Yet one remain’d— the messenger of Fate: High on a craggy cliff Celaeno sate, And thus her dismal errand did relate: ’What! not contented with our oxen slain, Dare you with Heav’n an impious war maintain, And drive the Harpies from their native reign?
Aeneas went Sad from the cave, and full of discontent, Unknowing whom the sacred Sibyl meant.
I wish, contented with my cares Of salvage spoils, she had not sought the wars!
They shrink for fear, abated of their rage, Nor longer dare in a blind fight engage; Contented now to gall them from below With darts and slings, and with the distant bow.
Thus half-contented, anxious in his mind, The distant cries come driving in the wind, Shouts from the walls, but shouts in murmurs drown’d; A jarring mixture, and a boding sound.
Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars, Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores, Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign, And plowing frothy furrows in the main; When, lab’ring still with endless discontent, The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent: "Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?" said she, "And must the Trojans reign in Italy?
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She grew more contented with age.
It’s hard to get her to consider a change because she is so contented with the way things are.