408
VIRGIL's
Æn. III.
My Sire Anchises crown'd a Cup with Wine:
And off'ring, thus implor'd the Pow'rs Divine.
Ye Gods, presiding over Lands and Seas, 690
And you who raging Winds and Waves appease,
Breath on our swelling Sails a prosp'rous Wind,
And smooth our Passage to the Port assign'd.
The gentle Gales their flagging force renew;
And now the happy Harbour is in view. 695
Minerva's Temple then salutes our sight;
Plac'd, as a Land-mark, on the Mountains height:
We furl our Sails, and turn the Prows to shore;
The curling Waters round the Galleys roar:
The Land lies open to the raging East, 700
Then, bending like a Bow, with Rocks compress'd,
Shuts out the Storms; the Winds and Waves complain,
And vent their malice on the Cliffs in vain.
The Port lies hid within; on either side
Two Tow'ring Rocks the narrow mouth divide. 705
The Temple, which aloft we view'd before,
To distance flies, and seems to shun the Shore.
Scarce landed, the first Omens I beheld
Were four white Steeds that crop'd the flow'ry Field.
War, War is threaten'd from this Foreign Ground,
(My Father cry'd) where warlike Steeds are found. 711
Yet, since reclaim'd to Chariots they submit,
And bend to stubborn Yokes, and champ the Bitt,
Peace may succeed to War. Our way we bend
To Pallas, and the sacred Hill ascend. 715
And off'ring, thus implor'd the Pow'rs Divine.
Ye Gods, presiding over Lands and Seas, 690
And you who raging Winds and Waves appease,
Breath on our swelling Sails a prosp'rous Wind,
And smooth our Passage to the Port assign'd.
The gentle Gales their flagging force renew;
And now the happy Harbour is in view. 695
Minerva's Temple then salutes our sight;
Plac'd, as a Land-mark, on the Mountains height:
We furl our Sails, and turn the Prows to shore;
The curling Waters round the Galleys roar:
The Land lies open to the raging East, 700
Then, bending like a Bow, with Rocks compress'd,
Shuts out the Storms; the Winds and Waves complain,
And vent their malice on the Cliffs in vain.
The Port lies hid within; on either side
Two Tow'ring Rocks the narrow mouth divide. 705
The Temple, which aloft we view'd before,
To distance flies, and seems to shun the Shore.
Scarce landed, the first Omens I beheld
Were four white Steeds that crop'd the flow'ry Field.
War, War is threaten'd from this Foreign Ground,
(My Father cry'd) where warlike Steeds are found. 711
Yet, since reclaim'd to Chariots they submit,
And bend to stubborn Yokes, and champ the Bitt,
Peace may succeed to War. Our way we bend
To Pallas, and the sacred Hill ascend. 715
