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Therefore to winged Love she speaks these words:

'Son, who art alone my strength and sovereignty, son, who scornest the
mighty father's Typhoian shafts, to thee I fly for succour, and sue
humbly to thy deity. How Aeneas thy brother is driven about all the
sea-coasts by bitter Juno's malignity, this thou knowest, and hast often
grieved in our grief. Now Dido the Phoenician holds him stayed with soft
words, and I tremble to think how the welcome of Juno's house may issue;
she will not be idle in this supreme turn of fortune. Wherefore I
counsel to prevent her wiles and circle the queen with flame, that,
unalterable by any deity, she may be held fast to me by passionate love
for Aeneas. Take now my thought how to do this. The boy prince, my
chiefest care, makes ready at his dear father's summons to go to the
Sidonian city, carrying gifts that survive the sea and the flames of
Troy. Him will I hide deep asleep in my holy habitation, high on
Cythera's hills or in Idalium, that he may not know nor cross our wiles.
Do thou but for one night feign his form, and, boy as thou art, put on
the familiar face of a boy; so when in festal cheer, amid royal dainties
and Bacchic juice, Dido shall take thee to her lap, shall fold thee in
her clasp and kiss thee close and sweet, thou mayest imbreathe a hidden
fire and unsuspected poison. '

Love obeys his dear mother's words, lays by his wings, and walks
rejoicingly with Iulus' tread. But Venus pours gentle dew of slumber on
Ascanius' limbs, and lifts him lulled in her lap to the tall Idalian
groves of her deity, where soft amaracus folds him round with the
shadowed sweetness of its odorous blossoms. And now, obedient to her
words, Cupid went merrily in Achates' guiding, with the royal gifts for
the Tyrians. Already at his coming the queen hath sate her down in the
midmost on her golden [699-733]throne under the splendid tapestries;
now lord Aeneas, now too the men of Troy gather, and all recline on the
strewn purple. Servants pour water on their hands, serve corn from
baskets, and bring napkins with close-cut pile. Fifty handmaids are
within, whose task is in their course to keep unfailing store and kindle
the household fire. An hundred others, and as many pages all of like
age, load the board with food and array the wine cups.
Therewithal the
Tyrians are gathered full in the wide feasting chamber, and take their
appointed places on the broidered cushions. They marvel at Aeneas'
gifts, marvel at Iulus, at the god's face aflame and forged speech, at
the mantle and veil wrought with yellow acanthus-flower. Above all the
hapless Phoenician, victim to coming doom, cannot satiate her soul, but,
stirred alike by the boy and the gifts, she gazes and takes fire. He,
when hanging clasped on Aeneas' neck he had satisfied all the deluded
parent's love, makes his way to the queen; the queen clings to him with
her eyes and all her soul, and ever and anon fondles him in her lap, ah,
poor Dido! witless how mighty a deity sinks into her breast; but he,
mindful of his mother the Acidalian, begins touch by touch to efface
Sychaeus, and sows the surprise of a living love in the
long-since-unstirred spirit and disaccustomed heart. Soon as the noise
of banquet ceased and the board was cleared, they set down great bowls
and enwreathe the wine. The house is filled with hum of voices eddying
through the spacious chambers; lit lamps hang down by golden chainwork,
and flaming tapers expel the night. Now the queen called for a heavy cup
of jewelled gold, and filled it with pure wine; therewith was the use of
Belus and all of Belus' race: then the hall was silenced. 'Jupiter,' she
cries, 'for thou art reputed lawgiver of hospitality, grant that this be
a joyful day to the Tyrians and the voyagers from Troy, a day to live in
our children's memory. [734-756]Bacchus, the giver of gladness, be with
us, and Juno the bountiful; and you, O Tyrians, be favourable to our
assembly. ' She spoke, and poured liquid libation on the board, which
done, she first herself touched it lightly with her lips, then handed it
to Bitias and bade him speed; he valiantly drained the foaming cup, and
flooded him with the brimming gold. The other princes followed.
Long-haired Iopas on his gilded lyre fills the chamber with songs
ancient Atlas taught; he sings of the wandering moon and the sun's
travails; whence is the human race and the brute, whence water and fire;
of Arcturus, the rainy Hyades, and the twin Oxen; why wintry suns make
such haste to dip in ocean, or what delay makes the nights drag
lingeringly. Tyrians and Trojans after them redouble applause.
Therewithal Dido wore the night in changing talk, alas! and drank long
draughts of love, asking many a thing of Priam, many a thing of Hector;
now in what armour the son of the Morning came; now of what fashion were
Diomede's horses; now of mighty Achilles.