They were out of sight of land, with only sea Around them on all sides, alone with ocean, Ocean and sky, when a cloud, black-blue, loomed over With night and tempest in it; the water roughened In shadow, and the pilot Palinurus Cried from the lofty stern. “What clouds are these Filling the sky? What threat is father Neptune Preparing over our heads? Trim ship,” he ordered, “Bend to the oars, reef down the sail.” The course Was changed, on a slant across the wind, and the pilot Turned to Aeneas: “With a sky like this, I’d have no hope of reaching Italy, Even if Jove himself should guarantee it. The winds have changed, they roar across our course From the black evening, thickening into cloud. We have no strength for headway. Luck is against us, Let us change the course, and follow. I remember Fraternal shores near by, the land of Eryx, Sicilian harbors; we were here before If I recall my stars.” Aeneas answered: “I saw it long ago, the will of the winds, The uselessness of struggle. Change the course, Steer to the land most welcome to me; there My friend Acestes dwells, and there my father Anchises lies at rest. What better land To rest our weary ships?” They made for the harbor, With favoring wind, a swift run over the water, A happy turn to a familiar shore. High on a hill-top look-out, king Acestes, Son of a Trojan mother and Crinisus, A river-god, saw friendly vessels coming, With wonder and delight, came hurrying toward them, With a bear-skin over his shoulder, and javelins Bristling in his grasp, and he remembered The old relationship, and gave them welcome With all his rustic treasure, a glad returning, Friendly assurance for their weariness. A good night’s rest, and a bright morning followed, And from the shore Aeneas called his comrades, Stood on a little rise of ground, and told them: “Great sons of Dardanus, heaven-born, a year Draws to an end, a year ago we buried My father in this land, and consecrated Sorrowful altars to his shade. The day Comes round again, which I shall always cherish, Always lament, with reverence, in the mourning, For the gods’ will. If I were held, an exile, In the Gaetulian quicksands, or a captive In some Greek ship or city, I would honor This day with solemn rites, and pile the altars With sacrificial offering. But now,-- This must be heaven’s purpose--we have entered A friendly harbor. Come, then, all of us, Let us be happy in our celebration, Let us pray for winds, and that the god hereafter Receive his rites in temples for his honor Built in the city we found. Two heads of oxen Acestes gives each vessel; bring the gods Of our own household, and the ones Acestes Pays worship to. Nine days from now, if dawn