Ill fated Queen! what pangs your bosom tore, What sighs you heav'd, as on the moving shore, The busy crews, assembling in your sight, With dashing waves, their horrid shouts unite. 510 Love, in our heart! how boundless is thy force! To tears again, to pray'r she has recourse; Love bends her soul each suppliant art to try, Each humble suit, ere she resolve, to die. "See, Anna, see, the crowded beach they hide, 515 See how they spread, they swarm from ev'ry side; Their open sails already court the wind, The stern with wreaths the joyful sailors bind. Oh had I thought such ills could e'er ensue Perhaps I should have learn'd to bear them too? 520 Now grant me, Anna, grant this one request! False man! his friendship you alone possest; To you his heart was open, none but you, The soft access, the pliant moment knew. Go sister then, my haughty foe intreat, 525 Tell him to Troy I sent no hostile fleet; Nor yet, at Aulis, was I one that swore, United vengeance to the Dardan shore. Have I disturb'd his father's sacred shade, That to be heard--not mere--in vain I've pray'd? 530 Tho' clos'd his ears to me, can be deny This last, this least request! where would he fly? Bid him remain till wintry storms subside, Till kinder breezes, smooth the ruffled tide. 535 The nuptial vow, which he so vainly swore, His plighted faith no longer I implore, Nor yet his Latian kingdom to forego: Some fruitless space, some breathing time for woe, 'Till fate have thought the wretch subdu'd to grieve, Is all I beg--Obtain this last reprieve-- 540 For pity gain it,--and the short delay With all her parting soul, will Dido pay". So pray'd the Queen, and o'er and o'er again, Pray'rs, sighs, and tears her sister urg'd in vain; Unmov'd he stands by tears, by pray'rs by sighs, 545 The fates oppose, the God his ear denies. Thus from the rock, the patient work of years, His knotted strength an oak majestic rears, When Alpine storms on ev'ry side contend, Now here, now there his rooted mass to bend, 550 Each labour'd limb resounds, and from his head The rustling spoils in heaps the ground o'erspread. He grasps the rock unmov'd, and proudly shoots As high to heav'n his head, as down to hell his roots. With storms as fierce the lab'ring Hero torn, 555 Now here now there by swelling passion borne Sunk in his soul a mighty load of woe, His mind unshook--tears unavailing flow.