Odyssey

Aurora rose from high-born Tithon's bed,

That men and Gods might be illustrated,

And then the Deities sat. Imperial Jove,

That makes the horrid murmur beat above,

Took place past all, whose height for ever springs,

And from whom flowers th' eternal pow'r of things.

Then Pallas, mindful of Ulysses, told

The many cares that in Calypso's hold

He still sustain'd, when he had felt before

So much affliction, and such dangers more.

"O Father," said she, "and ye Ever-blest,

Give never king hereafter interest

In any aid of yours, by serving you,

By being gentle, human, just, but grow

Rude, and for ever scornful of your rights,

All justice ord'ring by their appetites,

Since he, that rul'd as it in right behov'd,

That all his subjects as his children lov'd,

Finds you so thoughtless of him and his birth.

Thus men begin to say, ye rule in earth,

And grudge at what ye let him undergo,

Who yet the least part of his suff'rance know:

Thrall'd in an island, shipwrack'd in his tears,

And, in the fancies that Calypso bears,

Bound from his birthright, all his shipping gone,

And of his soldiers not retaining one.

And now his most-lov'd son's life doth inflame

Their slaught'rous envies; since his father's fame

He puts in pursuit, and is gone as far

As sacred Pylos, and the singular

Dame-breeding Sparta." This, with this reply,

The Cloud-assembler answer'd: "What words fly

Thine own remembrance, daughter? Hast not thou

The counsel giv'n thyself, that told thee how

Ulysses shall with his return address

His Wooers wrong? And, for the safe access

His son shall make to his innative port,

Do thou direct it, in as curious sort

As thy wit serves thee; it obeys thy pow'rs;

And in their ship return the speedless Wooers."

Then turn'd he to his issue Mercury,

And said: "Thou hast made good our ambassy

To th' other Statists, to the Nymph then now,

On whose fair head a tuft of gold doth grow,

Bear our true-spoken counsel, for retreat

Of patient Ulysses; who shall get

No aid from us, nor any mortal man,

But in a patch'd-up skiff (built as he can,

And suff'ring woes enough) the twentieth day

At fruitful Scheria let him breathe his way,

With the Phæacians, that half Deities live,

Who like a God will honour him, and give

His wisdom clothes, and ship, and brass, and gold,

More than for gain of Troy he ever told;

Where, at the whole division of the prey,

If he a saver were, or got away

Without a wound, if he should grudge, 'twas well.

But th' end shall crown all; therefore Fate will deal

So well with him, to let him land, and see

His native earth, friends, house, and family."

Thus charg'd he; nor Argicides denied,

But to his feet his fair wing'd shoes he tied,

Ambrosian, golden, that in his command

Put either sea, or the unmeasur'd land,

With pace as speedy as a puft of wind.

Then up his rod went, with which he declin'd

The eyes of any waker, when he pleas'd,

And any sleeper, when he wish'd, diseas'd.

This took; he stoop'd Pieria, and thence

Glid through the air, and Neptune's confluence

Kiss'd as he flew, and check'd the waves as light

As any sea-mew in her fishing flight,

Her thick wings sousing in the savory seas.

Like her, he pass'd a world of wilderness;

But when the far-off isle he touch'd, he went

Up from the blue sea to the continent,

And reach'd the ample cavern of the Queen,

Whom he within found, without seldom seen.

A sun-like fire upon the hearth did flame,

The matter precious, and divine the frame,

Of cedar cleft and incense was the pile,

That breath'd an odour round about the isle.

Herself was seated in an inner room,

Whom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loom,

About a curious web, whose yarn she threw

In with a golden shittle. A grove grew

In endless spring about her cavern round,

With odorous cypress, pines, and poplars, crown'd,

Where hawks, sea-owls, and long-tongued bittours bred,

And other birds their shady pinions spread;

All fowls maritimal; none roosted there,

But those whose labours in the waters were.

A vine did all the hollow cave embrace,

Still green, yet still ripe bunches gave it grace.

Four fountains, one against another, pour'd

Their silver streams; and meadows all enflower'd

With sweet balm-gentle, and blue-violets hid,

That deck'd the soft breasts of each fragrant mead.

