Sudden clouds snatch away the daylight sky
From Trojan sight. Black night roosts on the sea.
Heaven resounds, and fires dance in its heights.
The world becomes a threat of instant death.
A swift and icy terror numbed Aeneas.
He moaned and held his hands up to the stars
And gave a cry: "Three times and four times blessed
Are those who perished in their fathers' sight
Beneath Troy's walls. You, Diomedes, boldest
Of Greeks, could you not spill my soul and let me
Fall on the fields of Troy, like raging Hector
Slain by Achilles' spear, or tall Sarpedon,
Where the Simois River churns beneath her ripples
Shields, helmets, bodies of so many strong men?"
A screaming northern gale flew past his wild words
And slammed the sails, and pulled a wave toward heaven.
The oars broke, the prow swerved and set the ship
Against a looming precipice of water.
Crews dangled on the crest, or glimpsed the seabed
Between the waves. Sand poured through seething water. Three times the South Wind hurled them at rocks lurking Midway across—Italians call them Altars;
Their massive spine protrudes—three times the East Wind Drove them toward sandy shallows—awful sight—
And rammed them tight, and ringed them with a sand wall. Before Aeneas' eyes a toweling wave tipped,
To strike head-on the ship of staunch Orontes And the Lycians, and whirled the helmsman out
Head first. The boat was whipped in three tight circles,
And then the hungry whirlpool swallowed it.
The endless sea showed scatterings of swimmers.
Planks, gear, and Trojan treasure strewed the waves.
The storm subdued the strong ships carrying
Ilioneus, Abas, brave Achates,
And old Aletes.