His spear-butt struck the hollow mountain-side, And the winds, wherever they could, came sweeping forth, Whirled over the land, swooped down upon the ocean. East, South, Southwest, they heave the billows, howl, Storm, roll the giant combers toward the shore. Men cry; the rigging creaks and strains; the clouds Darken, and men see nothing; a weight of darkness Broods over the deep; the heavy thunder rumbles From pole to pole; the lightning rips and dazzles; There is no way out but death. Aeneas shudders In the chill shock, and lifts both hands to heaven:-- “O happy men, thrice happy, four times happy, Who had the luck to die, with their fathers watching Below the walls of Troy! Ah, Diomedes, Bravest of Greeks, why could I not have fallen, Bleeding my life away on plains of Ilium In our encounter there, where mighty Hector Went down before Achilles’ spear, and huge Sarpedon lay in dust, and Simois river Rolled to the sea so many noble heroes, All drowned in all their armor?” And the gale Howls from the north, striking the sail, head on; The waves are lifted to the stars; the oars Are broken, and the prow slews round; the ship Lies broadside on; a wall of water, a mountain, Looms up, comes pouring down; some ride the crest, Some, in the trough, can see the boil of the sand. The South wind hurls three ships on the hidden rocks, That sea-reef which Italians call the Altars; The West takes three, sweeping them from the deep On shoal and quicksand; over the stern of one, Before Aeneas’ eyes, a great sea falls, Washing the helmsman overboard; the ship Whirls thrice in the suck of the water and goes down In the devouring gulf; and here and there A few survivors swim, the Lycian men Whose captain was Orontes; now their arms, Their Trojan treasures, float with the broken timbers On the swing and slide of the waves. The storm, triumphant, Rides down more boats, and more; there goes Achates; Abas, Aletes, Ilioneus, Receive the hostile water; the walls are broken; The enemy pours in.