To this our seaward course was bent: When suddenly, upstarting from the deep, all charged With tempests, did Orion on the shallows drive Our vessels, with the aid of boisterous winds and waves, Through boiling, overtopping floods and trackless reefs, And put us utterly to rout. To these thy shores A few of us have drifted. But alas! what race Of men is this? What land permits such savage deeds As these? We are refused the barren refuge of The sandy shore; they seek a cause for mortal strife, And will not that we set our feet upon the land. What though the human race and mortal arms are naught To thee; be sure that gods regard the evil and The good. We had a king, Æneas, more than peer Of all in justice, piety, and warrior’s might. If by decree of fate he still survives, if still He draws the vital air of heav’n, and lies not low Amid the gloomy shades, fear not, and let it not Repent thee that in deeds of mercy thou didst strive To be the first. We still possess both towns and lands Upon Sicilia’s isle; Acestes too, renowned, And born of Trojan blood, is ours. Our only prayer, That we may draw our shattered fleet upon the shore, And in the forest shade renew our weakened beams And broken oars. That thus, if to Italia’s realms, Our comrades and our king regained, ‘t is ours again To hold our way, with joy we may that selfsame land And Latium’s borders seek. But if in vain our hope,