Odyssey

"Our ship now past the straits of th' ocean flood,

She plow'd the broad sea's billows, and made good

The isle Ææa, where the palace stands

Of th' early riser with the rosy hands,

Active Aurora, where she loves to dance,

And where the Sun doth his prime beams advance.

When here arriv'd, we drew her up to land,

And trod ourselves the re-saluted sand,

Found on the shore fit resting for the night,

Slept, and expected the celestial light.

Soon as the white-and-red-mix'd finger'd Dame

Had gilt the mountains with her saffron flame,

I sent my men to Circe's house before,

To fetch deceas'd Elpenor to the shore.

Straight swell'd the high banks with fell'd heaps of trees,

And, full of tears, we did due exsequies

To our dead friend. Whose corse consum'd with fire,

And honour'd arms, whose sepulchre entire,

And over that a column rais'd, his oar,

Curiously carv'd, to his desire before,

Upon the top of all his tomb we fix'd.

Of all rites fit his funeral pile was mix'd.

Nor was our safe ascent from Hell conceal'd

From Circe's knowledge; nor so soon reveal'd

But she was with us, with her bread and food,

And ruddy wine, brought by her sacred brood

Of woods and fountains. In the midst she stood,

And thus saluted us; 'Unhappy men,

That have, inform'd with all your senses, been

In Pluto's dismal mansion! You shall die

Twice now, where others, that Mortality

In her fair arms holds, shall but once decease.

But eat and drink out all conceit of these,

And this day dedicate to food and wine,

The following night to sleep. When next shall shine

The cheerful morning, you shall prove the seas.

Your way, and ev'ry act ye must address,

My knowledge of their order shall design,

Lest with your own bad counsels ye incline

Events as bad against ye, and sustain,

By sea and shore, the woful ends that reign

In wilful actions.' Thus did she advise

And, for the time, our fortunes were so wise

To follow wise directions. All that day

We sat and feasted. When his lower way

The Sun had entered, and the Even the high,

My friends slept on their gables; she and I

(Led by her fair hand to place apart,

By her well-sorted) did to sleep convert

Our timid pow'rs; when all things Fate let fall

In our affair she ask'd; I told her all.

To which she answer'd: 'These things thus took end.

And now to those that I inform attend,

Which you rememb'ring, God himself shall be

The blesséd author of your memory.

First to the Sirens ye shall come, that taint

The minds of all men whom they can acquaint

With their attractions. Whosoever shall,

For want of knowledge mov'd, but hear the call

Of any Siren, he will so despise

Both wife and children, for their sorceries,

That never home turns his affection's stream,

Nor they take joy in him, nor he in them.

The Sirens will so soften with their song

(Shrill, and in sensual appetite so strong)

His loose affections, that he gives them head.

And then observe: They sit amidst a mead,

And round about it runs a hedge or wall

Of dead men's bones, their wither'd skins and all

Hung all along upon it; and these men

Were such as they had fawn'd into their fen,

And then their skins hung on their hedge of bones.

Sail by them therefore, thy companions

Beforehand causing to stop ev'ry ear

With sweet soft wax, so close that none may hear

A note of all their charmings. Yet may you,

If you affect it, open ear allow

To try their motion; but presume not so

To trust your judgment, when your senses go

So loose about you, but give strait command

To all your men, to bind you foot and hand

Sure to the mast, that you may safe approve

How strong in instigation to their love

Their rapting tunes are. If so much they move,

That, spite of all your reason, your will stands

To be enfranchis'd both of feet and hands,

Charge all your men before to slight your charge,

And rest so far from fearing to enlarge

That much more sure they bind you. When your friends

Have outsail'd these, the danger that transcends

Rests not in any counsel to prevent,

Unless your own mind finds the tract and bent

Of that way that avoids it. I can say

That in your course there lies a twofold way,

The right of which your own, taught, present wit,

And grace divine, must prompt. In gen'ral yet

Let this inform you: Near these Sirens' shore

Move two steep rocks, at whose feet lie and roar

The black sea's cruel billows; the bless'd Gods

Call them the Rovers. Their abhorr'd abodes

No bird can pass; no not the doves, whose fear

Sire Jove so loves that they are said to bear

Ambrosia to him, can their ravine 'scape,

But one of them falls ever to the rape

Of those sly rocks; yet Jove another still

Adds to the rest, that so may ever fill

The sacred number. Never ship could shun

The nimble peril wing'd there, but did run

With all her bulk, and bodies of her men,

To utter ruin. For the seas retain

Not only their outrageous æsture there,

But fierce assistants of particular fear,

And supernatural mischief, they exspire,

And those are whirlwinds of devouring fire

Whisking about still. Th' Argive ship alone,

Which bore the care of all men, got her gone,

Come from Areta. Yet perhaps ev'n she

Had wrack'd at those rocks, if the Deity,

That lies by Jove's side, had not lent her hand

To their transmission; since the man, that mann'd

In chief that voyage, she in chief did love.

