gladly on the lap of earth by the water’s side, having cast
lots for the oars, and take our ease dispersedly along the
dry beach. Sleep’s dew sprinkles our wearied limbs. Not 35
yet was night’s car entering the middle of its circle, drawn
by the unflagging hours, when Palinurus, with no thought
of sloth, springs from his bed, explores every wind, and
catches with his ears the voices of the air. All the stars
he notes, as they swim through the silent sky, looking
round on Arcturus, and the showery Hyades, and the
twin Bears, and Orion in his panoply of gold. Soon as