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| Ulysses arrives at the island of AEolus, who gives him prosperous |
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| winds, and incloses the adverse ones in a bag, which his |
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| companions untying, they are driven back again and rejected. |
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| Then they sail to the Laestrygons, where they lose eleven ships, |
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| and, with only one remaining, proceed to the island of Circe. |
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| Eurylochus is sent first with some companions, all which, except |
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| Eurylochus, are transformed into swine. Ulysses then undertakes |
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| the adventure, and, by the help of Mercury, who gives him the herb |
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| Moly, overcomes the enchantress, and procures the restoration of |
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| his men. After a year's stay with her, he prepares, at her |
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| instigation, for his voyage to the infernal shades. |
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| "AT length we reach'd AEolias's sea-girt shore, |
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| Where great Hippotades the sceptre bore, |
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| A floating isle! high-raised by toil divine, |
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| Strong walls of brass the rocky coast confine. |
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| Six blooming youths, in private grandeur bred, |
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| And six fair daughters, graced the royal bed; |
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| These sons their sisters wed, and all remain |
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| Their parents' pride, and pleasure of their reign. |
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| All day they feast, all day the bowls flow round, |
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| And joy and music through the isle resound; |
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| At night each pair on splendid carpets lay, |
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| And crown'd with love the pleasures of the day. |
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| This happy port affords our wandering fleet |
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| A month's reception, and a safe retreat. |
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| Full oft the monarch urged me to relate |
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| The fall of Ilion, and the Grecian fate; |
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| Full oft I told: at length for parting moved; |
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| The king with mighty gifts my suit approved. |
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| The adverse winds in leathern bags he braced, |
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| Compress'd their force, and lock'd each struggling blast. |
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| For him the mighty sire of gods assign'd |
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| The tempest's lood, the tyrant of the wind; |
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| His word alone the listening storms obey, |
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| To smooth the deep, or swell the foamy sea. |
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| These in my hollow ship the monarch hung, |
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| Securely fetter'd by a silver thong: |
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| But Zephyrus exempt, with friendly gales |
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| He charged to fill, and guide the swelling sails: |
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| Rare gift! but O, what gift to fools avails! |
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| "Nine prosperous days we plied the labouring oar; |
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| The tenth presents our welcome native shore: |
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| The hills display the beacon's friendly light, |
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| And rising mountains gain upon our sight. |
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| Then first my eyes, by watchful toils oppress'd, |
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| Complied to take the balmy gifts of rest: |
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| Then first my hands did from the rudder part |
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| (So much the love of home possess'd my heart): |
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| When lo! on board a fond debate arose; |
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| What rare device those vessels might inclose? |
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| What sum, what prize from AEolus I brought? |
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| Whilst to his neighbour each express'd his thought: |
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| "'Say, whence ye gods, contending nations strive |
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| Who most shall please, who most our hero give? |
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| Long have his coffers groan'd with Trojan spoils: |
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| Whilst we, the wretched partners of his toils, |
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| Reproach'd by want, our fruitless labours mourn, |
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| And only rich in barren fame return. |
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| Now AEolus, ye see, augments his store: |
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| But come, my friends, these mystic gifts explore,' |
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| They said: and (oh cursed fate!) the thongs unbound! |
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| The gushing tempest sweeps the ocean round; |
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| Snatch'd in the whirl, the hurried navy flew, |
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| The ocean widen'd and the shores withdrew. |
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| Roused from my fatal sleep I long debate |
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| If still to live, or desperate plunge to fate; |
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| Thus doubting, prostrate on the deck I lay, |
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| Till all the coward thoughts of death gave way. |
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| "Meanwhile our vessels plough the liquid plain, |
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| And soon the known AEolian coast regain; |
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| Our groan the rocks remurmur'd to the main. |
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| We leap'd on shore, and with a scanty feast |
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| Our thirst and hunger hastily repress'd; |
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| That done, two chosen heralds straight attend |
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| Our second progress to my royal friend; |
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| And him amidst his jovial sons we found; |
