His bosom fenced brass triply stout,
Who first in fragile bark put out,
Braving the ocean; undeterr’d
By south-west winds, in contest dire
With north-east blasts; sad Hyades,
Or by the south wind’s fiercer ire,
Lord o’er the Adriatic seas
Calm’d at its sovereign will, or stirr’d.
III.
What shapes of death could him affright,