Should anyone, though he immortal were,

Arrive and see the sacred objects there,

He would admire them, and be over-joy'd;

And so stood Hermes' ravish'd pow'rs employ'd,

But having all admir'd, he enter'd on

The ample cave, nor could be seen unknown

Of great Calypso (for all Deities are

Prompt in each other's knowledge, though so far

Sever'd in dwellings) but he could not see

Ulysses there within; without was he,

Set sad ashore, where 'twas his use to view

Th' unquiet sea, sigh'd, wept, and empty drew

His heart of comfort. Plac'd here in her throne,

That beams cast up to admiratión,

Divine Calypso question'd Hermes thus:

"For what cause, dear, and much-esteem'd by us,

Thou golden-rod-adorned Mercury,

Arriv'st thou here? Thou hast not us'd t' apply

Thy passage this way. Say, whatever be

Thy heart's desire, my mind commands it thee,

If in my means it lie, or pow'r of fact.

But first, what hospitable rites exact,

Come yet more near, and take." This said, she set

A table forth, and furnish'd it with meat,

Such as the Gods taste; and serv'd in with it

Vermilion nectar. When with banquet fit

He had confirm'd his spirits, he thus exprest

His cause of coming: "Thou hast made request,

Goddess of Goddesses, to understand

My cause of touch here; which thou shalt command,

And know with truth: Jove caus'd my course to thee

Against my will, for who would willingly

Lackey along so vast a lake of brine,

Near to no city that the Pow'rs divine

Receives with solemn rites and hecatombs?

But Jove's will ever all law overcomes,

No other God can cross or make it void;

And he affirms, that one the most annoy'd

With woes and toils of all those men that fought

For Priam's city, and to end hath brought

Nine years in the contention, is with thee.

For in the tenth year, when roy victory

Was won to give the Greeks the spoil of Troy,

Return they did profess, but not enjoy,

Since Pallas they incens'd, and she the waves

By all the winds' pow'r, that blew ope their graves.

And there they rested. Only this poor one

This coast both winds and waves have cast upon;

Whom now forthwith he wills thee to dismiss,

Affirming that th' unalter'd Destinies

Not only have decreed he shall not die

Apart his friends, but of necessity

Enjoy their sights before those fatal hours,

His country earth reach, and erected tow'rs."

This struck a love-check'd horror through her pow'rs,

When, naming him, she this reply did give:

"Insatiate are ye Gods, past all that live,

In all things you affect; which still converts

Your pow'rs to envies. It afflicts your hearts,

That any Goddess should, as you obtain

The use of earthly dames, enjoy the men,

And most in open marriage. So ye far'd,

When the delicious-finger'd Morning shar'd

Orion's bed; you easy-living States

Could never satisfy your emulous hates,

Till in Ortygia the precise-liv'd Dame,

Gold-thron'd Diana, on him rudely came,

And with her swift shafts slew him. And such pains,

When rich-hair'd Ceres pleas'd to give the reins

To her affections, and the grace did yield

Of love and bed, amidst a three-cropp'd field,

To her Iasion, he paid angry Jove,

Who lost no long time notice of their love,

But with a glowing lightning was his death.

And now your envies labour underneath

A mortal's choice of mine; whose life I took

To lib'ral safety, when his ship Jove strook,

With red-hot flashes, piece-meal in the seas,

And all his friends and soldiers succourless

Perish'd but he. Him, cast upon this coast

With blasts and billows, I, in life giv'n lost,

Preserv'd alone, lov'd, nourish'd, and did vow

To make him deathless, and yet never grow

Crooked, or worn with age, his whole life long.

But since no reason may be made so strong

To strive with Jove's will, or to make it vain,

No not if all the other Gods should strain

Their pow'rs against it, let his will be law,

So he afford him fit means to withdraw,

As he commands him, to the raging main.

But means from me he never shall obtain,

For my means yield nor men, nor ship, nor oars,

To set him off from my so envied shores.

But if my counsel and good will can aid

His safe pass home, my best shall be assay'd."

