stretched each by his oar along the hard benches—when
Sleep’s power, dropping lightly down from the stars of
heaven, parted the dusky air, and swam through the night,
in quest of you, poor Palinurus, with a fatal freight of
dreams for your guiltless head. The god has sat down 30
high on the stern, in the likeness of Phorbas, and these are
the words he utters: “Son of Iasus, Palinurus, the sea
itself is steering the fleet; the winds breathe evenly and
fully; it is slumber’s own hour; come, relax that strained
head, and let those weary eyes play truant from their toil. 35