Ever wandering, ever lost, In dreams she sees the fierce AEneas near, And seeks her Tyrians on a lonely coast.
So raving Pentheus sees the Furies' host, Twin suns and double Thebes.

So, mad with Fate, Blood-stained Orestes flees his mother's ghost, Armed with black snakes and firebrands; at the gate The avenging Fiends, close-crouched, the murderer await.
LXI.

So now, possessed with Furies, the poor queen, O'ercome with grief and resolute to die, Settles the time and manner.

Joy serene Smiles on her brow, her purpose to belie, And hope dissembled sparkles in her eye.
"Dear Anna," thus she hails with cheerful tone Her weeping sister, "put thy sorrow by, And joy with me.

Indulgent Heaven hath shown A way to gain his love, or rid me of my own.
LXII.