A trireme that had wintered in the isle-- By stress of weather hindered in her way From Egypt to the shores of Italy-- Refitted now was ready to pursue Her destined voyage to Puteoli. The master's thought had been to put to sea That selfsame day whose beamy morn beheld The meeting on the hill in Melita; But the centurion intervened to bid Delay the sailing yet another day: His mind was with his prisoners to embark Himself on that Egyptian ship for Rome; And, partly out of kindly complaisance Toward Paul, and partly from a sympathy Unconscious, or ashamed and unconfessed Of interest in the tale that Mary told, He would not let the purposes he knew Engaged the Christians for that morn be crossed. The morrow morn full early they put forth On a smooth sea beneath a smiling sky. A concourse of the grateful islanders Flowed to the quay with signals of farewell And blessing and with honors manifold Lavished on Paul and for Paul's sake on them That with him sailed; nor only eager words Brought they and tears of reverence and of love, But bounty in unbounded store of all Things needful to sustain those travellers' cheer. So, sail and oar, they steered for Syracuse; There for three days they tarried, and thence north Warping their way in variance with the wind Touched Rhegium where another day they bide. Then, the south blowing, they once more set sail And the next day attained Puteoli.