Aeneas, setting sail from Afric, is driven by a storm on the coast of Sicily, where he is hospitably received by his friend Acestes, king of part of the island, and born of Trojan parentage. He applies himself to celebrate the memory of his father with divine honours, and accordingly institues funeral games, and appoints prizes for those who should conquer in them. While the ceremonies are performing, Juno sends Iris to persuade the Trojan woman to burn the ships, who, upon her instigation, set fire to them: which burned four, and would have consumed the rest, had not Jupiter, by a miraculous shower extinguished it. Upon this, Aeneas, by the advice of one of his generals, and a vision of his father, builds a city for the women, old men, and others, who were either unfit for war, or weary of the voyage, and sails for Italy. Venus procures of Neptune a safe voyage for him and all his men, excepting only his pilot Palinurus, who was unfortunately lost. Meantime the Trojan cuts his wat’ry way, Fix’d on his voyage, thro’ the curling sea; Then, casting back his eyes, with dire amaze, Sees on the Punic shore the mounting blaze. The cause unknown; yet his presaging mind The fate of Dido from the fire divin’d; He knew the stormy souls of womankind, What secret springs their eager passions move, How capable of death for injur’d love. Dire auguries from hence the Trojans draw; Till neither fires nor shining shores they saw. Now seas and skies their prospect only bound; An empty space above, a floating field around. But soon the heav’ns with shadows were o’erspread; A swelling cloud hung hov’ring o’er their head: Livid it look’d, the threat’ning of a storm: Then night and horror ocean’s face deform. The pilot, Palinurus, cried aloud: “What gusts of weather from that gath’ring cloud My thoughts presage! Ere yet the tempest roars, Stand to your tackle, mates, and stretch your oars; Contract your swelling sails, and luff to wind.” The frighted crew perform the task assign’d. Then, to his fearless chief: “Not Heav’n,” said he, “Tho’ Jove himself should promise Italy, Can stem the torrent of this raging sea. Mark how the shifting winds from west arise, And what collected night involves the skies! Nor can our shaken vessels live at sea, Much less against the tempest force their way. ’Tis fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey. Not far from hence, if I observ’d aright The southing of the stars, and polar light, Sicilia lies, whose hospitable shores In safety we may reach with struggling oars.” Aeneas then replied: “Too sure I find We strive in vain against the seas and wind: Now shift your sails; what place can please me more