“Æolus—for it is to thee that the sire of gods and king of men has given it with the winds now to calm, now to rouse the billows—there is a race which I love not now sailing the Tyrrhene[29] sea, carrying Ilion[30] into Italy and Ilion’s vanquished gods; do thou lash the winds to fury, 20 sink and whelm their ships, or scatter them apart, and strew the ocean with their corpses. Twice seven nymphs are of my train, all of surpassing beauty; of these her whose form is fairest, Deiopea, I will unite to thee in lasting wedlock, and consecrate her thy own, that all her days, for a 25 service so great, she may pass with thee, and make thee father of a goodly progeny.” Æolus returns: “Thine, great Queen, is the task to search out on what thou mayest fix thy heart; for me to do thy bidding[31] is but right. Thou makest this poor realm 30 mine, mine the sceptre and Jove’s smile; thou givest me a couch at the banquets of the gods, and makest me lord of the storm-cloud and of the tempest.” So soon as this was said, he turned his spear, and pushed the hollow mountain on its side; and the winds, as though 35 in column formed, rush forth[32] where they see any outlet, and sweep over the earth in hurricane. Heavily they fall[33] on the sea, and from its very bottom crash down the whole expanse—one and all, east and south, and south-west, with his storms thronging at his back, and roll huge billows shoreward. Hark to the shrieks of the crew, and the creaking of the cables! In an instant the clouds snatch sky and daylight[34] from the Teucrians’ eyes—night 5 lies on the deep, black and heavy—pole thunders to pole; heaven flashes thick with fires, and all nature brandishes instant death in the seaman’s face. At once Æneas’[35] limbs are unstrung and chilled[36]—he groans aloud, and, stretching his clasped hands to the stars, 10 fetches from his breast words like these:—“O happy, thrice[37] and again, whose lot it was, in their fathers’ sight, under Troy’s high walls to meet death! O thou, the bravest of the Danaan race, Tydeus’ son,[38] why was it not mine to lay me low on Ilion’s plains, and yield this fated life to 15 thy right hand? Aye, there it is that Hector,[39] stern as in life, lies stretched by the spear of Æacides[40]—there lies Sarpedon’s[41] giant bulk—there it is that Simois[42] seizes and sweeps down her channel those many shields and helms, and bodies of the brave!” 20