’Twas night; the chiefs beside their vessel lie, Till rosy morn had purpled o’er the sky: Then launch, and hoist the mast: indulgent gales, Supplied by Phœbus, fill the swelling sails; The milk-white canvas bellying as they blow, The parted ocean foams and roars below: Above the bounding billows swift they flew, Till now the Grecian camp appear’d in view. Far on the beach they haul their bark to land, (The crooked keel divides the yellow sand,) Then part, where stretch’d along the winding bay, The ships and tents in mingled prospect lay.