Of these two spiteful rocks, the one doth shove

Against the height of heav'n her pointed brow.

A black cloud binds it round, and never show

Lends to the sharp point; not the clear blue sky

Lets ever view it, not the summer's eye,

Nor fervent autumn's. None that death could end

Could ever scale it, or, if up, descend,

Though twenty hands and feet he had for hold,

A polish'd ice-like glibness doth enfold

The rock so round, whose midst a gloomy cell

Shrouds so far westward that it sees to hell.

From this keep you as far, as from his bow

An able young man can his shaft bestow.

For here the whuling Scylla shrouds her face,

That breathes a voice at all parts no more base

Than are a newly-kitten'd kitling's cries,

Herself a monster yet of boundless size,

Whose sight would nothing please a mortal's eyes,

No nor the eyes of any God, if he

(Whom nought should fright) fell foul on her, and she

Her full shape show'd. Twelve foul feet bear about

Her ugly bulk. Six huge long necks look out

Of her rank shoulders; ev'ry neck doth let

A ghastly head out; ev'ry head three set,

Thick thrust together, of abhorréd teeth,

And ev'ry tooth stuck with a sable death.

She lurks in midst of all her den, and streaks

From out a ghastly whirlpool all her necks;

Where, gloting round her rock, to fish she falls;

And up rush dolphins, dogfish; somewhiles whales

If got within her when her rapine feeds;

For ever-groaning Amphitrite breeds

About her whirlpool an unmeasur'd store.

No sea-man ever boasted touch of shore

That there touch'd with his ship, but still she fed

Of him and his; a man for ev'ry head

Spoiling his ship of. You shall then descry

The other humbler rock, that moves so nigh

Your dart may mete the distance. It receives

A huge wild fig-tree, curl'd with ample leaves,

Beneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits,

Supping the black deeps. Thrice a day her pits

She drinking all dry, and thrice a day again

All up she belches, baneful to sustain.

When she is drinking, dare not near her draught,

For not the force of Neptune, if once caught,

Can force your freedom. Therefore, in your strife

To 'scape Charybdis, labour all for life

To row near Scylla, for she will but have

For her six heads six men; and better save

The rest, than all make off'rings to the wave.'

This need she told me of my loss, when I

Desir'd to know, if that Necessity,

When I had 'scap'd Charybdis' outrages,

My pow'rs might not revenge, though not redress?

She answer'd: 'O unhappy! art thou yet

Enflam'd with war, and thirst to drink thy sweat?

Not to the Gods give up both arms and will?

She deathless is, and that immortal ill

Grave, harsh, outrageous, not to be subdued,

That men must suffer till they be renew'd.

Nor lives there any virtue that can fly

The vicious outrage of their cruelty.

Shouldst thou put arms on, and approach the rock,

I fear six more must expiate the shock.

Six heads six men ask still. Hoise sail, and fly,

And, in thy flight, aloud on Cratis cry

(Great Scylla's mother, who expos'd to light

The bane of men) and she will do such right

To thy observance, that she down will tread

Her daughter's rage, nor let her show a head.

From thenceforth then, for ever past her care,

Thou shalt ascend the isle triangular,

Where many oxen of the Sun are fed,

And fatted flocks. Of oxen fifty head

In ev'ry herd feed, and their herds are seven;

And of his fat flocks is their number even.

Increase they yield not, for they never die.

There ev'ry shepherdess a Deity.

Fair Phaëthusa, and Lampetié,

The lovely Nymphs are that their guardians be,

Who to the daylight's lofty-going Flame

Had gracious birthright from the heav'nly Dame,

Still young Neæra; who (brought forth and bred)

Far off dismiss'd them, to see duly fed

Their father's herds and flocks in Sicily.

These herds and flocks if to the Deity

Ye leave, as sacred things, untouch'd, and on

Go with all fit care of your home, alone,

(Though through some suff'rance) you yet safe shall land

In wishéd Ithaca. But if impious hand

You lay on those herds to their hurts, I then

Presage sure ruin to thy ship and men.

