So, in her fevered heart complaining still,unto the storm-cloud land the goddess came,a region with wild whirlwinds in its womb,Aeolia named, where royal Aeolusin a high-vaulted cavern keeps controlo'er warring winds and loud concourse of storms.There closely pent in chains and bastions strong,they, scornful, make the vacant mountain roar,chafing against their bonds. But from a throneof lofty crag, their king with sceptred handallays their fury and their rage confines.Did he not so, our ocean, earth, and skywere whirled before them through the vast inane.But over-ruling Jove, of this in fear,hid them in dungeon dark: then o'er them piledhuge mountains, and ordained a lawful kingto hold them in firm sway, or know what time,with Jove's consent, to loose them o'er the world.To him proud Juno thus made lowly plea:

“Thou in whose hands the Father of all godsand Sovereign of mankind confides the powerto calm the waters or with winds upturn,great Aeolus! a race with me at warnow sails the Tuscan main towards Italy,bringing their Ilium and its vanquished powers.Uprouse thy gales. Strike that proud navy down!Hurl far and wide, and strew the waves with dead!Twice seven nymphs are mine, of rarest mould;of whom Deiopea, the most fair,I give thee in true wedlock for thine own,to mate thy noble worth; she at thy sideshall pass long, happy years, and fruitful bringher beauteous offspring unto thee their sire.”