A pow'r remains, that pities injur'd love. 650 'Twas night when o'er the earth in soft repose, All that exist, the load of life depose; When woods are hush'd, and murmuring billows done, When stars descending half their course have run; In silence all--The beasts, the feather'd brood, 655 That swim the lake, or haunt the thicket wood, All thro' the silent night, in balmy sleep Their hearts reliev'd in sweet oblivion steep. Not wretched Dido--night descends in vain Her eyes unclos'd, and unrepriev'd her pain; 660 Rest flies her soul, and sleep her couch forsakes; Care through the livelong night incessant wakes; Now love, now rage, in midnight silence nurst, Back on her soal with doubted fury burst. From wave to wave of boiling passion borne, 665 "What now remains, she cries--despis'd, forlorn, Must Dido now, poor suppliant wretch, implore, And court the husband she disdain'd before; Or must I on their fleet submissive wait; And from those Dardan lords expect my fate? 670 Oh! yes!--by former favours I may guess What gratitude they'll feel in my distress. But if--which way! what means?--What pow'r have I? How will their pride my humble suit deny? Oh senseless being! have I yet to know, 675 How far, that perjur'd, Trojan race can go? And then--alone attend their joyful crew, Or with my Tyrian force their fleet pursue? Yes,--and the men I scarce from home could tear, 680 Will they for me again the ocean dare. No--meet the death you merit.--Let the sword-- 'Tis all that's left, this sad relief afford. Oh, sister, to my tears so weakly kind, You nurst this fatal error in my mind, } You wrought my fate, you gave me to my foe; 685 } As Nature free, unshar'd my days might flow, } No guilty joy, no faithless partner know, No pangs like these I bear,--and not to you, Dear injur'd shade, Sicheus not untrue". Long as the gloomy shades o'erhung the pole, 690 Such cares revolving prey'd upon her soul. Meanwhile AEneas in his fleet repos'd, His doubts remov'd, and all for flight dispos'd. To him the form divine he'd seen before, Appear'd in sleep--again his mandate bore; 695 The graceful limbs of youth, the flaxen hair, The voice, the rosy hue, Jove's son declare. "O goddess born! can sleep weigh down your eyes, Clos'd to the dangers which around you vise? Senseless!--the zephyrs waste their fav'ring breath, 700 While brooding in a soul resolv'd on death Some black design, matures, some treach'rous blow, Haste then and fly, while yet you've pow'r to go. You'll see, if here you wait the morning ray, The port block'd up, the shore to flames a prey. 705 Woman's a thing so variable and light! Haste then away. He spoke and mix'd with night.