But at night on the sea he descended, a tempest-Titan, to raise
The surge with his blasts wild-shrieking: a black mist shrouded the sky,
And never the gleam of a star might the mariners’ ken descry
Through the clouds, but over the sea’s face brooded murky gloom.
And the sons of Phrixus quaking for fear of a horrible doom
Were helplessly hurled o’er the surges, and drenched with the flying spume.
And the sail by the might of the blast was snatched away, and crashed
Their ship’s hull, shattered in twain by the breakers thereover that dashed. {1110}
Then by the Gods’ own prompting they clutched, and as one man clung
Those four to a mighty spar,—for that many an one had been flung