THE SAFFRON Morn, with early blushes spread, | |
| Now rose refulgent from Tithonus’ bed; | |
| With new-born Day to gladden mortal sight, | |
| And gild the courts of Heav’n with sacred light. | |
| Then met th’ eternal Synod of the Sky, | 5 |
| Before the God, who thunders from on high, | |
| Supreme in might, sublime in majesty. | |
| Pallas, to these, deplores th’ unequal Fates | |
| Of wise Ulysses, and his toils relates: | |
| Her hero’s danger touch’d the pitying Power, | 10 |
| The nymph’s seducements, and the magic bower. | |
| Thus she began her plaint. ‘Immortal Jove! | |
| And you who fill the blissful seats above! | |
| Let Kings no more with gentle mercy sway, | |
| Or bless a people willing to obey, | 15 |
| But crush the nations with an iron rod, | |
| And ev’ry Monarch be the scourge of God; | |
| If from your thoughts Ulysses you remove, | |
| Who ruled his subjects with a father’s love. | |
| Sole in an isle, encircled by the main, | 20 |
| Abandon’d, banish’d from his native reign, | |
| Unbless’d he sighs, detain’d by lawless charms, | |
| And press’d unwilling in Calypso’s arms. | |
| Nor friends are there, nor vessels to convey, | |
| Nor oars to cut th’ immeasurable way. | 25 |
| And now fierce traitors, studious to destroy | |
| His only son, their ambush’d fraud employ; | |
| Who, pious, foll’wing his great father’s fame, | |
| To sacred Pylos and to Sparta came.’ | |
| ‘What words are these?’ (replied the Power who forms | 30 |
| The clouds of night, and darkens Heav’n with storms); | |
| ‘Is not already in thy soul decreed, | |
| The Chief’s return shall make the guilty bleed? | |
| What cannot Wisdom do? Thou may’st restore | |
| The son in safety to his native shore; | 35 |
| While the fell foes, who late in ambush lay, | |
| With fraud defeated measure back their way.’ | |
| Then thus to Hermes the command was giv’n. | |
| ‘Hermes, thou chosen messenger of Heav’n! | |
| Go, to the Nymph be these our orders borne: | 40 |
| ’T is Jove’s decree, Ulysses shall return: | |
| The patient man shall view his old abodes, | |
| Nor help’d by mortal hand, nor guiding Gods: | |
| In twice ten days shall fertile Scheria find, | |
| Alone, and floating to the wave and wind. | 45 |
| The bold Phæacians there, whose haughty line | |
| Is mix’d with Gods, half human, half divine, | |
| The Chief shall honour as some heav’nly guest, | |
| And swift transport him to his place of rest. | |
| His vessels loaded with a plenteous store | 50 |
| Of brass, of vestures, and resplendent ore | |
| (A richer prize than if his joyful isle | |
| Receiv’d him charged with Ilion’s noble spoil), | |
| His friends, his country, he shall see, tho’ late; | |
| Such is our sov’reign will, and such is Fate.’ | 55 |
| He spoke. The God who mounts the winged winds | |
| Fast to his feet the golden pinions binds, | |
| That high thro’ fields of air his flight sustain | |
| O’er the wide earth, and o’er the boundless main. | |
| He grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly, | 60 |
| Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye: | |
| Then shoots from Heav’n to high Pieria’s steep, | |
| And stoops incumbent on the rolling deep. | |
| So wat’ry fowl, that seek their fishy food, | |
| With wings expanded o’er the foaming flood, | 65 |
| Now sailing smooth the level surface sweep, | |
| Now dip their pinions in the briny deep. | |
| Thus o’er the world of waters Hermes flew, | |
| Till now the distant island rose in view: | |
| Then, swift ascending from the azure wave, | 70 |
| He took the path that winded to the cave. | |
| Large was the grot, in which the Nymph he found | |
| (The fair-hair’d Nymph with ev’ry beauty crown’d); | |
| She sate and sung; the rocks resound her lays; | |
| The cave was brighten’d with a rising blaze; | 75 |
| Cedar and frankincense, an od’rous pile, | |
| Flamed on the hearth and wide perfumed the isle; | |
| While she with work and song the time divides, | |
| And thro’ the loom the golden shuttle guides. | |
| Without the grot a various sylvan scene | 80 |
