BOOK V.
Meantime Æneas in his bark
Sails on, his purpose firm and fast,
And cuts the billows, glooming dark
Beneath the wintry northern blast:
Oft to the town he turns his eyes,
Whence Dido's fires already rise.
What cause has lit so fierce a flame
They know not: but the pangs of shame
From great love wronged, and what despair
Can make a baffled woman dare—
All this they know, and knowing tread
The paths of presage, vague and dread.
The ships had passed into the main,
And land no longer met the eye;
On every side the watery plain,
On every side the expanse of sky,
When o'er his head a cloud there stood,
With night and tempest in its womb,
And all the surface of the flood
Was ruffled by the incumbent gloom.
E'en Palinure his fear confessed,
As from the stern he cries,
'Ah! why do clouds so dark invest
The compass of the skies,
Or what has Neptune sire in store?'
This said, he bids them ply the oar,
