Round swings the prow, and lets the waters sweep
The broadside. Onward comes a mountain heap
Of billows, gaunt, abrupt. These, horsed astride
A surge's crest, rock pendent o'er the deep;
To those the wave's huge hollow, yawning wide,
Lays bare the ground below; dark swells the sandy tide.

XVI. Three ships the South-wind catching hurls away
On hidden rocks, which (Latins from of yore
Have called them "Altars") in mid ocean lay,
A huge ridge level with the tide. Three more
Fierce Eurus from the deep sea dashed ashore
On quicks and shallows, pitiful to view,
And round them heaped the sandbanks. One, that bore
The brave Orontes and his Lycian crew,
Full in AEneas' sight a toppling wave o'erthrew.

XVII. Dashed from the tiller, down the pilot rolled.
Thrice round the billow whirled her, as she lay,
Then whelmed below. Strewn here and there behold
Arms, planks, lone swimmers in the surges grey,
And treasures snatched from Trojan homes away.
Now fail the ships wherein Achates ride
And Abas; old Aletes' bark gives way,
And brave Ilioneus'. Each loosened side
Through many a gaping seam lets in the baleful tide.

XVIII. Meanwhile great Neptune, sore amazed, perceived
The storm let loose, the turmoil of the sky,
And ocean from its lowest depths upheaved.