| Appear’d around, and groves of living green; | |
| Poplars and alders ever quiv’ring play’d, | |
| And nodding cypress form’d a fragrant shade; | |
| On whose high branches, waving with the storm, | |
| The birds of broadest wing their mansions form, | 85 |
| The chough, the sea-mew, the loquacious crow, | |
| And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below. | |
| Depending vines the shelving cavern screen, | |
| With purple clusters blushing thro’ the green. | |
| Four limpid fountains from the clefts distil; | 90 |
| And ev’ry fountain pours a sev’ral rill, | |
| In mazy windings wand’ring down the hill; | |
| Where bloomy meads with vivid greens were crown’d, | |
| And glowing violets threw odours round. | |
| A scene, where if a God should cast his sight, | 95 |
| A God might gaze, and wander with delight! | |
| Joy touch’d the Messenger of Heav’n: he stay’d | |
| Entranc’d, and all the blissful haunts survey’d. | |
| Him, ent’ring in the cave, Calypso knew; | |
| For Powers celestial to each other’s view | 100 |
| Stand still confess’d, tho’ distant far they lie | |
| To habitants of earth, or sea, or sky. | |
| But sad Ulysses, by himself apart, | |
| Pour’d the big sorrows of his swelling heart; | |
| All on the lonely shore he sate to weep, | 105 |
| And roll’d his eyes around the restless deep; | |
| Toward his lov’d coast he roll’d his eyes in vain, | |
| Till, dimm’d with rising grief, they stream’d again. | |
| Now graceful seated on her shining throne, | |
| To Hermes thus the Nymph divine begun: | 110 |
| ‘God of the Golden Wand! on what behest | |
| Arrivest thou here, an unexpected guest? | |
| Lov’d as thou art, thy free injunctions lay: | |
| ’T is mine with joy and duty to obey. | |
| Till now a stranger, in a happy hour | 115 |
| Approach, and taste the dainties of my bower.’ | |
| Thus having spoke, the Nymph the table spread | |
| (Ambrosial cates, with nectar rosy-red); | |
| Hermes the hospitable rite partook, | |
| Divine refection! then, recruited, spoke: | 120 |
| ‘What mov’d this journey from my native sky, | |
| A Goddess asks, nor can a God deny: | |
| Hear then the truth. By mighty Jove’s command | |
| Unwilling have I trod this pleasing land; | |
| For who, self-mov’d, with weary wing would sweep | 125 |
| Such length of ocean and unmeasured deep: | |
| A world of waters! far from all the ways | |
| Where men frequent, or sacred altars blaze? | |
| But to Jove’s will submission we must pay; | |
| What Power so great to dare to disobey? | 130 |
| A man, he says, a man resides with thee, | |
| Of all his kind most worn with misery; | |
| The Greeks (whose arms for nine long years employ’d | |
| Their force on Ilion, in the tenth destroy’d), | |
| At length embarking in a luckless hour, | 135 |
| With conquest proud, incens’d Minerva’s power: | |
| Hence on the guilty race her vengeance hurl’d | |
| With storms pursued them thro’ the liquid world. | |
| There all his vessels sunk beneath the wave! | |
| There all his dear companions found their grave! | 140 |
| Saved from the jaws of death by Heav’n’s decree, | |
| The tempest drove him to these shores and thee. | |
| Him, Jove now orders to his native lands | |
| Straight to dismiss: so destiny commands: | |
| Impatient Fate his near return attends, | 145 |
| And calls him to his country, and his friends.’ | |
| Ev’n to her inmost soul the Goddess shook; | |
| Then thus her anguish and her passion broke: | |
| ‘Ungracious Gods! with spite and envy curs’d! | |
| Still to your own ethereal race the worst! | 150 |
| Ye envy mortal and immortal joy, | |
| And love, the only sweet of life, destroy. | |
| Did ever Goddess by her charms engage | |
| A favour’d mortal, and not feel your rage? | |
| So when Aurora sought Orion’s love, | 155 |
| Her joys disturb’d your blissful hours above, | |
| Till, in Ortygia, Dian’s winged dart | |
| Had pierc’d the hapless hunter to the heart. | |
| So when the covert of the thrice-ear’d field | |
| Saw stately Ceres to her passion yield, | 160 |
