Her gaze, her whole heart is riveted on him now, and at times she even warms him snugly in her breast, for how can she know, poor Dido, what a mighty god is sinking into her, to her grief? 860 But he, recalling the wishes of his mother Venus, blots out the memory of Sychaeus bit by bit, trying to seize with a fresh, living love a heart at rest for long—long numb to passion.
