Might none the space of one slow-circling year
Touch the firm soil, that portal enter’d once,
[217]But him the whirls of vexing hurricanes
Toss to and fro. E’en by immortals loathed
This prodigy of horror. There too stand
The mansions drear of gloomy Night, o’erspread
With blackening vapours: and before the doors
Atlas upholding heaven his forehead rears,
And indefatigable hands. There Night
And Day, near passing, mutual greeting still