| Scarce could Iasion taste her heav’nly charms, | |
| But Jove’s swift lightning scorch’d him in her arms. | |
| ‘And is it now my turn, ye mighty Powers! | |
| Am I the envy of your blissful bowers? | |
| A man, an outcast to the storm and wave, | 165 |
| It was my crime to pity and to save; | |
| When he who thunders rent his bark in twain, | |
| And sunk his brave companions in the main. | |
| Alone, abandon’d, in mid-ocean toss’d, | |
| The sport of winds, and driv’n from ev’ry coast, | 170 |
| Hither this man of miseries I led, | |
| Receiv’d the friendless, and the hungry fed; | |
| Nay, promis’d (vainly promis’d!) to bestow | |
| Immortal life, exempt from age and woe. | |
| ’T is past—and Jove decrees he shall remove: | 175 |
| Gods as we are, we are but slaves to Jove. | |
| Go then he may (he must, if he ordain, | |
| Try all those dangers, all those deeps, again); | |
| But never, never shall Calypso send | |
| To toils like these her husband and her friend. | 180 |
| What ships have I, what sailors to convey, | |
| What oars to cut the long laborious way? | |
| Yet I ’ll direct the safest means to go; | |
| That last advice is all I can bestow.’ | |
| To her the Power who bears the Charming Rod: | 185 |
| ‘Dismiss the man, nor irritate the God; | |
| Prevent the rage of him who reigns above, | |
| For what so dreadful as the wrath of Jove?’ | |
| Thus having said, he cut the cleaving sky, | |
| And in a moment vanish’d from her eye. | 190 |
| The Nymph, obedient to divine command, | |
| To seek Ulysses paced along the sand, | |
| Him pensive on the lonely beach she found, | |
| With streaming eyes in briny torrents drown’d, | |
| And inly pining for his native shore; | 195 |
| For now the soft enchantress pleas’d no more: | |
| For now, reluctant, and constrain’d by charms, | |
| Absent he lay in her desiring arms: | |
| In slumber wore the heavy night away, | |
| On rocks and shores consumed the tedious day; | 200 |
| There sate all desolate, and sigh’d alone, | |
| With echoing sorrows made the mountains groan, | |
| And roll’d his eyes o’er all the restless main, | |
| Till, dimm’d with rising grief, they stream’d again. | |
| Here, on his musing mood the Goddess press’d | 205 |
| Approaching soft; and thus the Chief address’d: | |
| ‘Unhappy man! to wasting woes a prey, | |
| No more in sorrows languish life away: | |
| Free as the winds I give thee now to rove— | |
| Go, fell the timber of yon lofty grove, | 210 |
| And form a raft, and build the rising ship, | |
| Sublime to bear thee o’er the gloomy deep. | |
| To store the vessel let the care be mine, | |
| With water from the rock, and rosy wine, | |
| And life-sustaining bread, and fair array, | 215 |
| And prosp’rous gales to waft thee on the way. | |
| These, if the Gods with my desire comply | |
| (The Gods, alas, more mighty far than I, | |
| And better skill’d in dark events to come), | |
| In peace shall land thee at thy native home.’ | 220 |
| With sighs Ulysses heard the words she spoke, | |
| Then thus his melancholy silence broke: | |
| ‘Some other motive, Goddess! sways thy mind | |
| (Some close design, or turn of womankind), | |
| Nor my return the end, nor this the way, | 225 |
| On a slight raft to pass the swelling sea, | |
| Huge, horrid, vast! where scarce in safety sails | |
| The best-built ship, tho’ Jove inspire the gales. | |
| The bold proposal how shall I fulfil, | |
| Dark as I am, unconscious of thy will? | 230 |
| Swear, then, thou mean’st not what my soul forebodes; | |
| Swear by the solemn oath that binds the Gods.’ | |
| Him, while he spoke, with smiles Calypso eyed, | |
| And gently grasp’d his hand, and thus replied: | |
| ‘This shows thee, friend, by old experience taught, | 235 |
| And learn’d in all the wiles of human thought, | |
| How prone to doubt, how cautious are the wise! | |
| But hear, O earth, and hear, ye sacred skies! | |
| And thou, O Styx! whose formidable floods | |
| Glide thro’ the shades, and bind th’ attesting Gods! | 240 |
| No form’d design, no meditated end, | |
