"Or with the fleet of Ilion shall I sail, The slave and menial of a Trojan crew, As though they count past kindness of avail, Or dream that aught of gratitude be due?
Grant that I wished it, of these lordings who Would take me, humbled and a thing of scorn?
Is Dido blind, if Trojans are untrue?
Know'st thou not yet, O lost one and forlorn, Troy's perjured race still shows Laomedon forsworn?
LXXI.

"What, fly alone, and join their shouting crew?
Or launch, and chase them with my Tyrian train Scarce torn from Tyre?
Nay--die and take thy due; The sword alone can ease thee of thy pain.
Sister, 'twas thy weak pity wrought this bane, Swayed by my tears, and gave me to the foe.
Ah! had I lived unloving, void of stain, Free as the beasts, nor meddled with this woe, Nor wronged with broken vows Sychaeus' shade below!" LXXII.

So wailed the Queen.

AEneas, fixt in mind, All things prepared, his voyage to pursue, Snatched a brief slumber, on the deck reclined, Lo, in a dream, returning near him drew The God, and seemed his warning to renew.
Like Mercury, the very God behold! So sweet his voice, so radiant was his hue, Such loveliness of limb and youthful mould, Such cheeks of ruddiest bloom, and locks of burnished gold.
LXXIII.

"O goddess-born AEneas, can'st thou sleep, Nor see the dangers that around thee lie, Nor hear the Zephyrs whispering to the deep.
Dark crimes the Queen is plotting, bent to die And tost with varying passions.