"Vouchsafe it so," said heav'n's ambassador,

"And deign it quickly. By all means abhor

T' incense Jove's wrath against thee, that with grace

He may hereafter all thy wish embrace."

Thus took the Argus-killing God his wings.

And since the rev'rend Nymph these awful things

Receiv'd from Jove, she to Ulysses went;

Whom she ashore found, drown'd in discontent,

His eyes kept never dry he did so mourn,

And waste his dear age for his wish'd return;

Which still without the cave he us'd to do,

Because he could not please the Goddess so,

At night yet, forc'd, together took their rest,

The willing Goddess and th' unwilling Guest;

But he all day in rocks, and on the shore,

The vex'd sea view'd, and did his fate deplore.

Him, now, the Goddess coming near bespake:

"Unhappy man, no more discomfort take

For my constraint of thee, nor waste thine age,

I now will passing freely disengage

Thy irksome stay here. Come then, fell thee wood,

And build a ship, to save thee from the flood.

I'll furnish thee with fresh wave, bread, and wine

Ruddy and sweet, that will the piner pine,

Put garments on thee, give the winds foreright,

That ev'ry way thy home-bent appetite

May safe attain to it; if so it please

At all parts all the heav'n-hous'd Deities,

That more in pow'r are, more in skill, than I,

And more can judge what fits humanity."

He stood amaz'd at this strange change in her,

And said: "O Goddess! Thy intents prefer

Some other project than my parting hence,

Commanding things of too high consequence

For my performance, that myself should build

A ship of pow'r, my home-assays to shield

Against the great sea of such dread to pass;

Which not the best-built ship that ever was

Will pass exulting, when such winds, as Jove

Can thunder up, their trims and tacklings prove.

But could I build one, I would ne'er aboard,

Thy will oppos'd, nor, won, without thy word,

Giv'n in the great oath of the Gods to me,

Not to beguile me in the least degree."

The Goddess smil'd, held hard his hand, and said:

"O y' are a shrewd one, and so habited

In taking heed thou know'st not what it is

To be unwary, nor use words amiss.

How hast thou charm'd me, were I ne'er so sly!

Let earth know then, and heav'n, so broad, so high,

And th' under-sunk waves of th' infernal stream,

(Which is an oath, as terribly supreme,

As any God swears) that I had no thought

But stood with what I spake, nor would have wrought,

Nor counsell'd, any act against thy good;

But ever diligently weigh'd, and stood

On those points in persuading thee, that I

Would use myself in such extremity.

For my mind simple is, and innocent,

Not giv'n by cruel sleights to circumvent,

Nor bear I in my breast a heart of steel,

But with the suff'rer willing suff'rance feel."

This said, the Grace of Goddesses led home,

He trac'd her steps; and, to the cavern come,

In that rich throne, whence Mercury arose,

He sat. The Nymph herself did then appose,

For food and bev'rage, to him all best meat

And drink, that mortals use to taste and eat.

Then sat she opposite, and for her feast

Was nectar and ambrosia addrest

By handmaids to her. Both, what was prepar'd,

Did freely fall to. Having fitly far'd,

The Nymph Calypso this discourse began:

"Jove-bred Ulysses! Many-witted man!

Still is thy home so wish'd? So soon, away?

Be still of cheer, for all the worst I say.

But, if thy soul knew what a sum of woes,

For thee to cast up, thy stern Fates impose,

Ere to thy country earth thy hopes attain,

Undoubtedly thy choice would here remain,

Keep house with me, and be a liver ever.

Which, methinks, should thy house and thee dissever,

Though for thy wife there thou art set on fire,

And all thy days are spent in her desire;

And though it be no boast in me to say

In form and mind I match her ev'ry way.

Nor can it fit a mortal dame's compare,

T' affect those terms with us that deathless are."

The great-in-counsels made her this reply:

"Renown'd, and to be rev'renc'd, Deity!

Let it not move thee, that so much I vow

My comforts to my wife; though well I know

All cause myself why wise Penelope

In wit is far inferior to thee,

In feature, stature, all the parts of show,

She being a mortal, an immortal thou,

Old ever growing, and yet never old.

