Despite all that, the flames, the implacable fire never quits its fury. Under the sodden beams the tow still smolders, reeking a slow, heavy smoke that creeps along the keels, the ruin eating into the hulls, and all their heroic efforts, showering water, get them nowhere. At once devoted Aeneas ripped the robe on his shoulders, called the gods for help and flung his hands in prayer: “Almighty Jove, if you still don’t hate all Trojans, 760 if you still look down with your old sense of devotion, still respect men’s labors, save our fleet from fire! Now, Father, snatch the slim hopes of the
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