| Lurks in the council of thy faithful friend; | |
| Kind the persuasion, and sincere my aim; | |
| The same my practice, were my fate the same. | |
| Heav’n has not curs’d me with a heart of steel, | 245 |
| But given the sense to pity and to feel.’ | |
| Thus having said, the Goddess march’d before: | |
| He trod her footsteps in the sandy shore. | |
| At the cool cave arrived, they took their state; | |
| He fill’d the throne where Mercury had sate. | 250 |
| For him the Nymph a rich repast ordains, | |
| Such as the mortal life of man sustains; | |
| Before herself were placed the cates divine, | |
| Ambrosial banquet, and celestial wine. | |
| Their hunger satiate, and their thirst repress’d, | 255 |
| Thus spoke Calypso to her godlike guest: | |
| ‘Ulysses!’ (with a sigh she thus began) | |
| ‘O sprung from Gods! in wisdom more than man! | |
| Is then thy home the passion of thy heart? | |
| Thus wilt thou leave me, are we thus to part? | 260 |
| Farewell! and ever joyful may’st thou be, | |
| Nor break the transport with one thought of me. | |
| But, ah, Ulysses! wert thou giv’n to know | |
| What Fate yet dooms thee, yet, to undergo; | |
| Thy heart might settle in this scene of ease, | 265 |
| And ev’n these slighted charms might learn to please. | |
| A willing Goddess, and immortal life, | |
| Might banish from thy mind an absent wife. | |
| Am I inferior to a mortal dame? | |
| Less soft my feature, lest august my frame? | 270 |
| Or shall the daughters of mankind compare | |
| Their earth-born beauties with the heav’nly fair?’ | |
| ‘Alas! for this’ (the prudent man replies) | |
| ‘Against Ulysses shall thy anger rise? | |
| Lov’d and ador’d, O Goddess, as thou art, | 275 |
| Forgive the weakness of a human heart. | |
| Tho’ well I see thy graces far above | |
| The dear, tho’ mortal, object of my love, | |
| Of youth eternal well the diff’rence know, | |
| And the short date of fading charms below; | 280 |
| Yet ev’ry day, while absent thus I roam, | |
| I languish to return and die at home. | |
| Whate’er the Gods shall destine me to bear | |
| In the black ocean, or the wat’ry war, | |
| ’T is mine to master with a constant mind; | 285 |
| Inured to perils, to the worst resign’d. | |
| By seas, by wars, so many dangers run; | |
| Still I can suffer: their high will be done!’ | |
| Thus while he spoke, the beamy sun descends, | |
| And rising night her friendly shade extends. | 290 |
| To the close grot the lonely pair remove, | |
| And slept delighted with the gifts of love. | |
| When rosy morning call’d them from their rest, | |
| Ulysses robed him in the cloak and vest. | |
| The Nymph’s fair head a veil transparent graced, | 295 |
| Her swelling loins a radiant zone embraced | |
| With flowers of gold: an under robe, unbound, | |
| In snowy waves flow’d glitt’ring on the ground. | |
| Forth issuing thus, she gave him first to wield | |
| A weighty axe, with truest temper steel’d, | 300 |
| And double-edg’d; the handle smooth and plain, | |
| Wrought of the clouded olive’s easy grain; | |
| And next, a wedge to drive with sweepy sway: | |
| Then to the neighb’ring forest led the way. | |
| On the lone island’s utmost verge there stood | 305 |
| Of poplars, pines, and firs, a lofty wood, | |
| Whose leafless summits to the skies aspire, | |
| Scorch’d by the sun, or sear’d by heav’nly fire | |
| (Already dried). These pointing out to view, | |
| The Nymph just show’d him, and with tears withdrew. | 310 |
| Now toils the hero: trees on trees o’erthrown | |
| Fall crackling round him, and the forests groan: | |
| Sudden, full twenty on the plain are strow’d, | |
| And lopp’d and lighten’d of their branchy load. | |
| At equal angles these disposed to join, | 315 |
| He smoothed and squared them by the rule and line | |
| (The wimbles for the work Calypso found). | |
| With those he pierc’d them, and with clinchers bound. | |
| Long and capacious as a shipwright forms | |
| Some bark’s broad bottom to out-ride the storms, | 320 |
| So large he built the raft; then ribb’d it strong | |
