Or tell old tales of war: brave Hector's threats, His corpse dishonored, and again restored To purchased honors of the funeral pyre; And Priam sprinkling with his royal blood The sacred altar of Hercean Jove. Then to and fro amid the briny sea The dolphins sport, and leap the heaving waves 450 With arching backs; now race in circles wide, Now swim beside us in a friendly band, Now dash ahead or follow in our wake; Anon in wanton sport they smite our prows, And so our thousand rushing barks surround. 455 Now sinks the shore from view, the spreading plains; And far-off Ida seems a misty cloud. And now, what but the sharpest eye can see, Troy's rising smoke blurs dim the distant sky. The sun was bringing weary mortals rest, 460 And waning day was giving place to night; When clouds began to fill the western sky, And dim the luster of the sinking sun-- The grim prognostic of a rising gale. Young night had spangled all the sky with stars, 465 And empty sails hung languid on the masts; When low, foreboding sighings of the wind Spring from our landward side; the hidden shore Resounds afar with warning mutterings; The rising waves anticipate the storm; 470 The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid, The sea leaps skyward, and the sky is gone. Gloom broods o'er all, but not of night alone; For blinding mists add blackness to the night, And murky waves with murky sky contend. Then in concerted rush from every hand The winds fall roughly on the ravished sea, And heave its boiling billows from the depths; 475 While east with west wind struggles, south with north. Each wields his wonted arms to lash the sea: The fierce Strymonian blast with rattling hail Roars on, and Libyan Auster heaps the waves Upon the seething sands. Nor those alone 480 Provoke the strife: for raving Notus first Grows big with bursting clouds and swells the waves; And boisterous Eurus shakes the Orient, The far Arabian realms and morning seas. What dire disaster did fierce Corus work, His dark face gleaming forth upon the deep? We thought the very heavens would be rent, 485 The gods fall down from out the riven sky, And all revert to chaos as of old. The waves opposed the winds, the winds in turn Hurled back the warring waves. Nor was the sea Within itself contained; but, lifted high, It mingled with the streaming floods of heaven. 490 Nor were we solaced in our dreadful plight By open view and knowledge of our ills; For darkness like the murky night of Styx Hedged in our view. Yet was this darkness rent, When flashing lightnings cleft the inky clouds 495 With crashing bolts. Yet e'en this fearful gleam Was welcome to our eyes: so sweet it is