But he, not mindless of his mother’s pray’r,
Works in the pliant bosom of the fair,
And molds her heart anew, and blots her former care.
The dead is to the living love resign’d;
And all Aeneas enters in her mind.
Now, when the rage of hunger was appeas’d,
The meat remov’d, and ev’ry guest was pleas’d,
The golden bowls with sparkling wine are crown’d,
And thro’ the palace cheerful cries resound.
From gilded roofs depending lamps display
Nocturnal beams, that emulate the day.
A golden bowl, that shone with gems divine,
The queen commanded to be crown’d with wine:
The bowl that Belus us’d, and all the Tyrian line.
Then, silence thro’ the hall proclaim’d, she spoke:
“O hospitable Jove! we thus invoke,
With solemn rites, thy sacred name and pow’r;
Bless to both nations this auspicious hour!
So may the Trojan and the Tyrian line
In lasting concord from this day combine.
Thou, Bacchus, god of joys and friendly cheer,
And gracious Juno, both be present here!
And you, my lords of Tyre, your vows address
To Heav’n with mine, to ratify the peace.”
The goblet then she took, with nectar crown’d
(Sprinkling the first libations on the ground,)
And rais’d it to her mouth with sober grace;
Then, sipping, offer’d to the next in place.
’Twas Bitias whom she call’d, a thirsty soul;
He took challenge, and embrac’d the bowl,
With pleasure swill’d the gold, nor ceas’d to draw,
Till he the bottom of the brimmer saw.
The goblet goes around: Iopas brought
His golden lyre, and sung what ancient Atlas taught:
The various labors of the wand’ring moon,
And whence proceed th’ eclipses of the sun;
Th’ original of men and beasts; and whence
The rains arise, and fires their warmth dispense,
And fix’d and erring stars dispose their influence;
What shakes the solid earth; what cause delays
The summer nights and shortens winter days.
With peals of shouts the Tyrians praise the song:
Those peals are echo’d by the Trojan throng.
Th’ unhappy queen with talk prolong’d the night,
And drank large draughts of love with vast delight;
Of Priam much enquir’d, of Hector more;
Then ask’d what arms the swarthy Memnon wore,
What troops he landed on the Trojan shore;
The steeds of Diomede varied the discourse,
And fierce Achilles, with his matchless force;
