Dastardly is flight Which crime commends not." Cato thus recalled The parting vessels.

So when bees in swarm Desert their waxen cells, forget the hive Ceasing to cling together, and with wings Untrammelled seek the air, nor slothful light On thyme to taste its bitterness -- then rings The Phrygian gong -- at once they pause aloft Astonied; and with love of toil resumed Through all the flowers for their honey store In ceaseless wanderings search; the shepherd joys, Sure that th' Hyblaean mead for him has kept His cottage store, the riches of his home.
Now in the active conduct of the war Were brought to discipline their minds, untaught To bear repose; first on the sandy shore Toiling they learned fatigue: then stormed thy walls, Cyrene; prizeless, for to Cato's mind 'Twas prize enough to conquer.

Juba next He bids attack, though Nature on the path Had placed the Syrtes; which his sturdy heart Aspired to conquer.

Either at the first When Nature gave the universe its form She left this region neither land nor sea; Not wholly shrunk, so that it should receive The ocean flood; nor firm enough to stand Against its buffets -- all the pathless coast Lies in uncertain shape; the land by earth Is parted from the deep; on sandy banks The seas are broken, and from shoal to shoal The waves advance to sound upon the shore.
Nature, in spite, thus left her work undone, Unfashioned to men's use -- Or else of old A foaming ocean filled the wide expanse, But Titan feeding from the briny depths His burning fires (near to the zone of heat) Reduced the waters; and the sea still fights With Phoebus' beams, which in the length of time Drank deeper of its fountains.
When the main Struck by the oars gave passage to the fleet, Black from the sky rushed down a southern gale Upon his realm, and from the watery plain Drave back th' invading ships, and from the shoals Compelled the billows, and in middle sea Raised up a bank.

Forth flew the bellying sails Beyond the prows, despite the ropes that dared Resist the tempest's fury; and for those Who prescient housed their canvas to the storm, Bare-masted they were driven from their course.
Best was their lot who gained the open waves Of ocean; others lightened of their masts Shook off the tempest; but a sweeping tide Hurried them southwards, victor of the gale.
Some freed of shallows on a bank were forced Which broke the deep: their ship in part was fast, Part hanging on the sea; their fates in doubt.
Fierce rage the waves till hems (9) them in the land; Nor Auster's force in frequent buffets spent Prevails upon the shore.