If thou escap'st thyself, extending home

Thy long'd-for landing, thou shalt loaded come

With store of losses, most exceeding late,

And not consorted with a savéd mate.'

This said, the golden-thron'd Aurora rose,

She her way went, and I did mine dispose

Up to my ship, weigh'd anchor, and away.

When rev'rend Circe help'd us to convey

Our vessel safe, by making well inclin'd

A seaman's true companion, a forewind,

With which she fill'd our sails; when, fitting all

Our arms close by us, I did sadly fall

To grave relation what concern'd in fate

My friends to know, and told them that the state

Of our affairs' success, which Circe had

Presag'd to me alone, must yet be made

To one nor only two known, but to all;

That, since their lives and deaths were left to fall

In their elections, they might life elect,

And give what would preserve it fit effect.

I first inform'd them, that we were to fly

The heav'nly-singing Sirens' harmony,

And flow'r-adorned meadow; and that I

Had charge to hear their song, but fetter'd fast

In bands, unfavour'd, to th' erected mast,

From whence, if I should pray, or use command,

To be enlarg'd, they should with much more band

Contain my strugglings. This I simply told

To each particular, nor would withhold

What most enjoin'd mine own affection's stay,

That theirs the rather might be taught t' obey.

In mean time flew our ships, and straight we fetch'd

The Siren's isle; a spleenless wind so stretch'd

Her wings to waft us, and so urg'd our keel.

But having reach'd this isle, we could not feel

The least gasp of it, it was stricken dead,

And all the sea in prostrate slumber spread,

The Sirens' devil charm'd all. Up then flew

My friends to work, struck sail, together drew,

And under hatches stow'd them, sat, and plied

The polish'd oars, and did in curls divide

The white-head waters. My part then came on:

A mighty waxen cake I set upon,

Chopp'd it in fragments with my sword, and wrought

With strong hand ev'ry piece, till all were soft.

The great pow'r of the sun, in such a beam

As then flew burning from his diadem,

To liquefaction help'd us. Orderly

I stopp'd their ears; and they as fair did ply

My feet and hands with cords, and to the mast

With other halsers made me soundly fast.

Then took they seat, and forth our passage strook,

The foamy sea beneath their labour shook.

Row'd on, in reach of an erected voice,

The Sirens soon took note, without our noise,

Tun'd those sweet accents that made charms so strong,

And these learn'd numbers made the Sirens' song:

'Come here, thou worthy of a world of praise,

That dost so high the Grecian glory raise,

Ulysses! stay thy ship, and that song hear

That none pass'd ever but it bent his ear,

But left him ravish'd, and instructed more

By us, than any ever heard before.

For we know all things whatsoever were

In wide Troy labour'd; whatsoever there

The Grecians and the Trojans both sustain'd

By those high issues that the Gods ordain'd.

And whatsoever all the earth can show

T' inform a knowledge of desert, we know.'

This they gave accent in the sweetest strain

That ever open'd an enamour'd vein.

When my constrain'd heart needs would have mine ear

Yet more delighted, force way forth, and hear.

To which end I commanded with all sign

Stern looks could make (for not a joint of mine

Had pow'r to stir) my friends to rise, and give

My limbs free way. They freely striv'd to drive

Their ship still on. When, far from will to loose,

Eurylochus and Perimedes rose

To wrap me surer, and oppress'd me more

With many a halser than had use before.

When, rowing on without the reach of sound,

My friends unstopp'd their ears, and me unbound,

And that isle quite we quitted. But again

Fresh fears employ'd us. I beheld a main

Of mighty billows, and a smoke ascend,

A horrid murmur hearing. Ev'ry friend

Astonish'd sat; from ev'ry hand his Oar

Fell quite forsaken; with the dismal roar

Were all things there made echoes; stone-still stood

Our ship itself, because the ghastly flood

Took all men's motions from her in their own.

I through the ship went, labouring up and down

My friends' recover'd spirits. One by one

I gave good words, and said: That well were known

These ills to them before, I told them all,

And that these could not prove more capital

Than those the Cyclops block'd us up in, yet

My virtue, wit, and heav'n-help'd counsels set

Their freedoms open. I could not believe

But they remember'd it, and wish'd them give

My equal care and means now equal trust.

