18
Weighed are the biting anchors, rising slow, while ’customed capstan-songs and shouts resound; only the foresails to the gale they throw as for the buoyèd bar the Ships are bound:
But Erycína fair, from ev’ry foe aye glad to guard and guide her Race renown’d, seen the black ambush big with deadly bane, flies from the welkin shaft-swift to the Main.