Roll out to the horizon. Such their name.
Here those whom Love remorseless and unkind
Devoured by dissolution, walk in peace
Down secret byways of a myrtle forest.
Here Phædra, Procris and sad Eriphyle
He saw, whom her fierce son had wounded sore,
Pasiphæ, Evadne: in their train
Laodamia, and that once a boy
Now woman, Cæneus, thus reshaped by doom.
Among them one love-pierced not long ago,–
Dido of Carthage roamed the tall grove through
Whom when Troy’s hero drawing near beheld,
Gliding through murk and shadow, as one sees
Or dreams to see through clouds the thin new moon,
He wept, calling her with a lover’s cry:–
"Dido ill-starred, but was it truth they told me,
Thy fate-—the self—sought ending by the sword?
To death I brought thee. O by the stars I swear
By the high gods and by all faith that holds
In Earth’s black core, unwilling, O my queen,
Sailed I away from Carthage. But the gods
They who now send me through this shadow world,
These lands so far, this oceanic night,
Drave me with uncharitable command
Nor could I dream sorrow as sharp as that
Should wait on my departure. But stay, stay!
I do not pass so soon: whom dost thou flee ?
Fate grants me thus to hail thee the last time!"
So tried Æneas through his tears to assuage
That shy wild spirit glancing round in fear:
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