XV. "'Thence Troy's great sire, if I remember right, Old Teucer, to Rhoeteum crossed the flood, And for his future kingdom chose a site. Nor yet proud Ilion nor her towers had stood; In lowly vales sequestered they abode. Thence Corybantian cymbals clashed and brayed In praise of Cybele. In Ida's wood Her mystic rites in secrecy were paid, And lions, yoked in pomp, their sovereign's car conveyed. XVI. "'Come then and seek we, as the gods command, The Gnosian kingdoms, and the winds entreat. Short is the way, nor distant lies the land. If Jove be present and assist our fleet, The third day lands us on the shores of Crete.' So spake he and on altars, reared aright, Due victims offered, and libations meet; A bull to Neptune and Apollo bright, To tempest a black lamb, to Western winds a white. XVII. "Fame flies, Idomeneus has left the land, Expelled his kingdom; that the shore lies clear Of foes, and homes are ready to our hand. Ortygia's port we leave, and skim the mere; Soon Naxos' Bacchanalian hills appear, And past Olearos and Donysa, crowned With trees, and Paros' snowy cliffs we steer. Far-scattered shine the Cyclades renowned, And clustering isles thick-sown in many a glittering sound. XVIII. "Loud rise the shouts of sailors to the sky; 'Crete and our fathers,' rings for all to hear The cry of oarsmen. Through the deep we fly; Behind us sings the stern breeze loud and clear. So to the shores of ancient Crete we steer. There in glad haste I trace the wished-for town, And call the walls 'Pergamea,' and cheer My comrades, glorying in the name well-known, The castled keep to raise, and guard the loved hearth-stone. XIX. "Scarce stand the vessels hauled upon the beach, And bent on marriages the young men vie To till new settlements, while I to each Due law dispense and dwelling place supply, When from a tainted quarter of the sky Rank vapours, gathering, on my comrades seize, And a foul pestilence creeps down from high On mortal limbs and standing crops and trees, A season black with death, and pregnant with disease. XX. "Sweet life from mortals fled; they drooped and died. Fierce Sirius scorched the fields, and herbs and grain Were parched, and food the wasting crops denied. Once more Anchises bids us cross the main And seek Ortygia, and the god constrain By prayer to pardon and advise, what end Of evils to expect? what woes remain? What fate hereafter shall our steps attend? What rest for toil-worn men, and whitherward to wend?