flying in retreat, and snatched in the vehemence of his
soul at the empty hope: “Whither so fast, Æneas?”
cries he: “nay, leave not your promised bridal; this 20
hand shall give you the soil you have sought for the
ocean over.” So with loud shouts he follows, waving his
drawn sword, nor sees that the winds are bearing off his
triumph. It chanced that a ship was standing moored to
the edge of a lofty rock, its ladder let down, its bridge 25
ready to cross—the ship which had carried king Osinius
from the borders of Clusium. Hither, as in haste, the