Yet her desire shall all my days see told,

Adding the sight of my returning day,

And natural home. If any God shall lay

His hand upon me as I pass the seas,

I'll bear the worst of what his hand shall please,

As having giv'n me such a mind as shall

The more still rise the more his hand lets fall.

In wars and waves my suff'rings were not small.

I now have suffer'd much, as much before,

Hereafter let as much result, and more."

This said, the sun set, and earth shadows gave;

When these two (in an in-room of the cave,

Left to themselves) left love no rites undone.

The early Morn up, up he rose, put on

His in and out weed. She herself enchaces

Amidst a white robe, full of all the Graces,

Ample, and pleated thick like fishy scales;

A golden girdle then her waist impales;

Her head a veil decks; and abroad they come.

And now began Ulysses to go home.

A great axe first she gave, that two ways cut,

In which a fair well-polish'd helm was put,

That from an olive bough receiv'd his frame.

A plainer then. Then led she, till they came

To lofty woods that did the isle confine.

The fir-tree, poplar, and heav'n-scaling pine,

Had there their offspring. Of which, those that were

Of driest matter, and grew longest there,

He choos'd for lighter sail. This place thus shown,

The Nymph turn'd home. He fell to felling down,

And twenty trees he stoop'd in little space,

Plain'd, used his plumb, did all with artful grace.

In mean time did Calypso wimbles bring.

He bor'd, clos'd, nail'd, and order'd ev'ry thing,

And look how much a ship-wright will allow

A ship of burden (one that best doth know

What fits his art) so large a keel he cast,

Wrought up her decks, and hatches, side-boards, mast,

With willow watlings arm'd her to resist

The billows' outrage, added all she miss'd,

Sail-yards, and stern for guide. The Nymph then brought

Linen for sails, which with dispatch he wrought,

Gables, and halsters, tacklings. All the frame

In four days' space to full perfection came.

The fifth day, they dismiss'd him from the shore,

Weeds neat, and odorous, gave him, victuals store,

Wine, strong waters, and a prosp'rous wind,

To which, Ulysses, fit-to-be-divin'd,

His sails expos'd, and hoiséd. Off he gat;

And cheerful was he. At the stern he sat,

And steer'd right artfully. Nor sleep could seize

His eye-lids. He beheld the Pleiades;

The Bear, surnam'd the Wain, that round doth move

About Orion, and keeps still above

The billowy ocean; the slow-setting star

Bootes call'd, by some the Waggoner.

Calypso warn'd him he his course should steer

Still to his left hand. Seventeen days did clear

The cloudy night's command in his moist way,

And by the eighteenth light he might display

The shady hills of the Phæacian shore,

For which, as to his next abode, he bore.

The country did a pretty figure yield,

And look'd from off the dark seas like a shield.

Imperious Neptune, making his retreat

From th' Æthiopian earth, and taking seat

Upon the mountains of the Solymi,

From thence, far off discov'ring, did descry

Ulysses his fields ploughing. All on fire

The sight straight set his heart, and made desire

Of wreak run over, it did boil so high.

When, his head nodding; "O impiety,"

He cried out, "now the Gods' inconstancy

Is most apparent, alt'ring their designs

Since I the Æthiops saw, and here confines

To this Ulysses' fate his misery.

The great mark, on which all his hopes rely,

Lies in Phæacia. But I hope he shall

Feel woe at height, ere that dead calm befall."

This said; he, begging, gather'd clouds from land,

Frighted the seas up, snatch'd into his hand

His horrid trident, and aloft did toss,

Of all the winds, all storms he could engross,

All earth took into sea with clouds, grim Night

Fell tumbling headlong from the cope of light,

The East and South winds justled in the air,

The violent Zephyr, and North making-fair,

Roll'd up the waves before them. And then bent

Ulysses' knees, then all his spirit was spent.

In which despair, he thus spake: "Woe is me!

What was I born to, man of misery!

Fear tells me now, that, all the Goddess said,

Truth's self will author, that Fate would be paid

Grief's whole sum due from me, at sea, before

I reach'd the dear touch of my country's shore.

With what clouds Jove heav'n's heighten'd forehead binds!

