P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid
Theodore C. Williams, Ed.

Now was the promised day at hand (for Fate
had woven the web so far) when Turnus' rage
stirred the divine progenitress to save
her sacred ships from fire. Then sudden shone
a strange effulgence in the eastern air;
and in a storm-cloud wafted o'er the sky
were Corybantic choirs, whose dreadful song
smote both on Teucrian and Rutulian ear:
“O Teucrians, fear not for the sure defence
of all the ships, nor arm your mortal hands.
Yon impious Turnus shall burn up the seas
before my pine-trees blest. Arise! Be free,
ye goddesses of ocean, and obey
your mother's mighty word.” Then instant broke
the hawsers of the sterns; the beaked prows
went plunging like great dolphins from the shore
down to the deeps, and, wonderful to tell,
the forms of virgin goddesses uprose,
one for each ship, and seaward sped away.