Behold how, rent to sorrow’s note,
My linen robes all loosely float,
And my Sidonian veil!
STROPHE VII.
And yet, in that slight timbered house, well-armed
With frequent-plashing oar,
Stiff sail and cordage straining, all unharmed
By winter’s stormy roar,
We reached this Argive shore.
Safely so far. May Jove, the all-seeing, send