sacred shrine, so that he may by no means learn my wiles or come between to thwart them.

For but a single night, feign by craft his form and, boy that you are, don the boy’s familiar face, so that when, in the fullness of her joy, amid the royal feast and the flowing wine, Dido takes you to her bosom, embraces you and imprints sweet kisses, you may breathe into her a hidden fire and beguile her with your poison.” Love obeys his dear mother’s words, lays by his wings, and walks joyously with the step of Iulus. But Venus pours over the limbs of Ascanius the dew of gentle repose and, fondling him in her bosom, uplifts him with divine power to Idalia’s high groves, where soft marjoram enwraps him in flowers and the breath of its sweet shade.

And now, obedient to her