And now as Trojan Aeneas, gazing in awe at all the scenes of Troy, stood there, spellbound, eyes fixed on the war alone, the queen aglow with beauty approached the temple, Dido, with massed escorts marching in her wake. 600 Like Diana urging her dancing troupes along the Eurotas’ banks or up Mount Cynthus’ ridge as a thousand mountain-nymphs crowd in behind her, left and right—with quiver slung from her shoulder, taller than any other goddess as she goes striding on and silent Latona thrills with joy too deep for words. Like Dido now, striding triumphant among her people, spurring on the work
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