shoals, and embanks them in mounds of sand. One in
which the Lycians were sailing, and true Orontes, a 35
mighty sea strikes from high on the stem before Æneas’
very eyes; down goes the helmsman, washed from his
post, and topples on his head, while she is thrice whirled
round by the billow in the spot where she lay, and swallowed
at once by the greedy gulf. You might see them
here and there swimming in that vast abyss—heroes’
arms, and planks, and Troy’s treasures glimmering through
the water. Already Ilioneus’ stout ship, already brave 5