ge hastes the princely boy,
Prompt at the summons of his sire divine,
My prime solicitude, my chiefest joy,
Fraught with brave store of gifts, saved from the flames of Troy.

XC. "Him on Idalia, lulled into a dream,
Will I secrete, or on the sacred height
Of lone Cythera, lest he learn the scheme,
Or by his sudden presence mar the sleight.
Take thou his likeness, only for a night,
And wear the boyish features that are thine;
And when the queen, in rapture of delight,
Amid the royal banquet and the wine,
Shall lock thee in her arms, and press her lips to thine,

XCI. "Then steal into her bosom, and inspire
Through all her veins with unsuspected sleight
The poisoned sting of passion and desire."
Young Love obeys, and doffs his plumage light,
And, like Iulus, trips forth with delight.
She o'er Ascanius rains a soft repose,
And gently bears him to Idalia's height,
Where breathing marjoram around him throws
Sweet shade, and odorous flowers his slumbering limbs compose.

XCII. Forth Cupid, at his mother's word, repairs,
And merrily, for brave Achates led,
The royal presents to the Tyrians bears.
There, under gorgeous curtains, at the head
Sate Dido, throned upon a golden bed.
There, flocking in, the Trojans and their King
Recline on purple coverlets outspread.
Bread, heaped in baskets, the attendants bring,
Towels with smooth-shorn nap, and water from the spring.

XCIII. Within are fifty maidens, charged with care
To dress the food, and nurse the flames divine.
A hundred more, and youths like-aged, prepare
To load the tables and arrange the wine.
There, entering too, on broidered seats recline
The Tyrians, crowding through the festive court.
They praise the boy, his glowing looks divine,
The words he feigned, the royal gifts he brought,
The robe, the saffron veil with bright acanthus wrought.

XCIV. Doomed to devouring Love, the hapless queen
Burns as she gazes, with insatiate fire,
Charmed by his presents and his youthful mien:
He, fondly clinging to his fancied sire,
Gave all the love that parents' hearts desire,
Then seeks the queen. She, fixing on the boy
Her eyes, her soul, impatient to admire,
Now, fondling, folds him to her lap with joy;
Weetless, alas! what god is plotting to destroy.

XCV. True to his Paphian mother, trace by trace,
Slowly the Love-