The strength they had for stirring up they must

Rouse and extend, to try if Jove had laid

His pow'rs in theirs up, and would add his aid

To 'scape ev'n that death. In particular then,

I told our pilot, that past other men

He most must bear firm spirits, since he sway'd

The continent that all our spirits convey'd,

In his whole guide of her. He saw there boil

The fiery whirlpools that to all our spoil

Inclos'd a rock, without which he must steer,

Or all our ruins stood concluded there.

All heard me and obey'd, and little knew

That, shunning that rock, six of them should rue

The wrack another hid. For I conceal'd

The heavy wounds, that never would be heal'd,

To be by Scylla open'd; for their fear

Would then have robb'd all of all care to steer,

Or stir an oar, and made them hide beneath,

When they and all had died an idle death.

But then ev'n I forgot to shun the harm

Circe forewarn'd; who will'd I should not arm,

Nor show myself to Scylla, lest in vain

I ventur'd life. Yet could not I contain,

But arm'd at all parts, and two lances took,

Up to the foredeck went, and thence did look

That rocky Scylla would have first appear'd

And taken my life with the friends I fear'd.

From thence yet no place could afford her sight,

Though through the dark rock mine eye threw her light,

And ransack'd all ways. I then took a strait

That gave myself, and some few more, receit

'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis; whence we saw

How horridly Charybdis' throat did draw

The brackish sea up, which when all aboard

She spit again out, never caldron sod

With so much fervour, fed with all the store

That could enrage it; all the rock did roar

With troubled waters; round about the tops

Of all the steep crags flew the foamy drops.

But when her draught the sea and earth dissunder'd,

The troubled bottoms turn'd up, and she thunder'd,

Far under shore the swart sands naked lay.

Whose whole stern sight the startled blood did fray

From all our faces. And while we on her

Our eyes bestow'd thus to our ruin's fear,

Six friends had Scylla snatch'd out of our keel,

In whom most loss did force and virtue feel.

When looking to my ship, and lending eye

To see my friends' estates, their heels turn'd high,

And hands cast up, I might discern, and hear

Their calls to me for help, when now they were

To try me in their last extremities.

And as an angler med'cine for surprise

Of little fish sits pouring from the rocks,

From out the crook'd horn of a fold-bred ox,

And then with his long angle hoists them high

Up to the air, then slightly hurls them by,

When helpless sprawling on the land they lie;

So eas'ly Scylla to her rock had rapt

My woeful friends, and so unhelp'd entrapt

Struggling they lay beneath her violent rape,

Who in their tortures, desp'rate of escape,

Shriek'd as she tore, and up their hands to me

Still threw for sweet life. I did never see,

In all my suff'rance ransacking the seas,

A spectacle so full of miseries.

Thus having fled these rocks (these cruel dames

Scylla, Charybdis) where the King of flames

Hath off'rings burn'd to him, our ship put in

The island that from all the earth doth win

The epithet Faultless, where the broad-of-head

And famous oxen for the Sun are fed,

With many fat flocks of that high-gone God.

Set in my ship, mine ear reach'd where we rode

The bellowing of oxen, and the bleat

Of fleecy sheep, that in my memory's seat

Put up the forms that late had been imprest

By dread Ææn Circe, and the best

Of souls and prophets, the blind Theban seer,

The wise Tiresias, who was grave decreer

Of my return's whole means; of which this one

In chief he urg'd—that I should always shun

The island of the man-delighting Sun.

When, sad at heart for our late loss, I pray'd

My friends to hear fit counsel (though dismay'd

With all ill fortunes) which was giv'n to me

By Circe's and Tiresias' prophecy,—

That I should fly the isle where was ador'd

The Comfort of the world, for ills abhorr'd

Were ambush'd for us there; and therefore will'd

They should put off and leave the isle. This kill'd

Their tender spirits; when Eurylochus

A speech that vex'd me utter'd, answ'ring thus:

'Cruel Ulysses! Since thy nerves abound

In strength, the more spent, and no toils confound

Thy able limbs, as all beat out of steel,

Thou ablest us too, as unapt to feel

The teeth of Labour, and the spoil of Sleep,

And therefore still wet waste us in the deep,

Nor let us land to eat, but madly now

In night put forth, and leave firm land to strew

The sea with errors. All the rabid flight

Of winds that ruin ships are bred in night.

Who is it that can keep off cruel Death,

If suddenly should rush out th' angry breath

Of Notus, or the eager-spirited West,

That cuff ships dead, and do the Gods their best?

Serve black Night still with shore, meat, sleep, and ease,

And offer to the Morning for the seas.'