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| The banquet steaming, and the goblets crown'd; |
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| There humbly stoop'd with conscious shame and awe, |
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| Nor nearer than the gate presumed to draw. |
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| But soon his sons their well-known guest descried, |
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| And starting from their couches loudly cried: |
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| 'Ulysses here! what demon could'st thou meet |
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| To thwart thy passage, and repel thy fleet? |
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| Wast thou not furnish'd by our choicest care |
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| For Greece, for home and all thy soul held dear?' |
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| Thus they, In silence long my fate I mourn'd; |
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| At length these words with accents low return'd: |
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| 'Me, lock'd in sleep, my faithless crew bereft |
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| Of all the blessing of your godlike gift! |
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| But grant, oh grant, our loss we may retrieve; |
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| A favour you, and you alone can give.' |
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| "Thus fierce he said: we sighing went our way, |
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| And with desponding hearts put off to sea. |
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| The sailors spent with toils their folly mourn, |
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| But mourn in vain; no prospect of return |
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| Six days and nights a doubtful course we steer, |
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| The next proud Lamos' stately towers appear, |
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| And Laestrygonia's gates arise distinct in air. |
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| The shepherd, quitting here at night the plain, |
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| Calls, to succeed his cares, the watchful swain; |
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| But he that scorns the chains of sleep to wear, |
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| And adds the herdsman's to the shepherd's care, |
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| So near the pastures, and so short the way, |
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| His double toils may claim a double pay, |
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| And join the labours of the night and day. |
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| "Within a long recess a bay there lies, |
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| Edged round with cliffs high pointing to the skies; |
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| The jutting shores that swell on either side |
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| Contract its mouth, and break the rushing tide. |
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| Our eager sailors seize the fair retreat, |
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| And bound within the port their crowded fleet: |
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| For here retired the sinking billows sleep, |
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| And smiling calmness silver'd o'er the deep. |
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| I only in the bay refused to moor, |
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| And fix'd without, my halsers to the shore. |
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| "From thence we climb'd a point, whose airy brow |
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| Commands the prospect of the plains below; |
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| No tracks of beasts, or signs of men, we found, |
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| But smoky volumes rolling from the ground. |
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| Two with our herald thither we command, |
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| With speed to learn what men possess'd the land. |
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| They went, and kept the wheel's smooth-beaten road |
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| Which to the city drew the mountain wood; |
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| When lo! they met, beside a crystal spring, |
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| The daughter of Antiphates the king; |
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| She to Artacia's silver streams came down; |
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| (Artacia's streams alone supply the town); |
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| The damsel they approach, and ask'd what race |
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| The people were? who monarch of the place? |
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| With joy the maid the unwary strangers heard |
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| And show'd them where the royal dome appear'd. |
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| They went; but as they entering saw the queen |
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| Of size enormous, and terrific mien |
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| (Not yielding to some bulky mountain's height), |
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| A sudden horror struck their aching sight. |
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| Swift at her call her husband scour'd away |
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| To wreak his hunger on the destined prey; |
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| One for his food the raging glutton slew, |
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| But two rush'd out, and to the navy flew. |
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| "Balk'd of his prey, the yelling monster flies, |
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| And fills the city with his hideous cries; |
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| A ghastly band of giants hear the roar, |
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| And, pouring down the mountains, crowd the shore. |
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| Fragments they rend from off the craggy brow |
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| And dash the ruins on the ships below; |
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| The crackling vessels burst; hoarse groans arise, |
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| And mingled horrors echo to the skies; |
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| The men like fish, they struck upon the flood, |
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| And cramm'd their filthy throats with human food. |
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| Whilst thus their fury rages at the bay, |
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| My sword our cables cut, I call'd to weigh; |
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| And charged my men, as they from fate would fly, |
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| Each nerve to strain, each bending oar to ply. |
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| The sailors catch the word, their oars they seize, |
