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8 Then should some man of worth appear

Whose stainless virtue all revere,

They hush, they list: his clear voice rules

Their rebel wills, their anger cools:

So ocean ceased at once to rave,

When, calmly looking o'er the wave,

Girt with a range of azure sky,

The father bids his chariot fly.

The tempest-tossed Æneadæ

Strain for the nearest land,

And turn their vessels from the sea

To Libya's welcome strand.

Deep in a bay an island makes

A haven by its jutting sides,

Whereon each wave from ocean breaks,

And parting into hollows glides.

High o'er the cove vast rocks extend,

A beetling cliff at either end:

Beneath their summit far and wide

In sheltered silence sleeps the tide,

While quivering forests crown the scene,

A theatre of glancing green.

In front, retiring from the wave,

Opes on the view a rock-hung cave,

A home that nymphs might call their own,

Fresh springs, and seats of living stone:

No need of rope or anchor's bite

To hold the weary vessel tight.

Such haven now Æneas gains,

With seven lorn ships, the scant remains

Of what was once his fleet;

Forth leap the Trojans on the sand,

Lay down their brine-drenched limbs on land,

And feel the shore is sweet.