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"'Jam medio apparet fluctu nemorosa Zacynthos'. It might be, eh? Humph! Virgil and Shakespeare are the only ones who sometimes make poetry endurable. All the others are just little swollen Egos." This was an unusual excursion, and he quickly returned to practical matters. "There's a better anchorage over there," he drawled, waving the milk-tin toward Zacynthos.
Now wooded Zacynthos appears amid the waves, and Dulichium and Same and Neritos' sheer rocks. We fly past the cliffs of Ithaca, Laërtes' realm, and curse the land, fostress of cruel Ulysses. Soon too Mount Leucata's cloudy peaks are sighted, and Apollo dreaded of sailors. Hither we steer wearily, and stand in to the little town.
Remember your first view of the island, and how it's only woods and water; and suppose you had asked somebody for the name, and he had answered nemorosa Zacynthos! 'Jam medio apparet fluctu! exclaimed Herrick. 'Ye gods, yes, how good! 'If it gets upon the chart, the skippers will make nice work of it, said Attwater. 'But here, come and see the diving-shed.
Remember your first view of the island, and how it's only woods and woods and water; and suppose you had asked somebody for the name, and he had answered nemorosa Zacynthos." "Jam medio apparet fluctu!" exclaimed Herrick. "Ye gods, yes, how good!" "If it gets upon the chart, the skippers will make nice work of it," said Attwater. "But here, come and see the diving-shed."
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