| From space to space, and nail’d the planks along; | |
| These form’d the sides: the deck he fashion’d last; | |
| Then o’er the vessel rais’d the taper mast, | |
| With crossing sail-yards dancing in the wind; | 325 |
| And to the helm the guiding rudder join’d | |
| (With yielding osiers fenc’d, to break the force | |
| Of surging waves, and steer the steady course). | |
| Thy loom, Calypso! for the future sails | |
| Supplied the cloth, capacious of the gales. | 330 |
| With stays and cordage last he rigg’d the ship, | |
| And, roll’d on levers, launch’d her in the deep. | |
| Four days were past, and now, the work complete, | |
| Shone the fifth morn, when from her sacred seat | |
| The Nymph dismiss’d him (od’rous garments giv’n, | 335 |
| And bathed in fragrant oils that breathed of Heav’n): | |
| Then fill’d two goat-skins with her hands divine, | |
| With water one, and one with sable wine: | |
| Of ev’ry kind provisions heav’d aboard; | |
| And the full decks with copious viands stor’d. | 340 |
| The Goddess, last, a gentle breeze supplies, | |
| To curl old Ocean, and to warm the skies. | |
| And now, rejoicing in the prosp’rous gales, | |
| With beating heart Ulysses spreads his sails: | |
| Placed at the helm he sate, and mark’d the skies, | 345 |
| Nor closed in sleep his ever-watchful eyes. | |
| There view’d the Pleiads, and the Northern Team, | |
| And great Orion’s more refulgent beam, | |
| To which, around the axle of the sky, | |
| The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye: | 350 |
| Who shines exalted on th’ ethereal plain, | |
| Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main. | |
| Far on the left those radiant fires to keep | |
| The Nymph directed, as he sail’d the deep. | |
| Full sev’nteen nights he cut the foamy way; | 355 |
| The distant land appear’d the foll’wing day: | |
| Then swell’d to sight Phæacia’s dusky coast, | |
| And woody mountains, half in vapours lost; | |
| That lay before him indistinct and vast, | |
| Like a broad shield amid the wat’ry waste. | 360 |
| But him, thus voyaging the deeps below, | |
| From far, on Solyme’s aërial brow, | |
| The King of Ocean saw, and seeing burn’d | |
| (From Æthiopia’s happy climes return’d); | |
| The raging Monarch shook his azure head, | 365 |
| And thus in secret to his soul he said: | |
| ‘Heav’ns! how uncertain are the Powers on high! | |
| Is then revers’d the sentence of the sky, | |
| In one man’s favour: while a distant guest | |
| I shared secure the Æthiopian feast? | 370 |
| Behold how near Phæacia’s land he draws! | |
| The land affix’d by Fate’s eternal laws | |
| To end his toils. Is then our anger vain? | |
| No; if this sceptre yet commands the main.’ | |
| He spoke, and high the forky trident hurl’d, | 375 |
| Rolls clouds on clouds, and stirs the wat’ry world, | |
| At once the face of earth and sea deforms, | |
| Swells all the winds, and rouses all the storms. | |
| Down rush’d the night: east, west, together roar; | |
| And south and north roll mountains to the shore: | 380 |
| Then shook the hero, to despair resign’d, | |
| And question’d thus his yet unconquer’d mind: | |
| ‘Wretch that I am! what farther Fates attend | |
| This life of toils, and what my destin’d end? | |
| Too well, alas! the island Goddess knew | 385 |
| On the black sea what perils should ensue. | |
| New horrors now this destin’d head enclose; | |
| Unfill’d as yet the measure of my woes: | |
| With what a cloud the brows of Heav’n are crown’d! | |
| What raging winds! what roaring waters round! | 390 |
| ’T is Jove himself the swelling tempest rears; | |
| Death, present death, on ev’ry side appears. | |
| Happy! thrice happy! who, in battle slain, | |
| Press’d, in Atrides’ cause, the Trojan plain! | |
| Oh! had I died before that well-fought wall; | 395 |
| Had some distinguish’d day renown’d my fall | |
| (Such as was that when showers of jav’lins fled | |
| From conquering Troy around Achilles dead); | |
| All Greece had paid me solemn funerals then, | |
