Nor any mortal shape appears in barrens of seawrack.
Thus at the latest hour with insults over-sufficient
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E'en to my plaints fere Fate begrudges ears that would hear me.
Jupiter! Lord of All-might, Oh would in days that are bygone
Ne'er had Cecropian poops toucht ground at Gnossian foreshore,
Nor to th' unconquered Bull that tribute direful conveying
Had the false Seaman bound to Cretan island his hawser,
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Nor had yon evil wight, 'neath shape the softest hard purpose