Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- So saying, he grasped his rudder tight, and clung
- more firmly, fixing on the stars his eyes.
- Then waved the god above his brows a branch
- wet with the dews of Lethe and imbued
- with power of Stygian dark, until his eyes
- wavered and slowly sank. The slumberous snare
- had scarce unbound his limbs, when, leaning o'er,
- the god upon the waters flung him forth,
- hands clutching still the helm and ship-rail torn,
- and calling on his comrades, but in vain.
- Then soared th' immortal into viewless air;
- and in swift course across the level sea
- the fleet sped safe, protected from all fear
- by Neptune's vow. Yet were they drawing nigh
- the sirens' island-steep, where oft are seen
- white, bleaching bones, and to the distant ear
- the rocks roar harshly in perpetual foam.
- Then of his drifting fleet and pilot gone
- Aeneas was aware, and, taking helm,
- steered through the midnight waves, with many a sigh;
- and, by his comrade's pitiable death
- sore-smitten, cried, “O, thou didst trust too far
- fair skies and seas, and liest without a grave,
- my Palinurus, in a land unknown!”