| And spread my glory with the sons of men. | 400 |
| A shameful fate now hides my hapless head, | |
| Unwept, unnoted, and for ever dead!’ | |
| A mighty wave rush’d o’er him as he spoke, | |
| The raft it cover’d, and the mast it broke: | |
| Swept from the deck, and from the rudder torn, | 405 |
| Far on the swelling surge the Chief was borne; | |
| While by the howling tempest rent in twain | |
| Flew sail and sail-yards rattling o’er the main. | |
| Long-press’d, he heav’d beneath the weighty wave, | |
| Clogg’d by the cumb’rous vest Calypso gave: | 410 |
| At length emerging, from his nostrils wide | |
| And gushing mouth effused the briny tide; | |
| Ev’n then, not mindless of his last retreat, | |
| He seiz’d the raft, and leap’d into his seat, | |
| Strong with the fear of death. The rolling flood | 415 |
| Now here, now there, impell’d the floating wood. | |
| As when a heap of gather’d thorns is cast | |
| Now to, now fro, before th’ autumnal blast; | |
| Together clung, it rolls around the field; | |
| So roll’d the float, and so its texture held: | 420 |
| And now the south, and now the north, bear sway, | |
| And now the east the foamy floods obey, | |
| And now the west wind whirls it o’er the sea. | |
| The wand’ring Chief, with toils on toils oppress’d, | |
| Leucothea saw, and pity touch’d her breast | 425 |
| (Herself a mortal once, of Cadmus’ strain, | |
| But now an azure sister of the main). | |
| Swift as a sea-mew springing from the flood, | |
| All radiant on the raft the Goddess stood: | |
| Then thus address’d him: ‘Thou whom Heav’n decrees | 430 |
| To Neptune’s wrath, stern Tyrant of the Seas | |
| (Unequal contest)! not his rage and power, | |
| Great as he is, such virtue shall devour. | |
| What I suggest, thy wisdom will perform: | |
| Forsake thy float, and leave it to the storm: | 435 |
| Strip off thy garments; Neptune’s fury brave | |
| With naked strength, and plunge into the wave. | |
| To reach Phæacia all thy nerves extend, | |
| There Fate decrees thy miseries shall end. | |
| This heav’nly scarf beneath thy bosom bind, | 440 |
| And live; give all thy terrors to the wind. | |
| Soon as thy arms the happy shore shall gain, | |
| Return the gift, and cast it in the main; | |
| Observe my orders, and with heed obey, | |
| Cast it far off, and turn thy eyes away.’ | 445 |
| With that, her hand the sacred veil bestows, | |
| Then down the deeps she dived from whence she rose; | |
| A moment snatch’d the shining form away, | |
| And all was cover’d with the curling sea. | |
| Struck with amaze, yet still to doubt inclin’d, | 450 |
| He stands suspended, and explores his mind. | |
| ‘What shall I do? unhappy me! who knows | |
| But other Gods intend me other woes? | |
| Whoe’er thou art, I shall not blindly join | |
| Thy pleaded reason, but consult with mine: | 455 |
| For scarce in ken appears that distant isle | |
| Thy voice foretells me shall conclude my toil. | |
| Thus then I judge: while yet the planks sustain | |
| The wild waves’ fury, here I fix’d remain: | |
| But when their texture to the tempest yields, | 460 |
| I launch adventurous on the liquid fields, | |
| Join to the help of Gods the strength of man, | |
| And take this method, since the best I can.’ | |
| While thus his thoughts an anxious council hold, | |
| The raging God a wat’ry mountain roll’d; | 465 |
| Like a black sheet the whelming billows spread, | |
| Burst o’er the float, and thunder’d on his head. | |
| Planks, beams, disparted fly; the scatter’d wood | |
| Rolls diverse, and in fragments strews the flood. | |
| So the rude Boreas, o’er the field new-shorn, | 470 |
| Tosses and drives the scatter’d heaps of corn. | |
| And now a single beam the chief bestrides: | |
| There, pois’d awhile above the bounding tides, | |
| His limbs discumbers of the clinging vest, | |
| And binds the sacred cincture round his breast; | 475 |
| Then, prone on ocean in a moment flung, | |
| Stretch’d wide his eager arms, and shot the seas along. | |
| All naked now, on heaving billows laid, | |
