but stands no longer. A banished man, I am wafted into
the deep with my comrades and my son, my household 15
gods and their mighty brethren.
“In the distance lies the land of the war-god, inhabited,
in vast extent—the Thracians are its tillers—subject
erewhile to Lycurgus’[141] savage sway, bound by old hospitality
to Troy, their household gods friends of ours, while 20
our star yet shone. Hither I am wafted, and on the
bending line of coast trace the outline of a city, a commencement
made in an evil hour, and call the new nation