Nor less expense the Trojan gifts express’d; A fuming censor for the royal priest, A chalice, and a crown of princely cost, With ruddy gold, and sparkling gems emboss’d.

Now hoisting sail, to Crete the Trojans stood, Themselves remembering sprung from Teucer’s blood; But heaven forbids, and pestilential Jove, From noxious skies the wandering navy drove. Her hundred cities left, from Crete they bore, And sought the destined land, Ausonia’s shore; But toss’d by storms at either Strophas lay, Till scared by harpies from the faithless bay. Then passing onward with a prosperous wind, Left sly Uylsses’ spacious realms behind; Ambracia’s state, in former ages known The strife of gods, the judge transform’d to stone They saw; for Actian Phoebus since renown’d, Who Caesar’s arms with naval conquest crown’d; Next pass’d Dodona, wont of old to boast Her vocal forest; and Chaonia’s coast, Where King Molossus’ sons on wings aspired, And saw secure the harmless fuel fired.

Now to Phaeacia’s happy isle they came, For fertile orchards known to early fame; Epirus pass’d, they next beheld with joy A second Ilium, and fictitious Troy; Here Trojan Helenus the sceptre sway’d, Who show’d their fate, and mystic truths display’d; By him confirm’d, Sicilia’s isle they reach’d, Whose sides to sea, three promontories stretch’d; Pachynos to the stormy south is placed, On Lilybaeum blows the gentle west, Peloro’s cliffs the northern Bear survey, Who rolls above, and dreads to touch the sea; By this they steer, and favour’d by the tide, Secure by night in Zancle’s harbour ride.

Here cruel Sylla gains the rocky shore, And there the waves of loud Charybdis roar; This sucks, and vomits ships, and bodies drown’d, And ravenous dogs the womb of that surround; In face a virgin, and (if aught be true By bards recorded) once a virgin too.

A train of youths in vain desired her bed, By sea nymphs loved, to nymphs of seas she fled; The maid to these, with female pride, display’d Their baffled courtship, and their love betray’d.

When Galatea thus bespoke the fair, (But first she sigh’d,) while Scylla comb’d her hair, “You, lovely maid, a generous race pursues, Whom safe you may (as now you do) refuse; To me, though powerful in a numerous train Of sisters, sprung from gods, who rule the main, My native seas could scarce a refuge prove, To shun the fury of the cyclop’s love.” Tears choked her utterance here; the pitying maid With marble fingers wiped them off, and said; “My dearest goddess, let thy Scylla know (For I am faithful) whence these sorrows flow.” The maid’s entreaties o’er the nymph prevail, Who thus to Scylla tells the mournful tale.

Galatea, a sea nymph, is passionately beloved by the cyclop Polyphemus, whom she treats with disdain, while Acis, a shepherd of Sicily, is the object of her affections⁠—Stung with jealousy, the cyclop crushes his rival with a piece of broken rock⁠—His mistress is inconsolable for his loss; and since she is unable to restore him to life, changes him into a fountain.

Forgot his caverns, and his woolly care, Assumed the softness of a lover’s air, And comb’d, with teeth of rakes, his rugged hair: Now with a crooked scythe his beard he sleeks, And mows the stubborn stubble of his cheeks; Now in the crystal stream he looks, to try His courteous bows, and rolls his glaring eye. His cruelty and thirst for blood are lost; And ships securely sail along the coast.