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She ended. He by Jove's behest
His eyes unblenching held,
And prisoned deep within his breast
The grief that upward swelled:
Then briefly spoke: 'Your favours count,
I question not the vast amount;
While memory lasts and pulses beat,
The thought of Dido shall be sweet.
Now hear my plea, fair queen, in brief;
I hoped not, trust me, like a thief,
By stealth to quit your coast:
I never lit the marriage flame,
Nor gloried in a husband's name:
The covenant to which I came
Spoke but of guest and host.
Would Fate indulge me at my will,
My lot to mould, my cares to still,
Old Troy should claim my chiefest pains
To wake to life its dear remains,
And Priam's hall and Priam's tower
Should nurse the vanquished into power.
But now Grynean prophecies
On Latium bid me fix my eyes;
For Latium Lycia's lots declare:
There is my heart, my home is there.
If, Tyrian born, you linger here,
And find a Libyan city dear,
Why grudge to Troy her Latian home?
We too have realms beyond the foam.
My sire, Anchises, oft as night
Invests the world, and stars are bright,
Warns me in sleep with wrathful frown,
And scares me on my couch of down.
Yet louder pleads the injury done
Each moment to my darling son,