For on every hand are shoals, on every hand masses of seaweed from the depths; and over them the light foam of the wave washes without noise; and there is a stretch of sand to the dim horizon; and there moveth nothing that creeps or flies.

Here accordingly the flood-tide--for this tide often retreats from the land and bursts back again over the beach coming on with a rush and roar--thrust them suddenly on to the innermost shore, and but little of the keel was left in the water.

And they leapt forth from the ship, and sorrow seized them when they gazed on the mist and the levels of vast land stretching far like a mist and continuous into the distance; no spot for water, no path, no steading of herdsmen did they descry afar off, but all the scene was possessed by a dead calm.

And thus did one hero, vexed in spirit, ask another: (ll.

1251-1258) "What land is this?
Whither has the tempest hurled us?
Would that, reckless of deadly fear, we had dared to rush on by that same path between the clashing rocks! Better were it to have overleapt the will of Zeus and perished in venturing some mighty deed.