How tyrannize the wraths of all the winds!

How all the tops he bottoms with the deeps,

And in the bottoms all the tops he steeps!

Thus dreadful is the presence of our death.

Thrice four times blest were they that sunk beneath

Their fates at Troy, and did to nought contend

But to renown Atrides with their end!

I would to God, my hour of death and fate

That day had held the' pow'r to terminate,

When show'rs of darts my life bore undepress'd

About divine Æacides deceas'd!

Then had I been allotted to have died,

By all the Greeks with fun'rals glorified,

(Whence death, encouraging good life, had grown)

Where now I die, by no man mourn'd nor known."

This spoke, a huge wave took him by the head,

And hurl'd him o'er board; ship and all it laid

Inverted quite amidst the waves, but he

Far off from her sprawl'd, strow'd about the sea,

His stern still holding broken off, his mast

Burst in the midst, so horrible a blast

Of mix'd winds struck it. Sails and sail-yards fell

Amongst the billows; and himself did dwell

A long time under water, nor could get

In haste his head out, wave with wave so met

In his depression; and his garments too,

Giv'n by Calypso, gave him much to do,

Hind'ring his swimming; yet he left not so

His drenchéd vessel, for the overthrow

Of her nor him, but gat at length again,

Wrastling with Neptune, hold of her; and then

Sat in her bulk, insulting over death,

Which, with the salt stream prest to stop his breath,

He 'scap'd, and gave the sea again to give

To other men. His ship so striv'd to live,

Floating at random, cuff'd from wave to wave.

As you have seen the North wind when he drave

In autumn heaps of thorn-fed grasshoppers

Hither and thither, one heap this way bears,

Another that, and makes them often meet

in his confus'd gales; so Ulysses' fleet

The winds hurl'd up and down; now Boreas

Toss'd it to Notus, Notus gave it pass

To Eurus, Eurus Zephyr made pursue

The horrid tennis. This sport call'd the view

Of Cadmus' daughter, with the narrow heel,

Ino Leucothea, that first did feel

A mortal dame's desires, and had a tongue,

But now had th' honour to be nam'd among

The marine Godheads. She with pity saw

Ulysses justled thus from flaw to flaw,

And, like a cormorant in form and flight,

Rose from a whirl-pool, on the ship did light,

And thus bespake him: "Why is Neptune thus

In thy pursuit extremely furious,

Oppressing thee with such a world of ill,

Ev'n to thy death? He must not serve his will,

Though 'tis his study. Let me then advise

As my thoughts serve; thou shalt not be unwise

To leave thy weeds and ship to the commands

Of these rude winds, and work out with thy hands

Pass to Phæacia, where thy austere Fate

Is to pursue thee with no more such hate.

Take here this tablet, with this riband strung,

And see it still about thy bosom hung;

By whose eternal virtue never fear

To suffer thus again, nor perish here.

But when thou touchest with thy hand the shore,

Then take it from thy neck, nor wear it more,

But cast it far off from the continent,

And then thy person far ashore present.

Thus gave she him the tablet; and again,

Turn'd to a cormorant, div'd, past sight, the main.

Patient Ulysses sigh'd at this, and stuck

In the conceit of such fair-spoken luck,

And said: "Alas! I must suspect ev'n this,

Lest any other of the Deities

Add sleight to Neptune's force, to counsel me

To leave my vessel, and so far off see

The shore I aim at. Not with thoughts too clear

Will I obey her, but to me appear

These counsels best: As long as I perceive

My ship not quite dissolv'd, I will not leave

The help she may afford me, but abide,

And suffer all woes till the worst be tried.

When she is split, I'll swim. No miracle can,

Past near and clear means, move a knowing man."

While this discourse employ'd him, Neptune rais'd

A huge, a high, and horrid sea, that seiz'd

Him and his ship, and toss'd them through the lake.

As when the violent winds together take

Heaps of dry chaff, and hurl them ev'ry way;

So his long wood-stack Neptune strook astray

Then did Ulysses mount on rib, perforce,

Like to a rider of a running horse,

To stay himself a time, while he might shift

His drenched weeds, that were Calypso's gift.

