_The wan moon pales her light, and waning stars Persuade to sleep, she in her empty halls Mourns all alone, and throws herself along The couch where he had lain._[34] Æneas himself was losing all thought of his mission in the society of the lovely queen. Italy was forgotten in the peace and luxury of his life; and he gave himself up to content, without one glance beyond the present. He had toiled so long and hard; surely he might take his ease for a while. Moreover, it would be mere churlishness to refuse Dido’s gracious bounty; and he could not be so ungentle. So both the lovers wrapped themselves in a golden dream, with reality shut far away. _The unfinished flanking turrets cease to rise, No more the young men exercise in arms, Build harbours, or rear bastions for defence; All work is at a standstill—giant walls That frown defiance, cranes that climb the sky._[34] All the happy toil of brain and muscle was suspended, and Carthage, silent in the sun all day, gave itself up, like its queen, to idleness and revelry. The weeks slipped quickly by, and one by one the restraints which her clear spirit had imposed were loosened or forgotten. And then the autumn came, and the fatal day of the hunt, when Dido gave herself without reserve or shame to her lover. _The nymphs Along the mountain-tops were heard to wail. That day bred death, disasters manifold; For now she took no heed what men might say._[34] She who had been so proud and chaste, whose wisdom and fidelity had been the fame of all the countries round about, was now the prey of every evil tongue. Rumour flew from city to city, soiling her fair name; and soon it was known in all the jealous neighbouring lands that the queen of Carthage had joined herself in unlawful union with Æneas, Prince of Troy. The reputation that had been so painfully won was quickly lost; and not one of her many qualities were remembered. The courage and quick wit and resource, the generous hospitality, the impartial judgment, the kindness and tender sympathy—were all forgotten. Dido knew of the malignance and scorn that were smouldering about her; but she was too honest to hide her sin, and secure in Æneas’ love, she paid no heed. Together they recommenced the work which had lain idle so long; and as winter came, the towers began to rise again. But now the gods grew envious of the little barbarian state, and Jupiter turned an angry glance upon Æneas. Was this the end for which he had been saved from Troy—to make his home among a savage people, heedless of the divine command? Has he so poor a soul that he is content to spend his days in dalliance while the fair land of Italy cries out for a hand to govern it? Let Mercury carry to the prince this warning from the ruler of Olympus: