My wrath is kindled, and my soul in flames.

In vain! I view perform’d the direful deed,

Beeves, slain in heaps, along the ocean bleed.


“Now heaven gave signs of wrath: along the ground

Crept the raw hides, and with a bellowing sound

Roar’d the dead limbs; the burning entrails groan’d.

Six guilty days my wretched mates employ

In impious feasting, and unhallowed joy;

The seventh arose, and now the sire of gods

Rein’d the rough storms; and calm’d the tossing floods:

With speed the bark we climb; the spacious sails.

Loosed from the yards invite the impelling gales.

Past sight of shore, along the surge we bound,

And all above is sky, and ocean all around;

When lo! a murky cloud the thunderer forms

Full o’er our heads, and blackens heaven with storms.

Night dwells o’er all the deep: and now outflies

The gloomy west, and whistles in the skies.

The mountain-billows roar! the furious blast

Howls o’er the shroud, and rends it from the mast:

The mast gives way, and, crackling as it bends,

Tears up the deck; then all at once descends:

The pilot by the tumbling ruin slain,

Dash’d from the helm, falls headlong in the main.

Then Jove in anger bids his thunders roll,

And forky lightnings flash from pole to pole:

Fierce at our heads his deadly bolt he aims,

Red with uncommon wrath, and wrapp’d in flames:

Full on the bark it fell; now high, now low,

Toss’d and retoss’d, it reel’d beneath the blow;

At once into the main the crew it shook:

Sulphurous odours rose, and smouldering smoke.

Like fowl that haunt the floods, they sink, they rise,

Now lost, now seen, with shrieks and dreadful cries;

And strive to gain the bark, but Jove denies.

Firm at the helm I stand, when fierce the main

Rush’d with dire noise, and dash’d the sides in twain;

Again impetuous drove the furious blast,

Snapp’d the strong helm, and bore to sea the mast.

Firm to the mast with cords the helm I bind,

And ride aloft, to Providence resign’d,