a name on Hesperia’s mighty seaboard is thy monument,
if that be renown. So when good Æneas had paid the last 5
dues and raised a funeral mound, and had waited for the
calming of the deep, he spreads sail and leaves the harbour.
Nightward the breezes blow, nor does the fair Moon scorn
to show the way: her rippling light makes the sea shine
again. The next land they skirt is the coast of Circe’s 10
realm, where in queenly state the daughter of the Sun
thrills her forest fastness with never-ending song, and in
her haughty mansion burns fragrant cedar to give light by