“When to the ship I came, beside the sea, I sternly chid them all, man after man, Yet could we think of no redress; the beeves Were dead; and now with prodigies the gods Amazed my comrades—the skins moved and crawled, The flesh both raw and roasted on the spits Lowed with the voice of oxen. Six whole days My comrades feasted, taking from the herd The Sun’s best oxen. When Saturnian Jove Brought the seventh day, the tempest ceased; the wind Fell, and we straightway went on board. We set The mast upright, and, spreading the white sails, We ventured on the great wide sea again.
“When we had left the isle, and now appeared No other land, but only sea and sky, The son of Saturn caused a lurid cloud To gather o’er the galley, and to cast Its darkness on the deep.
Not long our ship Ran onward, ere the furious west-wind rose And blew a hurricane. A strong blast snapped Both ropes that held the mast; the mast fell back; The tackle dropped entangled to the hold; The mast, in falling on the galley’s stern, Dashed on the pilot’s head and crushed the bones, And from the deck he plunged like one who dives Into the deep; his gallant spirit left The limbs at once.
Jove thundered from on high, And sent a thunderbolt into the ship, That, quaking with the fearful blow, and filled With stifling sulphur, shook my comrades off Into the deep. They floated round the ship Like seamews; Jupiter had cut them off From their return.
I moved from place to place, Still in the ship, until the tempest’s force Parted the sides and keel. Before the waves The naked keel was swept. The mast had snapped Just at the base, but round it was a thong Made of a bullock’s hide; with this I bound The mast and keel together, took my seat Upon them, and the wild winds bore me on.
“The west-wind ceased to rage; but in its stead The south-wind blew, and brought me bitter grief. I feared lest I must measure back my way To