Exuit implicitum tenebris umentibus orbem Oceano prolata dies, genitorque coruscae lucis adhuc hebetem vicina nocte levabat et nondum excusso rorantem lampada ponto. 5et iam punicea nudatum pectora palla insignemque ipsis, quae prima invaserat, armis Aeaciden (quippe aura vocat cognataque suadent aequora) prospectant cuncti iuvenemque ducemque nil ausi meminisse pavent; sic omnia visu 10mutatus rediit, ceu numquam Scyria passus litora Peliacoque rates escendat ab antro. tunc ex more deis (ita namque monebat Ulixes) aequoribusque Austrisque litat fluctuque sub ipso caeruleum regem tauro veneratur avumque 15Nerea: vittata genetrix placata iuvenca. hic spumante salo iaciens tumida exta profatur: ‘Paruimus, genetrix, quamquam haut toleranda iuberes, paruimus nimium: bella ad Troiana ratesque Argolicas quaesitus eo.’ sic orsus et alno 20insiluit penitusque Noto stridente propinquis abripitur terris: et iam ardua ducere nubes incipit et longo Scyros discedere ponto. Turre procul summa lacrimis comitata sororum commissumque tenens et habentem nomina Pyrrhum
Dawn rising from Ocean frees the world from its envelope of dank shadows and the father of flashing light raises his torch still dull from neighbouring night and dewy with sea not yet shaken off. And now all look to Aeacides, as with breast stripped of purple cloak he shines with the arms on which he had first seized (for the breeze summons and the kindred seas persuade); they fear him as warrior and captain, not daring to remember aught. So he returned all changed to view, as though he had never endured Scyros’ shores and were embarking from Pelion’s cavern. Then to the gods (for so Ulysses counselled) and the seas and the South Winds he pours customary libation and at the very water’s edge worships the cerulean king and his grandfather Nereus with a bull. His mother was placated with a wreathed heifer. Here he speaks as he casts the swollen entrails on the foaming billow: ‘Mother, I obeyed you though your commands were more than I could bear, too much I obeyed: I go to the Trojan war and the Argive ships. They have looked for me.’ So he spoke and leapt on board. The whistling South Wind snatched him far from the neighbouring land. And now lofty Scyros begins to muster mists and leave the stretching sea.
Far away perched on top of a tower, companioned by her weeping sisters and holding Pyrrhus her charge (so was