At last all-powerful Juno, taking pity, Sent Iris from Olympus, in compassion For the long racking agony, to free her From the limbs’ writhing and the struggle of spirit. She had not earned this death, she had only sought it Before her time, driven by sudden madness, Therefore, the queen of Hades had not taken The golden lock, consigning her to Orcus. So Iris, dewy on saffron wings, descending, Trailing a thousand colors through the brightness Comes down the sky, poises above her, saying, “This lock I take as bidden, and from the body Release the soul,” and cuts the lock; and cold Takes over, and the winds receive the spirit.
Meanwhile Aeneas and the fleet were holding The sure course over the sea, cutting the waters That darkened under the wind. His gaze went back To the walls of Carthage, glowing in the flame Of Dido’s funeral pyre. What cause had kindled So high a blaze, they did not know, but anguish When love is wounded deep, and the way of a woman With frenzy in her heart, they knew too well, And dwelt on with foreboding.
They were out of sight of land, with only sea Around them on all sides, alone with ocean, Ocean and sky, when a cloud, black-blue, loomed over With night and tempest in it; the water roughened In shadow, and the pilot Palinurus Cried from the lofty stern. “What clouds are these Filling the sky? What threat is father Neptune Preparing over our heads? Trim ship,” he ordered, “Bend to the oars, reef down the sail.” The course Was changed, on a slant across the wind, and the pilot Turned to Aeneas: “With a sky like this, I’d have no hope of reaching Italy, Even if Jove himself should guarantee it. The winds have changed, they roar across our course From the black evening, thickening into cloud. We have no strength for headway. Luck is against us, Let us change the course, and follow. I remember Fraternal shores near by, the land of Eryx, Sicilian harbors; we were here before If I recall my stars.”
Aeneas answered: “I saw it long ago, the will of the winds, The uselessness of struggle. Change the course, Steer to the land most welcome to me; there My friend Acestes dwells, and there my father Anchises lies at rest. What better land To rest our weary ships?” They made for the harbor, With favoring wind, a swift run over the water, A happy turn to a familiar shore.