From Delos, mindful of the oracle,
they sought the land of their ancestor, Teucer,
an early king of Troy, who came from Crete.
But when they disembarked, the Trojans found
the climate of that island far too harsh;
and so they left behind those hundred towns—
and sailed toward Italy, Ausonian shores.
But then a tempest swept the wintry seas;
the fleet sought shelter in the Strophades.
But in that harbor there lurked treachery;
they had to flee Aiello, a foul Harpy.
As they sailed on, they passed Dulichium
and Ithaca and Samos, and the homes
of Neritos—astute Ulysses’ realm.
They saw Ambracia, isle for which the gods
contended, and the statue of the judge
Apollo turned to stone, poor Cragaleus—
Ambracia, which is now so famous for
Apollo’s facing shrine at Actium.
They saw Dodona’s grove of speaking oaks,
and saw Chaonia’s gulf where the three sons
of the Molossian ruler, Munichus,
grew wings, the only way they could escape
when brigands set the royal halls ablaze.
And then they landed on the nearby isle
of the Phaeacians, whose fields are full
Latin [700–720]
of splendid orchards. Their next port—Buthrotos—
was in Epirus; there the Phrygian seer
who was a son of Priam, Helenus,
had built a replica of Troy. From him
Aeneas’ men heard friendly prophecies
about their future. On to Sicily
they sailed—a land that juts into the sea
with three capes: one, Pachynus, feels the gusts
of Auster, bringing rains; while Lilybaeum
lies open to the gentle winds of Zephyr;
and, to the north, Pelorus faces both
the Bears that never sink into the sea
and Boreas. The Trojans reached the last.
Night fell; with oars and with the current’s help,
the fleet made land along Messina’s sands.