Which lit e'en while it hid the watery way.
'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy,435
The broad plains left in lonely solitude.
The eager sailors ply the bending oars,
Hands aiding sails, and move their sturdy arms
With rhythmic swing. The furrowed waters gleam,
And sing along the sides, while rushing prows440
Besprinkle all the sea with hoary spray.
When fresher breezes fill our swelling sails,
We cease from toil, and, stretched along the thwarts,