When putting straight Leucothea's amulet

About his neck, he all his forces set

To swim, and cast him prostrate to the seas.

When pow'rful Neptune saw the ruthless prease

Of perils siege him thus, he mov'd his head,

And this betwixt him and his heart he said:

"So, now feel ills enow, and struggle so,

Till to your Jove-lov'd islanders you row.

But my mind says, you will not so avoid

This last task too, but be with suff'rance cloy'd."

This said, his rich-man'd horse he mov'd, and reach'd

His house at Ægas. But Minerva fetch'd

The winds from sea, and all their ways but one

Barr'd to their passage; the bleak North alone

She set to blow, the rest she charg'd to keep

Their rages in, and bind themselves in sleep.

But Boreas still flew high to break the seas,

Till Jove-bred Ithacus the more with ease

The navigation-skill'd Phæacian states

Might make his refuge, Death and angry Fates

At length escaping. Two nights, yet, and days

He spent in wrastling with the sable seas;

In which space, often did his heart propose

Death to his eyes. But when Aurora rose,

And threw the third light from her orient hair,

The winds grew calm, and clear was all the air,

Not one breath stirring. Then he might descry,

Rais'd by the high seas, clear, and land was nigh.

And then, look how to good sons that esteem

Their father's life dear, (after pains extreme,

Felt in some sickness, that hath held him long

Down to his bed, and with affections strong

Wasted his body, made his life his load,

As being inflicted by some angry God)

When on their pray'rs they see descend at length

Health from the heav'ns, clad all in spirit and strength,

The sight is precious; so, since here should end

Ulysses' toils, which therein should extend

Health to his country, held to him his sire

And on which long for him disease did tire,

And then, besides, for his own sake to see

The shores, the woods so near, such joy had he,

As those good sons for their recover'd sire.

Then labour'd feet and all parts to aspire

To that wish'd continent; which when as near

He came, as Clamour might inform an ear,

He heard a sound beat from the sea-bred rocks,

Against which gave a huge sea horrid shocks,

That belch'd upon the firm land weeds and foam,

With which were all things hid there, where no room

Of fit capacity was for any port,

Nor from the sea for any man's resort,

The shores, the rocks, the cliff's, so prominent were.

"O," said Ulysses then, "now Jupiter

Hath giv'n me sight of an unhop'd for shore,

Though I have wrought these seas so long, so sore.

Of rest yet no place shows the slend'rest prints,

The rugged shore so bristled is with flints,

Against which ev'ry way the waves so flock,

And all the shore shows as one eminent rock,

So near which 'tis so deep, that not a sand

Is there for any tired foot to stand,

Nor fly his death-fast-following miseries,

Lest, if he land, upon him foreright flies

A churlish wave, to crush him 'gainst a cliff,

Worse than vain rend'ring all his landing strife.

And should I swim to seek a hav'n elsewhere,

Or land less way-beat, I may justly fear

I shall be taken with a gale again,

And cast a huge way off into the main;

And there the great Earth-shaker (having seen

My so near landing, and again his spleen

Forcing me to him) will some whale send out,

(Of which a horrid number here about

His Amphitrite breeds) to swallow me.

I well have prov'd, with what malignity

He treads my steps." While this discourse he held,

A curs'd surge 'gainst a cutting rock impell'd

His naked body, which it gash'd and tore,

And had his bones broke, if but one sea more

Had cast him on it. But She prompted him,

That never fail'd, and bade him no more swim

Still off and on, but boldly force the shore,

And hug the rock that him so rudely tore;

Which he with both hands sigh'd and clasp'd, till past

The billow's rage was; when 'scap'd, back so fast

The rock repuls'd it, that it reft his hold,

Sucking him from it, and far back he roll'd

And as the polypus that (forc'd from home

Amidst the soft sea, and near rough land come

For shelter 'gainst the storms that beat on her

At open sea, as she abroad doth err)

A deal of gravel, and sharp little stones,

Needfully gathers in her hollow bones;

So he forc'd hither by the sharper ill,

Shunning the smoother, where he best hop'd, still

The worst succeeded; for the cruel friend,

To which he cling'd for succour, off did rend

From his broad hands the soaken flesh so sore

That off he fell, and could sustain no more.

