Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare, He shines amid the blackness like a torch Which sheds its beams afar upon the deep. At length a jutting rock he gains, and shouts In madness: "Now have I o'ercome the sea, 545 The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves, The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them. I've braved the terrors of the god of war; With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge, Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me. Those gods, together with their Phrygians, 550 I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee? Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts: But what if Jove himself--" When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods, Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock, And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea. 555 So, falling with its fall, the madman lies By earth and fire and billows overcome. But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners, A worse destruction waits. There is a reef, Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals, Where false Caphereus hides his rocky foot Beneath the whirling waters of the sea. 560 Above this reef the billows heave and dash, And madly seethe with each recurring wave. High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects, Which views on either side the spreading sea. There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores, And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn, Shielding the broad Aegean from the west. 565 There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52] lies; And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port. This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied, With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake. There his accurséd hand a beacon raised And lured us onward to the fatal spot. 570 Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed, Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals; And where but now our vessels sought to land, They flee the land and choose the angry waves. 575 With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent, And full atonement had been made to Troy. Then came the sun again; and brightening day Revealed the awful havoc of the night. _Clytemnestra:_ I know not which were better, grief or joy. I do rejoice to see my lord again, 580 And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears. O father Jove, at whose august command The sounding heavens quake, regard our race, And bid the angry gods be merciful. Let every head be decked with festal wreath, The flute resound, and at the stately shrine Let snowy victims fall in sacrifice. 585 But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt, The Trojan women come; and at their head, With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired, Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired. [_Enter band of_ Trojan women, _led by_ Cassandra.]