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| And sweep with equal strokes the smoky seas; |
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| Clear of the rocks the impatient vessel flies; |
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| Whilst in the port each wretch encumber'd dies. |
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| With earnest haste my frighted sailors press, |
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| While kindling transports glow'd at our success; |
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| But the sad fate that did our friends destroy, |
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| Cool'd every breast, and damp'd the rising joy. |
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| "Now dropp'd our anchors in the Aeaean bay, |
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| Where Circe dwelt, the daughter of the Day! |
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| Her mother Perse, of old Ocean's strain, |
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| Thus from the Lun descended, and the Main |
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| (From the same lineage stern Aeaetes came, |
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| The far-famed brother of the enchantress dame); |
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| Goddess, the queen, to whom the powers belong |
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| Of dreadful magic and commanding song. |
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| Some god directing to this peaceful bay |
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| Silent we came, and melancholy lay, |
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| Spent and o'erwatch'd. Two days and nights roll'd on, |
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| And now the third succeeding morning shone. |
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| I climb'd a cliff, with spear and sword in hand, |
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| Whose ridge o'erlook'd a shady length of land; |
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| To learn if aught of mortal works appear, |
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| Or cheerful voice of mortal strike the ear? |
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| From the high point I mark'd, in distant view, |
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| A stream of curling smoke ascending blue, |
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| And spiry tops, the tufted trees above, |
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| Of Circe's palace bosom'd in the grove. |
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| "Thither to haste, the region to explore, |
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| Was first my thought: but speeding back to shore |
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| I deem'd it best to visit first my crew, |
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| And send our spies the dubious coast to view. |
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| As down the hill I solitary go, |
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| Some power divine, who pities human woe, |
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| Sent a tall stag, descending from the wood, |
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| To cool his fervour in the crystal flood; |
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| Luxuriant on the wave-worn bank he lay, |
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| Stretch'd forth and panting in the sunny ray. |
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| I launch'd my spear, and with a sudden wound |
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| Transpierced his back, and fix'd him to the ground. |
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| He falls, and mourns his fate with human cries: |
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| Through the wide wound the vital spirit flies. |
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| I drew, and casting on the river's side |
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| The bloody spear, his gather'd feet I tied |
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| With twining osiers which the bank supplied. |
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| An ell in length the pliant wisp I weaved, |
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| And the huge body on my shoulders heaved: |
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| Then leaning on my spear with both my hands, |
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| Upbore my load, and press'd the sinking sands |
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| With weighty steps, till at the ship I threw |
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| The welcome burden, and bespoke my crew: |
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| "The joyful crew survey his mighty size, |
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| And on the future banquet feast their eyes, |
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| As huge in length extended lay the beast; |
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| Then wash their hands, and hasten to the feast. |
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| There, till the setting sun roll'd down the light, |
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| They sate indulging in the genial rite. |
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| When evening rose, and darkness cover'd o'er |
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| The face of things, we slept along the shore. |
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| But when the rosy morning warm'd the east, |
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| My men I summon'd, and these words address'd: |
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| "'Followers and friends, attend what I propose: |
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| Ye sad companions of Ulysses' woes! |
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| We know not here what land before us lies, |
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| Or to what quarter now we turn our eyes, |
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| Or where the sun shall set, or where shall rise. |
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| Here let us think (if thinking be not vain) |
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| If any counsel, any hope remain. |
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| Alas! from yonder promontory's brow |
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| I view'd the coast, a region flat and low; |
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| An isle encircled with the boundless flood; |
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| A length of thickets, and entangled wood. |
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| Some smoke I saw amid the forest rise, |
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| And all around it only seas and skies!' |
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| "With broken hearts my sad companions stood, |
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| Mindful of Cyclops and his human food, |
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| And horrid Laestrygons, the men of blood. |
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| Presaging tears apace began to rain; |
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| But tears in mortal miseries are vain. |
