Chapter 57

He said, and wept; then spread his sails before The winds, and reach’d at length the Cumaean shore: Their anchors dropp’d, his crew the vessels moor. They turn their heads to sea, their sterns to land, And greet with greedy joy th’ Italian strand. Some strike from clashing flints their fiery seed; Some gather sticks, the kindled flames to feed, Or search for hollow trees, and fell the woods, Or trace thro’ valleys the discover’d floods. Thus, while their sev’ral…