LI.

Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this guise? Or to more deeply blest Anchises? or, In all thy perfect Goddess-ship, when lies Before thee thy own vanquished Lord of War? And gazing in thy face as toward a star, Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, Feeding on thy sweet cheek![429] while thy lips are With lava kisses melting while they burn, Showered on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an urn!