Quite under water fell he; and, past fate,

Hapless Ulysses there had lost the state

He held in life, if, still the grey-eyed Maid

His wisdom prompting, he had not assay'd

Another course, and ceas'd t' attempt that shore,

Swimming, and casting round his eye t' explore

Some other shelter. Then the mouth he found

Of fair Callicoe's flood, whose shores were crown'd

With most apt succours: rocks so smooth they seem'd

Polish'd of purpose; land that quite redeem'd

With breathless coverts th' others' blasted shores.

The flood he knew, and thus in heart implores:

"King of this river, hear! Whatever name

Makes thee invok'd, to thee I humbly frame

My flight from Neptune's furies. Rev'rend is

To all the ever-living Deities

What erring man soever seeks their aid.

To thy both flood and knees a man dismay'd

With varied suff'rance sues. Yield then some rest

To him that is thy suppliant profest."

This, though but spoke in thought, the Godhead heard,

Her current straight stay'd, and her thick waves clear'd

Before him, smooth'd her waters, and, just where

He pray'd half-drown'd, entirely sav'd him there.

Then forth he came, his both knees falt'ring, both

His strong hands hanging down, and all with froth

His cheeks and nosthrils flowing, voice and breath

Spent to all use, and down he sunk to death.

The sea had soak'd his heart through; all his veins

His toils had rack'd t' a labouring woman's pains.

Dead weary was he. But when breath did find

A pass reciprocal, and in his mind

His spirit was recollected, up he rose,

And from his neck did th' amulet unloose,

That Ino gave him; which he hurl'd from him

To sea. It sounding fell, and back did swim

With th' ebbing waters, till it straight arriv'd

Where Ino's fair hand it again receiv'd.

Then kiss'd he th' humble earth; and on he goes,

Till bulrushes show'd place for his repose,

Where laid, he sigh'd, and thus said to his soul:

"O me, what strange perplexities control

The whole skill of thy pow'rs in this event!

What feel I? If till care-nurse night be spent

I watch amidst the flood, the sea's chill breath,

And vegetant dews, I fear will be my death,

So low brought with my labours. Towards day

A passing sharp air ever breathes at sea.

If I the pitch of this next mountain scale,

And shady wood, and in some thicket fall

Into the hands of Sleep, though there the cold

May well be check'd, and healthful slumbers hold

Her sweet hand on my pow'rs, all care allay'd,

Yet there will beasts devour me. Best appaid

Doth that course make me yet; for there, some strife,

Strength, and my spirit, may make me make for life;

Which, though impair'd, may yet be fresh applied,

Where peril possible of escape is tried.

But he that fights with heav'n, or with the sea,

To indiscretion adds impiety."

Thus to the woods he hasted; which he found

Not far from sea, but on far-seeing ground,

Where two twin underwoods he enter'd on,

With olive-trees and oil-trees overgrown;

Through which the moist force of the loud-voic'd wind

Did never beat, nor ever Phœbus shin'd,

Nor show'r beat through, they grew so one in one,

And had, by turns, their pow'r t' exclude the sun.

Here enter'd our Ulysses; and a bed

Of leaves huge, and of huge abundance, spread

With all his speed. Large he made it, for there

For two or three men ample cov'rings were,

Such as might shield them from the winter's worst,

Though steel it breathed, and blew as it would burst.

Patient Ulysses joy'd, that ever day

Show'd such a shelter. In the midst he lay,

Store of leaves heaping high on ev'ry side.

And as in some out-field a man doth hide

A kindled brand, to keep the seed of fire,

No neighbour dwelling near, and his desire

Serv'd with self store, he else would ask of none,

But of his fore-spent sparks rakes th' ashes on;

So this out-place Ulysses thus receives,

And thus nak'd virtue's seed lies hid in leaves.

Yet Pallas made him sleep as soon as men

Whom delicacies all their flatt'ries deign,

And all that all his labours could comprise

Quickly concluded in his closed eyes.