More cheerful to my good old sire I run, And tell the pleasing news. In little space He found his error of the double race; Not, as before he deemed, derived from Crete; No more deluded by the doubtful seat; Then said,--"O son, turmoiled in Trojan fate! Such things as these Cassandra did relate. This day revives within my mind, what she Foretold of Troy renewed in Italy, And Latian lands; but who could then have thought, } That Phrygian gods to Latium should be brought? } Or who believed what mad Cassandra taught? } Now let us go, where Phœbus leads the way." He said; and we with glad consent obey, Forsake the seat, and, leaving few behind, We spread our sails before the willing wind. Now from the sight of land our galleys move, With only seas around, and skies above; When o'er our heads descends a burst of rain, And night with sable clouds involves the main; The ruffling winds the foamy billows raise; The scattered fleet is forced to several ways; The face of heaven is ravished from our eyes, And in redoubled peals the roaring thunder flies. Cast from our course, we wander in the dark; No stars to guide, no point of land to mark. Even Palinurus no distinction found Betwixt the night and day; such darkness reigned around. Three starless nights the doubtful navy strays, Without distinction, and three sunless days; The fourth renews the light, and, from our shrouds, We view a rising land, like distant clouds; The mountain-tops confirm the pleasing sight, And curling smoke ascending from their height. The canvas falls; their oars the sailors ply; From the rude strokes the whirling waters fly. At length I land upon the Strophades, Safe from the danger of the stormy seas. Those isles are compassed by the Ionian main, The dire abode where the foul Harpies reign, Forced by the winged warriors to repair To their old homes, and leave their costly fare. Monsters more fierce offended heaven ne'er sent From hell's abyss, for human punishment-- With virgin-faces, but with wombs obscene, } Foul paunches, and with ordure still unclean; } With claws for hands, and looks for ever lean. } We landed at the port, and soon beheld Fat herds of oxen graze the flowery field, And wanton goats without a keeper strayed.-- With weapons we the welcome prey invade, Then call the gods for partners of our feast, And Jove himself, the chief invited guest. We spread the tables on the greensward ground; We feed with hunger, and the bowls go round; When from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry, And clattering wings, the hungry Harpies fly: They snatch the meat, defiling all they find, And, parting, leave a loathsome stench behind. Close by a hollow rock, again we sit, New dress the dinner, and the beds refit, Secure from sight, beneath a pleasing shade,