1 Driven hither by wind and desolate waves, we wander in a strange land among unknown men.
2 Meanwhile Anchises bade the fleet set their sails, that the fair wind might meet no delay.
3 A wind rising astern follows us forth on our way, and we glide at last to the ancient Curetean coast.
4 Sharp fear urges us to shake out the sheets in reckless haste, and spread our sails to the favouring wind.
5 Meanwhile the wind falls with sundown; and weary and ignorant of the way we glide on to the Cyclopes' coast.
6 Southern winds stretch the sails; we scud over the foam-flecked waters, whither wind and pilot called our course.
7 Hither they launch forth, and hide on the solitary shore: we fancied they were gone, and had run down the wind for Mycenae.
8 The devouring fire goes rolling before the wind high as the roof; the flames tower over it, and the heat surges up into the air.
9 Three ships the south wind catches and hurls on hidden rocks, rocks amid the waves which Italians call the Altars, a vast reef banking the sea.
10 Even as bidden they do; and first Palinurus swung the gurgling prow leftward through the water; to the left all our squadron bent with oar and wind.
11 And now they have run down the wind for their native Mycenae, to gather arms and gods to attend them; they will remeasure ocean and be on you unawares.
12 East wind and west wind together, and the gusty south-wester, falling prone on the sea, stir it up from its lowest chambers, and roll vast billows to the shore.
13 With twenty sail did I climb the Phrygian sea; oracular tokens led me on; my goddess mother pointed the way; scarce seven survive the shattering of wave and wind.
14 Thereupon, so soon as ocean may be trusted, and the winds leave the seas in quiet, and the soft whispering south wind calls seaward, my comrades launch their ships and crowd the shores.
15 But when at thy departure the wind hath borne thee to the Sicilian coast, and the barred straits of Pelorus open out, steer for the left-hand country and the long circuit of the seas on the left hand; shun the shore and water on thy right.
16 But when at the turn of the hinge the light wind from the doorway stirs them, and disarranges the delicate foliage, never after does she trouble to capture them as they flutter about the hollow rock, nor restore their places or join the verses; men depart without counsel, and hate the Sibyl's dwelling.
17 But good Aeneas, nightlong revolving many and many a thing, issues forth, so soon as bountiful light is given, to explore the strange country; to what coasts the wind has borne him, who are their habitants, men or wild beasts, for all he sees is wilderness; this he resolves to search, and bring back the certainty to his comrades.
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