Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/136

112 His sword-hilt gleamed with jasper-stone:

A scarf was o'er his shoulders thrown

Of Tyrian purple: Dido's loom

Had streaked with gold its glowing bloom.

The god begins:—'And here you stay,

Content the obsequious lord to play

And beautify your lady's town,

Indifferent to your own renown!

He, he, the Sire, enthroned on high,

Whose nod strikes awe through earth and sky,

He sends me down, and bids me bear

His mandate through the bounding air.

What make you here? what cherished scheme

Tempts you in Libyan land to dream?

If zeal no more your soul inflame

To labour for your own fair fame,

Let young Ascanius claim your care:

Regard the promise of your heir,

To whom, by warranty of fate,

The Italian crown, the Roman state,

Of right are owing.' Hermes said,

And e'en in speaking passed and fled:

One moment beamed on mortal eyes,

Then mingled with the ambient skies.

Æneas heard, aghast, amazed,

His speech tongue-tied, his hair upraised.

Appalled by Heaven's austere command,

He yearns to leave the dear, dear land.

But how to fly? or how accost

The queen, by eddying passion tost?

How charm the ravings of distress?

What choice to make, when hundreds press?

So by conflicting cares distraught,

This way and that he whirls his thought,