XIX. "What pride of birth possessed you, Earth and air
Without my leave to mingle in affray,
And raise such hubbub in my realm? Beware—
Yet first 'twere best these billows to allay.
Far other coin hereafter ye shall pay
For crimes like these. Presumptuous winds, begone,
And take your king this message, that the sway
Of Ocean and the sceptre and the throne		163
Fate gave to me, not him; the trident is my own.
XX. "He holds huge rocks; these, Eurus, are for thee,
There let him glory in his hall and reign,
But keep his winds close prisoners." Thus he,
And, ere his speech was ended, smoothed the main,
And chased the clouds and brought the sun again.
Triton, Cymothoe from the rock's sharp brow
Push off the vessels. Neptune plies amain
His trident-lever, lays the sandbanks low,		172
On light wheels shaves the deep, and calms the billowy flow.
XXI. As when in mighty multitudes bursts out
Sedition, and the wrathful rabble rave;
Rage finds them arms; stones, firebrands fly about,
Then if some statesman reverend and grave,
Stand forth conspicuous, and the tumult brave
All, hushed, attend; his guiding words restrain
Their angry wills; so sank the furious wave,
When through the clear sky looking o'er the main,		181
The sea-king lashed his steeds and slacked the favouring rein.

XXII. Tired out, the Trojans seek the nearest land
And turn to Libya.—In a far retreat
There lies a haven; towards the deep doth stand
An island, on whose jutting headlands beat
The broken billows, shivered into sleet.
Two towering crags, twin giants, guard the cove,
And threat the skies. The waters at their feet
Sleep hushed, and, like a curtain, frowns above,		190
Mixt with the glancing green, the darkness of the grove.
XXIII. Beneath a precipice, that fronts the wave,
With limpid springs inside, and many a seat
Of living marble, lies a sheltered cave,
Home of the Sea-Nymphs. In this haven sweet
Cable nor biting anchor moors the fleet.
Here with seven ships, the remnant of his band,
Æneas enters. Glad at length to greet
The welcome earth, the Trojans leap to land,		199
And lay their weary limbs still dripping on the sand.
XXIV. First from a flint a spark Achates drew,
And lit the leaves and dry wood heaped with care
And set the fuel flaming, as he blew.
Then, tired of toiling, from the ships they bear
The sea-spoiled corn, and Ceres' tools prepare,
And 'twixt the millstones grind the rescued grain
And roast the pounded morsels for their fare:
While up the crag Æneas climbs, to gain		208
Full prospect far and wide, and scan the distant main.
XXV. If aught of Phrygian biremes he discern
Antheus or Capys, tost upon the seas,
Or arms of brave Caicus high astern.
No sail, but wandering on the shore he sees
Three stags, and, grazing up the vale at ease,
The whole herd troops behind them in a row.
He stops, and from Achates hastes to seize
His chance-brought arms, the arrows and the bow,		217
The branching antlers smites, and lays the leader low.

XXVI. Next fall the herd; and through the leafy glade
In mingled rout he drives the scattered train,
Plying his shafts, nor stays his conquering raid
Till seven huge bodies on the ground lie slain,
The number of his vessels; then again
He seeks the crews, and gives a deer to each,
Then opes the casks, which good [Acestes,] fain
At parting, filled on the [Trinacrian] beach,		226
And shares the wine, and soothes their drooping hearts with speech.