And thereafter the isles in the narrow Echinad strait that lie; {1230}
And Pelops’ land in the offing but now might they dimly descry:
Even then were they snatched away by the North-wind’s baleful blast
In mid course: on to the Libyan sea did it sweep them fast
Nine nights together, and days as many, until they had run
Into the Syrtis afar, wherefrom returning is none
For ships, when a storm-driven galley within that gulf shall be found.
For on every hand be shoals, and the tangled weed all round
Of the deep, and the salt foam-scum over all doth mantle and cling.
Into haziest distance stretcheth the land: no living thing