This all the rest approv'd, and then knew I

That past all doubt the Devil did apply

His slaught'rous works. Nor would they be withheld;

I was but one, nor yielded but compell'd.

But all that might contain them I assay'd,

A sacred oath on all their pow'rs I laid,

That if with herds or any richest-flocks

We chanc'd t' encounter, neither sheep nor ox

We once should touch, nor (for that constant ill

That follows folly) scorn advice and kill,

But quiet sit us down and take such food

As the immortal Circe had bestow'd.

They swore all this in all severest sort;

And then we anchor'd in the winding port

Near a fresh river, where the long'd-for shore

They all flew out to, took in victuals store,

And, being full, thought of their friends, and wept

Their loss by Scylla, weeping till they slept.

In night's third part, when stars began to stoop,

The Cloud-assembler put a tempest up.

A boist'rous spirit he gave it, drave out all

His flocks of clouds, and let such darkness fall

That Earth and Seas, for fear, to hide were driv'n,

For with his clouds he thrust out Night from heav'n.

At morn we drew our ships into a cave,

In which the Nymphs that Phœbus' cattle drave

Fair dancing-rooms had, and their seats of state.

I urg'd my friends then, that, to shun their fate,

They would observe their oath, and take the food

Our ship afforded, nor attempt the blood

Of those fair herds and flocks, because they were

The dreadful God's that all could see and hear.

They stood observant, and in that good mind

Had we been gone; but so adverse the wind

Stood to our passage, that we could not go.

For one whole month perpetually did blow

Impetuous Notus, not a breath's repair

But his and Eurus' rul'd in all the air.

As long yet as their ruddy wine and bread

Stood out amongst them, so long not a head

Of all those oxen fell in any strife

Amongst those students for the gut and life;

But when their victuals fail'd they fell to prey,

Necessity compell'd them then to stray

In rape of fish and fowl; whatever came

In reach of hand or hook, the belly's flame

Afflicted to it. I then fell to pray'r,

And (making to a close retreat repair,

Free from both friends and winds) I wash'd my hands,

And all the Gods besought, that held commands

In liberal heav'n, to yield some mean to stay

Their desp'rate hunger, and set up the way

Of our return restrain'd. The Gods, instead

Of giving what I pray'd for—pow'r of deed—

A deedless sleep did on my lids distill,

For mean to work upon my friends their fill.

For whiles I slept, there wak'd no mean to curb

Their headstrong wants; which he that did disturb

My rule in chief at all times, and was chief

To all the rest in counsel to their grief,

Knew well, and of my present absence took

His fit advantage, and their iron strook

At highest heat. For, feeling their desire

In his own entrails, to allay the fire

That Famine blew in them, he thus gave way

To that affection: 'Hear what I shall say,

Though words will staunch no hunger, ev'ry death

To us poor wretches that draw temporal breath

You know is hateful; but, all know, to die

The death of Famine is a misery

Past all death loathsome. Let us, therefore, take

The chief of this fair herd, and off'rings make

To all the Deathless that in broad heav'n live,

And in particular vow, if we arrive

In natural Ithaca, to straight erect

A temple to the Haughty-in-aspect,

Rich and magnificent, and all within

Deck it with relics many and divine.

If yet he stands incens'd, since we have slain

His high-brow'd herd, and, therefore, will sustain

Desire to wrack our ship, he is but one,

And all the other Gods that we atone

With our divine rites will their suffrage give

To our design'd return, and let us live.

If not, and all take part, I rather crave

To serve with one sole death the yawning wave,

Than in a desert island lie and sterve,

And with one pin'd life many deaths observe.'

All cried 'He counsels nobly,' and all speed

Made to their resolute driving; for the feed

Of those coal-black, fair, broad-brow'd, sun-lov'd beeves

Had place close by our ships. They took the lives

Of sence, most eminent; about their fall

Stood round, and to the States Celestial

Made solemn vows; but other rites their ship

Could not afford them, they did, therefore, strip

The curl'd-head oak of fresh young leaves, to make

Supply of service for their barley-cake.

And on the sacredly-enflam'd, for wine,

Pour'd purest water, all the parts divine

Spitting and roasting; all the rites beside

Orderly using. Then did light divide

My low and upper lids; when, my repair

Made near my ship, I met the delicate air

Their roast exhal'd; out instantly I cried,

And said: 'O Jove, and all ye Deified,

Ye have oppress'd me with a cruel sleep,

While ye conferr'd on me a loss as deep

As Death descends to. To themselves alone

My rude men left ungovern'd, they have done

A deed so impious, I stand well assur'd,

That you will not forgive though ye procur'd.'

