Rank herbs are sought, that teem With poisonous juice, and plants at midnight shorn With brazen sickles by the Moon's pale beam, And from the forehead of a foal new-born, Ere by the dam devoured, love's talisman is torn.
LXVII.

Herself, the queen, before the altar stands, One foot unsandalled, and her flowing vest Loosed from its cincture.

In her stainless hands The sacrificial cake she holds; her breast Heaves, with approaching agony oppressed.
She calls the conscious planets as they move, She calls the stars, her purpose to attest, And all the gods, if any rules above, Mindful of lovers' wrongs, and just to injured love.
LXVIII.

'Twas night; on earth all creatures were asleep: Midway the stars moved silent through the sphere; Hushed were the forest and the angry deep, And hushed was every field, and far and near Reigned stillness, and the night spread calm and clear.
The flocks, the birds, with painted plumage gay, That haunt the copse, or dwell in brake and brere, Or skim the liquid lakes--all silent lay, Lapt in oblivion sweet, forgetful of the day.
LXIX.

Not so unhappy Dido; no sweet peace Dissolves her cares; her wakeful eyes and breast Drink not the dewy night; her pains increase, And love, with warring passions unsuppressed, Swells up, and stirs the tumult of unrest.
"What, then," she sadly ponders, "shall I do?
Ah, woe is me! shall Dido, made a jest To former lovers, stoop herself to sue, And beg the Nomad lords their oft-scorned vows renew?
LXX.