dwelling and enclose it with a furrow. They ordain justice and
magistrates, and the august senate. Here some are digging harbours, here
others lay the deep foundations of their theatre, and hew out of the
cliff vast columns, the lofty ornaments of the stage to be: even as bees
when summer is fresh over the flowery country ply their task beneath the
sun, when they lead forth their nation's grown brood, or when they press
the liquid honey and strain their cells with nectarous sweets, or
relieve the loaded incomers, or in banded array drive the idle herd of
drones far from their folds; they swarm over their work, and the odorous
honey smells sweet of thyme. 'Happy they whose city already rises!'
cries Aeneas, looking on the town roofs below. Girt in the cloud he
passes amid them, wonderful to tell, and mingling with the throng is
descried of none.

In the heart of the town was a grove deep with luxuriant shade, wherein
first the Phoenicians, buffeted by wave and whirlwind, dug up the token
Queen Juno had appointed, the head of a war horse: thereby was their
race to be through all ages illustrious in war and opulent in living.
Here to Juno was Sidonian Dido founding a vast temple, rich with
offerings and the sanctity of her godhead: brazen steps rose on the
threshold, brass clamped the pilasters, doors of brass swung on grating
hinges. First in this grove did a strange chance meet his steps and
allay his fears; first here did Aeneas dare to hope for safety and have
fairer trust in his shattered fortunes. For while he closely scans the
temple that towers above him, while, awaiting the queen, he admires the
fortunate city, the emulous hands and elaborate work of her craftsmen,
he sees ranged in order the [457-491]battles of Ilium, that war whose
fame was already rumoured through all the world, the sons of Atreus and
Priam, and Achilles whom both found pitiless. He stopped and cried
weeping, 'What land is left, Achates, what tract on earth that is not
full of our agony? Behold Priam! Here too is the meed of honour, here
mortal estate touches the soul to tears. Dismiss thy fears; the fame of
this will somehow bring thee salvation.'

So speaks he, and fills his soul with the painted show, sighing often
the while, and his face wet with a full river of tears. For he saw, how
warring round the Trojan citadel here the Greeks fled, the men of Troy
hard on their rear; here the Phrygians, plumed Achilles in his chariot
pressing their