From Ilion ill winds cast me on the coast The Cicons hold, where I employ’d mine host For Ismarus, a city built just by My place of landing; of which victory Made me expugner. I depeopled it, Slew all the men, and did their wives remit, With much spoil taken; which we did divide, That none might need his part. I then applied All speed for flight; but my command therein, Fools that they were, could no observance win Of many soldiers, who, with spoil fed high, Would yet fill higher, and excessively Fell to their wine, gave slaughter on the shore Clov’n-footed beeves and sheep in mighty store. In mean space, Cicons did to Cicons cry, When, of their nearest dwellers, instantly Many and better soldiers made strong head, That held the continent, and managéd Their horse with high skill, on which they would fight, When fittest cause serv’d, and again alight, With soon seen vantage, and on foot contend. Their concourse swift was, and had never end; As thick and sudden ’twas, as flow’rs and leaves Dark spring discovers, when she light receives.[4] And then began the bitter Fate of Jove To alter us unhappy, which ev’n strove To give us suff’rance. At our fleet we made Enforcéd stand; and there did they invade Our thrust-up forces; darts encounter’d darts, With blows on both sides; either making parts Good upon either, while the morning shone, And sacred day her bright increase held on, Though much out-match’d in number; but as soon As Phœbus westward fell, the Cicons won Much hand of us; six proved soldiers fell, Of ev’ry ship, the rest they did compel! To seek of Flight escape from Death and Fate.