Then flew Lampetié with the ample robe

Up to her father with the golden globe,

Ambassadress t' inform him that my men

Had slain his oxen. Heart-incensed then,

He cried: 'Revenge me, Father, and the rest

Both ever-living and for ever blest!

Ulysses' impious men have drawn the blood

Of those my oxen that it did me good

To look on, walking all my starry round,

And when I trod earth all with meadows crown'd.

Without your full amends I'll leave heav'n quite,

Dis and the dead adorning with my light.'

The Cloud-herd answer'd: 'Son! Thou shalt be ours,

And light those mortals in that mine of flow'rs!

My red-hot flash shall graze but on their ship,

And eat it, burning, in the boiling deep.'

This by Calypso I was told, and she

Inform'd it from the verger Mercury.

Come to our ship, I chid and told by name

Each man how impiously he was to blame.

But chiding got no peace, and beeves were slain!

When straight the Gods forewent their following pain

With dire ostents. The hides the flesh had lost

Crept all before them. As the flesh did roast,

It bellow'd like the ox itself alive.

And yet my soldiers did their dead beeves drive

Through all these prodigies in daily feasts.

Six days they banqueted and slew fresh beasts;

And when the sev'nth day Jove reduc'd the wind

That all the month rag'd, and so in did bind

Our ship and us, was turn'd and calm'd, and we

Launch'd, put up masts, sails hoised, and to sea.

The island left so far that land nowhere

But only sea and sky had pow'r t' appear,

Jove fix'd a cloud above our ship, so black

That all the sea it darken'd. Yet from wrack

She ran a good free time, till from the West

Came Zephyr ruffling forth, and put his breast

Out in a singing tempest, so most vast

It burst the gables that made sure our mast.

Our masts came tumbling down, our cattle down

Rush'd to the pump, and by our pilot's crown

The main-mast pass'd his fall, pash'd all his skull,

And all this wrack but one flaw made at full.

Off from the stern the sternsman diving fell,

And from his sinews flew his soul to hell.

Together all this time Jove's thunder chid,

And through and through the ship his lightning glid,

Till it embrac'd her round; her bulk was fill'd

With nasty sulphur, and her men were kill'd,

Tumbled to sea, like sea-mews swum about,

And there the date of their return was out.

I toss'd from side to side still, till all-broke

Her ribs were with the storm, and she did choke

With let-in surges; for the mast torn down

Tore her up piecemeal, and for me to drown

Left little undissolv'd. But to the mast

There was a leather thong left, which I cast

About it and the keel, and so sat tost

With baneful weather, till the West had lost

His stormy tyranny. And then arose

The South, that bred me more abhorréd woes;

For back again his blasts expell'd me quite

On ravenous Charybdis. All that night

I totter'd up and down, till Light and I

At Scylla's rock encounter'd, and the nigh

Dreadful Charybdis. As I drave on these,

I saw Charybdis supping up the seas,

And had gone up together, if the tree

That bore the wild figs had not rescued me;

To which I leap'd, and left my keel, and high

Chamb'ring upon it did as close imply

My breast about it as a reremouse could;

Yet might my feet on no stub fasten hold

To ease my hands, the roots were crept so low

Beneath the earth, and so aloft did grow

The far-spread arms that, though good height I gat,

I could not reach them. To the main bole flat

I, therefore, still must cling; till up again

She belch'd my mast, and after that amain

My keel came tumbling. So at length it chanc'd

To me, as to a judge that long advanc'd

To judge a sort of hot young fellows' jars,

At length time frees him from their civil wars,

When glad he riseth and to dinner goes;

So time, at length, releas'd with joys my woes,

And from Charybdis' mouth appear'd my keel.

To which, my hand now loos'd and now my heel,

I altogether with a huge noise dropp'd,

Just in her midst fell, where the mast was propp'd,

And there row'd off with owers of my hands.

God and man's Father would not from her sands

Let Scylla see me, for I then had died

That bitter death that my poor friends supplied.

Nine days at sea I hover'd; the tenth night

In th' isle Ogygia, where, about the bright

And right renown'd Calypso, I was cast

By pow'r of Deity; where I lived embrac'd

With love and feasts. But why should I relate

Those kind occurrents? I should iterate

What I in part to your chaste queen and you

So late imparted. And, for me to grow

A talker-over of my tale again,

Were past my free contentment to sustain."