XXVII. Nor would I leave thee, Cinyras, untold, Liguria's chief, nor, though a few were thine, Cupavo. Emblem of his sire of old, The swan's white feathers on his helmet shine, Thy fault, O Love. When Cycnus, left to pine For Phaethon, the poplar shades among, Soothed his sad passion with the Muse divine, Old age with hoary plumage round him clung; Starward he soared from earth and, soaring up, still sung. XXVIII. Now comes his son, with his Ligurian bands, Oaring their bark. A Centaur from the prow Looms o'er the waves a-tiptoe, with his hands A vast rock heaving, as in act to throw; The long keel ploughs the furrowed deep below. Next, from his home the gallant Ocnus came, The son of Manto, who the Fates doth know, Brave child of Tiber. He his mother's name And walls to Mantua gave,--great Mantua, rich in fame, XXIX. And rich in heroes, though diversely bred. Three separate stems four-fold the state compose, Herself, of Tuscan origin, the head. Five hundred warriors, all Mezentius' foes, And armed for vengeance, from her walls arose. Mincius in front, veiled in his sedges grey (Fair stream, whose birth from sire Benacus flows), Shines on the poop, and seaward points the way; Swift speeds the bark of pine, with foemen for the fray. XXX. Last, huge Aulestes, rising with his row Of hundred oarsmen, beats the watery lea. The lashed deeps boil; big Triton from the prow Sounds his loud shell, that frights the sky-blue sea. Waist-high, a man with human face is he; All else, a fish; beneath his savage breast The white foam roars before him.--Such to see, Such, and so numerous was the host that pressed, Borne in their thirty ships, to succour Troy distrest. XXXI. Daylight had failed; to mid Olympus' gate Bright Phoebe drove her nightly-wandering wain. Tiller in hand, the good AEneas sate And trimmed the sails, while trouble tossed his brain. When lo! around him thronged the Sea-nymphs' train, Whom kind Cybele changed from ships of wood To rule, as goddesses, the watery main. As many as late, with brazen beaks, had stood Linked to the shore, now swim in even line the flood. XXXII. Far off, their king the goddesses beheld And danced around him joyously, and lo, Cymodocea, who in speech excelled, Clings to the stern; breast-high the nymph doth show; Her left hand oars the placid deep below. Then, "Watchest thou, AEneas, child divine? Watch on," she cries, "and let the canvas go. Behold us, sea-nymphs, once a grove of pine On Ida's sacred crest, the Trojans' ships and thine.