e amazed, perceived
The storm let loose, the turmoil of the sky,
And ocean from its lowest depths upheaved.
With calm brow lifted o'er the sea, his eye
Beholds Troy's navy scattered far and nigh,
And by the waves and ruining heaven oppressed
The Trojan crews. Nor failed he to espy
His sister's wiles and hatred. East and West
He summoned to his throne, and thus his wrath expressed.

XIX. "What pride of birth possessed you, Earth and air
Without my leave to mingle in affray,
And raise such hubbub in my realm? Beware--
Yet first 'twere best these billows to allay.
Far other coin hereafter ye shall pay
For crimes like these. Presumptuous winds, begone,
And take your king this message, that the sway
Of Ocean and the sceptre and the throne
Fate gave to me, not him; the trident is my own.

XX. "He holds huge rocks; these, Eurus, are for thee,
There let him glory in his hall and reign,
But keep his winds close prisoners." Thus he,
And, ere his speech was ended, smoothed the main,
And chased the clouds and brought the sun again.
Triton, Cymothoe from the rock's sharp brow
Push off the vessels. Neptune plies amain
His trident-lever, lays the sandbanks low,
On light wheels shaves the deep, and calms the billowy flow.

XXI. As when in mighty multitudes bursts out
Sedition, and the wrathful rabble rave;
Rage finds them arms; stones, firebrands fly about,
Then if some statesman reverend and grave,
Stand forth conspicuous, and the tumult brave
All, hushed, attend; his guiding words restrain
Their angry wills; so sank the furious wave,
When through the clear sky looking o'er the main,
The sea-king lashed his steeds and slacked the favouring rein.

XXII. Tired out, the Trojans seek the nearest land
And turn to Libya.--In a far retreat
There lies a haven; towards the deep doth stand
An island, on whose jutting headlands beat
The broken billows, shivered into sleet.
Two towering crags, twin giants, guard the cove,
And threat the skies. The waters at their feet
Sleep hushed, and, like a curtain, frowns above,
Mixt with the glancing green, the darkness of the grove.

XXIII. Beneath a precipice, that fronts the wave,
With limpid springs inside, and many a seat
Of living marble, lies a sheltered cave,
Home of the Sea-Nymphs. In this haven sweet
Cable nor biting anchor moor