| Stern Neptune eyed him, and contemptuous said: | |
| ‘Go, learn’d in woes, and other foes essay! | 480 |
| Go, wander helpless on the wat’ry way: | |
| Thus, thus find out the destin’d shore, and then | |
| (If Jove ordains it) mix with happier men: | |
| Whate’er thy fate, the ills our wrath could raise | |
| Shall last remember’d in thy best of days.’ | 485 |
| This said, his sea-green steeds divide the foam, | |
| And reach high Ægæ and the tow’ry dome. | |
| Now, scarce withdrawn the fierce earth-shaking Power, | |
| Jove’s daughter Pallas watch’d the fav’ring hour; | |
| Back to their caves she bade the winds to fly, | 490 |
| And hush’d the blust’ring Brethren of the Sky. | |
| The drier blasts alone of Boreas sway, | |
| And bear him soft on broken waves away; | |
| With gentle force impelling to that shore, | |
| Where Fate has destin’d he shall toil no more. | 495 |
| And now two nights and now two days were past, | |
| Since wide he wander’d on the wat’ry waste; | |
| Heav’d on the surge with intermitting breath, | |
| And hourly panting in the arms of Death. | |
| The third fair morn now blazed upon the main; | 500 |
| Then glassy smooth lay all the liquid plain; | |
| The winds were hush’d, the billows scarcely curl’d, | |
| And a dead silence still’d the wat’ry world, | |
| When, lifted on a ridgy wave, he spies | |
| The land at distance, and with sharpen’d eyes. | 505 |
| As pious children joy with vast delight | |
| When a lov’d sire revives before their sight | |
| (Who, ling’ring long, has call’d on death in vain, | |
| Fix’d by some demon to his bed of pain, | |
| Till Heav’n by miracle his life restore); | 510 |
| So joys Ulysses at th’ appearing shore; | |
| And sees (and labours onward as he sees) | |
| The rising forests, and the tufted trees. | |
| And now, as near approaching as the sound | |
| Of human voice the list’ning ear may wound, | 515 |
| Amidst the rocks he hears a hollow roar | |
| Of murm’ring surges breaking on the shore: | |
| Nor peaceful port was there, nor winding bay, | |
| To shield the vessel from the rolling sea, | |
| But cliffs, and shaggy shores, a dreadful sight! | 520 |
| All rough with rocks, with foamy billows white. | |
| Fear seiz’d his slacken’d limbs and beating heart, | |
| And thus he communed with his soul apart: | |
| ‘Ah me! when o’er a length of waters toss’d, | |
| These eyes at last behold th’ unhoped-for coast, | 525 |
| No port receives me from the angry main, | |
| But the loud deeps demand me back again. | |
| Above sharp rocks forbid access; around | |
| Roar the wild waves; beneath is sea profound! | |
| No footing sure affords the faithless sand, | 530 |
| To stem too rapid, and too deep to stand. | |
| If here I enter, my efforts are vain, | |
| Dash’d on the cliffs or heav’d into the main: | |
| Or round the island if my course I bend, | |
| Where the ports open, or the shores descend, | 535 |
| Back to the seas the rolling surge may sweep, | |
| And bury all my hopes beneath the deep. | |
| Or some enormous whale the God may send | |
| (For many such on Amphitrite attend); | |
| Too well the turns of mortal chance I know, | 540 |
| And hate relentless of my heav’nly foe.’ | |
| While thus he thought, a monstrous wave upbore | |
| The Chief, and dash’d him on the craggy shore; | |
| Torn was his skin, nor had the ribs been whole, | |
| But instant Pallas enter’d in his soul. | 545 |
| Close to the cliff with both his hands he clung, | |
| And stuck adherent, and suspended hung; | |
| Till the huge surge roll’d off: then, backward sweep | |
| The refluent tides, and plunge him in the deep. | |
| As when the polypus, from forth his cave | 550 |
| Torn with full force, reluctant beats the wave; | |
| His ragged claws are stuck with stones and sands; | |
| So the rough rock had shagg’d Ulysses’ hands. | |
| And now had perish’d, whelm’d beneath the main, | |
| Th’ unhappy man; ev’n Fate had been in vain; | 555 |
| But all-subduing Pallas lent her power, | |
| And prudence saved him in the needful hour. | |
