Yet firm it stands; high as its crown
Towers up to heaven, so deep goes down
Its root to worlds below:
So in this storm of prayers the chief
Thrills through and through with manly grief:
Unchanged his heart's resolves remain,
And falling tears are idle rain.
Then, maddened by her destiny,
Unhappy Dido prays to die:
'Tis weary to look up and see
The overarching sky.
It chanced, to fortify her heart
And steel her purpose to depart,
Before the altar as she stands
She sees a blackness gather o'er
The chalice mantling in her hands,
And wine—O horror!—turns to gore.
Not e'en into her sister's ear
She dared to breathe that tale of fear.
Beside, within her courts a fane
There stood, of marble's purest grain,
Where oft she went[errata 1] to render vows:—
The chapel of her ancient spouse,
Wreathed with white wool and sacred boughs:
Thence, when the dark was over all,
There came a sighing and a call,
As in the dead man's tone:
And midnight's solitary bird,
Death-boding, from the roof was heard
To make its long, long moan.
And prophecies of bygone seers
Ring terror in her wildered ears.
Æneas with unpitying face
Still hounds her in a nightly chase:
