The Aeneid

Disdainfully she look'd; then turning round,
But fix'd her eyes unmov'd upon the ground,
And what he says and swears, regards no more

far from these Phoenician Dido stood,
Fresh from her wound, her bosom bath'd in blood;

Not far from these Phoenician Dido stood,
Fresh from her wound, her bosom bath'd in blood;

The Sisters had not cut the topmost hair,

Nor made her sacred to the shades below.

Was all this train of plots contriv'd," said

Clogg'd in the wound the cruel weapon stands;
The spouting blood came streaming on her hands.
Her sad attendants saw the deadly stroke,
And with loud cries the sounding palace shook.

Nor league, nor love, the hostile nations know!

land forsaken, and my love betray'd?
Shall we not arm? not rush from ev'ry street,
To follow, sink, and burn his perjur'd fleet?
Haste, haul my galleys out! pursue the foe!
Bring flaming brands! set sail, and swiftly row!

Had I continued free, and still my own;
Avoiding love, I had not found despair,
But shar'd with salvage beasts the common air.