| Beyond the beating surge his course he bore | |
| (A wider circle, but in sight of shore), | |
| With longing eyes, observing, to survey | 560 |
| Some smooth ascent, or safe sequester’d bay. | |
| Between the parting rocks at length he spied | |
| A falling stream with gentler waters glide; | |
| Where to the seas the shelving shore declin’d, | |
| And form’d a bay impervious to the wind. | 565 |
| To this calm port the glad Ulysses press’d, | |
| And hail’d the river, and its God address’d: | |
| ‘Whoe’er thou art, before whose stream unknown | |
| I bend, a suppliant at thy wat’ry throne, | |
| Hear, azure King! nor let me fly in vain | 570 |
| To thee from Neptune and the raging main. | |
| Heav’n hears and pities hapless men like me, | |
| For sacred ev’n to Gods is misery: | |
| Let then thy waters give the weary rest, | |
| And save a suppliant, and a man distress’d.’ | 575 |
| He pray’d, and straight the gentle stream subsides, | |
| Detains the rushing current of his tides, | |
| Before the wand’rer smooths the wat’ry way, | |
| And soft receives him from the rolling sea. | |
| That moment, fainting as he touch’d the shore, | 580 |
| He dropp’d his sinewy arms; his knees no more | |
| Perform’d their office, or his weight upheld; | |
| His swoln heart heav’d; his bloated body swell’d; | |
| From mouth and nose the briny torrent ran; | |
| And lost in lassitude lay all the man, | 585 |
| Deprived of voice, of motion, and of breath; | |
| The soul scarce waking in the arms of death. | |
| Soon as warm life its wonted office found, | |
| The mindful chief Leucothea’s scarf unbound; | |
| Observant of her word, he turn’d aside | 590 |
| His head, and cast it on the rolling tide. | |
| Behind him far, upon the purple waves | |
| The waters waft it, and the nymph receives. | |
| Now parting from the stream, Ulysses found | |
| A mossy bank with pliant rushes crown’d; | 595 |
| The bank he press’d, and gently kiss’d the ground; | |
| Where on the flow’ry herb as soft he lay, | |
| Thus to his soul the sage began to say: | |
| ‘What will ye next ordain, ye Powers on high! | |
| And yet, ah yet, what fates are we to try? | 600 |
| Here by the stream, if I the night outwear, | |
| Thus spent already, how shall nature bear | |
| The dews descending, and nocturnal air? | |
| Or chilly vapours breathing from the flood | |
| When the morning rises?—If I take the wood, | 605 |
| And in thick shelter of innumerous boughs | |
| Enjoy the comfort gentle sleep allows; | |
| Tho’ fenc’d from cold, and tho’ my toil be past, | |
| What savage beasts may wander in the waste! | |
| Perhaps I yet may fall a bloody prey | 610 |
| To prowling bears, or lions in the way.’ | |
| Thus long debating in himself he stood: | |
| At length he took the passage to the wood, | |
| Whose shady horrors on a rising brow | |
| Waved high, and frown’d upon the stream below. | 615 |
| There grew two olives, closest of the grove, | |
| With roots entwin’d, and branches interwove; | |
| Alike their leaves, but not alike they smil’d | |
| With sister-fruits; one fertile, one was wild. | |
| Nor here the sun’s meridian rays had power, | 620 |
| Nor wind sharp-piercing, nor the rushing shower; | |
| The verdant arch so close its texture kept: | |
| Beneath this covert great Ulysses crept. | |
| Of gather’d leaves an ample bed he made | |
| (Thick strewn by tempest thro’ the bow’ry shade); | 625 |
| Where three at least might winter’s cold defy, | |
| Tho’ Boreas raged along th’ inclement sky. | |
| This store with joy the patient hero found, | |
| And, sunk amidst them, heap’d the leaves around. | |
| As some poor peasant, fated to reside | 630 |
| Remote from neighbours in a forest wide, | |
| Studious to save what human wants require, | |
| In embers heap’d, preserves the seeds of fire: | |
| Hid in dry foliage thus Ulysses lies, | |
| Till Pallas pour’d soft slumbers on his eyes: | 635 |
| And golden dreams (the gift of sweet repose) | |
| Lull’d all his cares, and banish’d all his woes. | |
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