XIX. "What pride of birth possessed you, Earth and air Without my leave to mingle in affray, And raise such hubbub in my realm? Beware-- Yet first 'twere best these billows to allay. Far other coin hereafter ye shall pay For crimes like these. Presumptuous winds, begone, And take your king this message, that the sway Of Ocean and the sceptre and the throne Fate gave to me, not him; the trident is my own. XX. "He holds huge rocks; these, Eurus, are for thee, There let him glory in his hall and reign, But keep his winds close prisoners." Thus he, And, ere his speech was ended, smoothed the main, And chased the clouds and brought the sun again. Triton, Cymothoe from the rock's sharp brow Push off the vessels. Neptune plies amain His trident-lever, lays the sandbanks low, On light wheels shaves the deep, and calms the billowy flow. XXI. As when in mighty multitudes bursts out Sedition, and the wrathful rabble rave; Rage finds them arms; stones, firebrands fly about, Then if some statesman reverend and grave, Stand forth conspicuous, and the tumult brave All, hushed, attend; his guiding words restrain Their angry wills; so sank the furious wave, When through the clear sky looking o'er the main, The sea-king lashed his steeds and slacked the favouring rein. XXII. Tired out, the Trojans seek the nearest land And turn to Libya.--In a far retreat There lies a haven; towards the deep doth stand An island, on whose jutting headlands beat The broken billows, shivered into sleet. Two towering crags, twin giants, guard the cove, And threat the skies. The waters at their feet Sleep hushed, and, like a curtain, frowns above, Mixt with the glancing green, the darkness of the grove. XXIII. Beneath a precipice, that fronts the wave, With limpid springs inside, and many a seat Of living marble, lies a sheltered cave, Home of the Sea-Nymphs. In this haven sweet Cable nor biting anchor moors the fleet. Here with seven ships, the remnant of his band, AEneas enters. Glad at length to greet The welcome earth, the Trojans leap to land, And lay their weary limbs still dripping on the sand. XXIV. First from a flint a spark Achates drew, And lit the leaves and dry wood heaped with care And set the fuel flaming, as he blew. Then, tired of toiling, from the ships they bear The sea-spoiled corn, and Ceres' tools prepare, And 'twixt the millstones grind the rescued grain And roast the pounded morsels for their fare: While up the crag AEneas climbs, to gain Full prospect far and wide, and scan the distant main.