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And brace each rope: himself the sail
Turns edgewise to the driving gale,
Then thus resumes: 'My gallant lord,
Though Jove himself should pledge his word,
I could not look to stem the seas
To Italy 'neath skies like these.
The winds are changed, and cross our path:
The West is darkening into wrath;
The dull air lowers in thickest mist:
Nor can we struggle or resist;
Come, let us bow to Fortune's sway,
And, as she beckons, shape our way.
Not distant far, I judge, there lies
Your brother Eryx' friendly shore,
Sicania's port, if right my eyes
Retrace the stars they watched before.'
Æneas spoke: 'Long since 'tis plain
The wind gives law, your toil is vain:
Let go the sheet and turn.
What country can I hold so sweet,
So welcome to my weary fleet,
As where Acestes lives and reigns,
True Trojan, and my sire's remains
Are resting in their urn?'
This said, they haste them to the bay:
The favouring Zephyrs speed their way:
Swift rides the navy o'er the main,
And soon the well-known strand they gain.

From mountain-top Acestes marks
The coming of the friendly barks,
And hies him down, in woodland trim
Of hunting-spear and bearskin grim,
Born of a dame of Trojan blood
From union with Crimisus' flood.