Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/140

116 Defrauded of Hesperia's reign,

And barred from, lands the fates ordain.

Now too the messenger divine—

I swear it by your life and mine—

Comes down from Jove himself, to bear

Heaven's mandate through the bounding air.

I saw him pass the walls, and heard

E'en with these ears his warning word.

Then vex no more yourself and me:

'Tis Heaven, not I, that calls to sea.'

Thus, as he spoke, long time askance

She marked him with quick-darting glance,

Swept o'er his frame her silent eyes:

Then, blazing out in fury, cries:

'No goddess bore you, traitorous man:

No Dardanus your race began:

No—'twas from Caucasus you sprung,

And tigers nursed you with their young.

Why longer wear the mask, as though

I waited for some heavier blow?

Heaved he one sigh at tears of mine?

Moved he those hard impassive eyne?

Did one kind drop of pity fall

At thought of her who gave him all?

What first, what last? Now, now I know

Queen Juno's self has turned my foe:

Not e'en Saturnian Jove is just:

No faith on earth, in heaven no trust.

A shipwrecked wanderer up and down,

I made him share my home, my crown:

His shattered fleet, his needy crew

From fire and famine's jaws I drew.

Ah, Furies whirl me! now divine

Apollo, now the Lycian shrine,