the arched back of the wave; down again, as the water
gives way under us, we sink to the place of death below.
Thrice the rocks shouted in our ears deep in their stony
hollows; twice we saw the foam dashed up, and the stars 20
all dripping. Meanwhile, tired and spent, we lose wind
and sunlight at once, and, in our ignorance of the way,
float to the land of the Cyclops.
“There is a haven, sheltered from the approach of the
winds, and spacious, were that all; but Ætna is near, 25
thundering with appalling crashes; at one time it hurls