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118
THE ÆNEID.

And timber shapeless as it grew,
In zeal to fly, the eager crew:
You see them hurry to the shore
And forth from all the city pour:
E'en as when ants industrious toil
Some mighty heap of corn to spoil,
And mindful of the cold to come
Convey their new-won booty home:
There moves the column long and black,
And threads the grass with one thin track:
Some labouring with their shoulders strong
Heave huge and heavy grains along:
Some force the stragglers into file:
The pathway seethes and glows the while.
What felt you, Dido, in that hour?
What groans escaped you then,
Beholding from your lofty tower
The coast alive with men,
And all the port before your eyes
One tumult of conflicting cries?
Curst love! what lengths of tyrant scorn
Wreak'st not on those of woman born?
Once more affection's tear must start,
Once more must prayers essay their art;
Once more that high and haughty soul
Must suppliant stoop to love's control,
Lest aught of aid untried remain,
And Dido rush on death in vain.

'See, Anna, how their crews collect;
O'er all the shore they crowd:
The sails are spread; the stems are decked
With festal garlands proud.
Enough; my heart foresaw this ill,
And, sister, I shall bear it still.