Gulf of Sidra

Howbeit not yet was it ordained for the heroes to set foot on Achaea, until they had toiled even in the furthest bounds of Libya.

Now had they left behind the gulf named after the Ambracians, now with sails widespread the land of the Curetes, and next in order the narrow islands of the Echinades, and the land of Pelops was just descried; even then a baleful blast of the North Wind seized them in mid course and swept them towards the Libyan Sea nine nights and as many days, until they came far within Syrtis, wherefrom is no return for ships when they are forced into that gulf.

For on every hand are shoals, on every hand masses of seaweed from the depths, and over them the light foam of the waves washes without noise.

And there is a stretch of land to the dim horizon, and there moveth nothing that creeps or flies.

We complain of this, that gifted with such strength thou didst refrain from using it.

Hast thou no trust in us? While the hot life-blood fills these glowing veins, while these strong arms avail to hurl the lance, wilt thou make peace and bear the Senate's rule? Is civil conquest, then, so base and vile? Lead us through Scythian deserts, lead us where the inhospitable Syrtes line the shore of Afric's burning sands, or where thou wilt.

This hand, to leave a conquered world behind, held firm the oar that tamed the northern sea, and Rhine's swift torrents foaming to the main.

To follow thee fate gives me now the power, the will was mine before.

Go thou and pass Oroxes' chilly stream on this thine errand, and the fleeting ghost pierced by the Scythian shaft shall greet thee thus: 'Art thou not he to whom our wandering shades look'd for their vengeance in the guise of war, and dost thou sue for peace?' There shalt thou meet memorials of the dead: red as yon wall were past their headless trunks; Euphrates here engulfed them slain, of Tigris' winding stream cast on the shore to perish.

Gaze on this, and thou canst supplicate at Caesar's feet in mid-Thessalia seated.

Nay, thy glance turn on the Roman world: and if thou fearest King Juba faithless and the southern realms, then seek we Pharos, Egypt on the west, girt by the trackless Syrtes' forces, back'd by sevenfold stream the ocean, rich in glebe and gold and merchandise, and proud of Nile, asks for no rain from heaven.

Now holds this boy her sceptre, owed to thee, his guardian thou; and who shall fear the shadow of a name? Hope not from monarchs old whose shame is fled, or laws, or troth, or honour of the guards: new kings may milder sway.

although we had some extremely serious incidents there at that time as well.

The Gulf of Sidra, the jets, Libyan jets over the Gulf of Sidra had been down, three of them.

And Qaddafi had sent assassination teams to take out American diplomats.

And one of those diplomats was the charge d'affaires minister, Christian Chapman, in Paris.

Gaddafi became the face of Middle Eastern despotism for decades, both before and after Saddam Hussein.

Okay, the Gulf of Sidra.

Nations are allowed to claim a 12-mile exclusion zone off their coast.

This is similar to what happened in North Vietnam.

We complain of this, that gifted with such strength, thou didst refrain from using it.

Hast thou no trust in us? While the hot life-blood fills these glowing veins, while these strong arms avail to hurl the lance, wilt thou make peace and bear the Senate's rule? Is civil conquest, then, so base and vile? Lead us through Scythian deserts, lead us where the inhospitable Syrtes line the shore of Afric's burning sands, or where thou wilt.

This hand, to leave a conquered world behind, held firm the oar that tamed the northern sea, and Rhine's swift torrents foaming to the main.

To follow thee fate gives me now the power, the will was mine before.

Nay, thy glance turn on the Roman world.

And if thou fear'st King Juba, faithless, and the southern realms, then seek we Pharos.

Egypt on the west, girt by the trackless Syrtes' forces, back'd by sevenfold stream the ocean, rich in glebe and gold and merchandise, and proud of Nile, asks for no rain from heaven.

Now holds this boy her sceptre, owed to thee, his guardian thou; and who shall fear the shadow of a name? Hope not from monarchs old whose shame is fled, or laws, or troth, or honour of the guards: new kings may mild as sway.

Soon, soon thy cheer would die, thy hopes grow timorous, and unfix thy powers, and thy clear aims be cross and shifting made, and then thy glad perennial youth would fade, fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours.

Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles, as some grave Tyrian trader from the sea, descried at sunrise an emerging prow lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily, the fringes of a southward-facing brow among the Aegean isles, and saw the Merry Grecian coaster come, freighted with amber grapes and Chian wine, green bursting figs and tunnies steeped in brine, and knew the intruders on his ancient home, the young light-hearted masters of the waves, and snatched his rudder, and shook out more sail, and day and night held on indignantly o'er the blue midland waters with the gale, betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily, to where the Atlantic raves outside the western straits, and unbent sails there, where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam, shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come, and on the beach undid his corded bales.

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