“So now, masters of the land beyond our hope, we perform
lustrations to Jove, and set the altars ablaze with
our vows, and solemnize the shores of Actium[157] with the
native games of Troy. My comrades strip, and practise 30
the wrestle of the old country, all slippery with oil: what
joy to have passed in safety by all those Argive cities,
and held on our flight through the heart of the foe!
Meanwhile the sun rolls round the mighty year, and the
north winds of icy winter roughen the sea. A shield of 35
hollow brass, once borne by the great Abas, I fasten up