Far seaward stands, afront the foamy shore, A rock, half-hid when wintry waves upleap, And skies are starless, and the North-winds roar, But still and silent, when the calm waves sleep, A level top it lifts above the deep, The seamews' haunt.

A bough of ilex here The good AEneas sets upon the steep, Green-leaved and tall,--a goal, to seamen clear, To seek and, doubling round, their homeward course to steer.
XIX.

Each takes his station.

On the sterns behold, Ranged in due order as the lots assign, The captains, gay with purple and with gold.
The crews their brows with poplar garlands twine, And wet with oil their naked shoulders shine.
Prone on their oars, and straining from the thwart, With souls astretch, they listen for the sign.
Fear stirs the pulse and drains the throbbing heart, Thrilled with the lust of praise, and panting for the start.
XX.

Loud peals the trumpet.