11/37 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. 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. |