Of the buffeting winds was the blast of their breath, when the seafarers quail
At their yelling above all else, and furl the straining sail.
Yet it was not long ere the beasts, as the stern spear bade them to toil,
Moved on, and behind them was broken the fallow’s rugged soil {1330}
Cloven apart by the might of the bulls and the ploughman strong.
And terribly crashed and groaned, the ploughshare’s furrows along,
The clods uprent, of a man’s load each, and with sturdy stride
Trampling the path the hero followed, and aye flung wide
The teeth of the serpent over the clods upheaved by the share,
Ever heedfully turning his head, lest haply, or e’er he was ware,