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| In equal parts I straight divide my band, |
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| And name a chief each party to command; |
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| I led the one, and of the other side |
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| Appointed brave Eurylochus the guide. |
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| Then in the brazen helm the lots we throw, |
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| And fortune casts Eurylochus to go; |
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| He march'd with twice eleven in his train; |
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| Pensive they march, and pensive we remain. |
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| "The palace in a woody vale they found, |
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| High raised of stone; a shaded space around; |
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| Where mountain wolves and brindled lions roam, |
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| (By magic tamed,) familiar to the dome. |
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| With gentle blandishment our men they meet, |
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| And wag their tails, and fawning lick their feet. |
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| As from some feast a man returning late, |
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| His faithful dogs all meet him at the gate, |
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| Rejoicing round, some morsel to receive, |
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| (Such as the good man ever used to give,) |
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| Domestic thus the grisly beasts drew near; |
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| They gaze with wonder not unmix'd with fear. |
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| Now on the threshold of the dome they stood, |
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| And heard a voice resounding through the wood: |
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| Placed at her loom within, the goddess sung; |
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| The vaulted roofs and solid pavement rung. |
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| O'er the fair web the rising figures shine, |
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| Immortal labour! worthy hands divine. |
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| Polites to the rest the question moved |
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| (A gallant leader, and a man I loved): |
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|
|
| "The goddess, rising, asks her guests to stay, |
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| Who blindly follow where she leads the way. |
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| Eurylochus alone of all the band, |
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| Suspecting fraud, more prudently remain'd. |
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| On thrones around with downy coverings graced, |
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| With semblance fair, the unhappy men she placed. |
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| Milk newly press'd, the sacred flour of wheat, |
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| And honey fresh, and Pramnian wines the treat: |
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| But venom'd was the bread, and mix'd the bowl, |
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| With drugs of force to darken all the soul: |
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| Soon in the luscious feast themselves they lost, |
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| And drank oblivion of their native coast. |
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| Instant her circling wand the goddess waves, |
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| To hogs transforms them, and the sty receives. |
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| No more was seen the human form divine; |
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| Head, face, and members, bristle into swine: |
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| Still cursed with sense, their minds remain alone, |
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| And their own voice affrights them when they groan. |
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|
| Meanwhile the goddess in disdain bestows |
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| The mast and acorn, brutal food! and strows |
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| The fruits and cornel, as their feast, around; |
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| Now prone and grovelling on unsavoury ground. |
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|
|
| "We went, Ulysses! (such was thy command) |
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| Through the lone thicket and the desert land. |
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|
| A palace in a woody vale we found |
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| Brown with dark forests, and with shades around. |
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|
| A voice celestial echoed through the dome, |
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| Or nymph or goddess, chanting to the loom. |
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| Access we sought, nor was access denied: |
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| Radiant she came: the portals open'd wide: |
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| The goddess mild invites the guests to stay: |
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| They blindly follow where she leads the way. |
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| I only wait behind of all the train: |
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| I waited long, and eyed the doors in vain: |
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| The rest are vanish'd, none repass'd the gate, |
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| And not a man appears to tell their fate.' |
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|
|
| "I answer'd stern: 'Inglorious then remain, |
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| Here feast and loiter, and desert thy train. |
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| Alone, unfriended, will I tempt my way; |
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| The laws of fate compel, and I obey.' |
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|
| This said, and scornful turning from the shore |
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|
| My haughty step, I stalk'd the valley o'er. |
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|
| Till now approaching nigh the magic bower, |
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| Where dwelt the enchantress skill'd in herbs of power, |
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|
| A form divine forth issued from the wood |
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| (Immortal Hermes with the golden rod) |
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|
| In human semblance. On his bloomy face |
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|
| Youth smiled celestial, with each opening grace. |
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|
| He seized my hand, and gracious thus began: |
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|
| 'Ah whither roam'st thou, much-enduring man? |
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| O blind to fate! what led thy steps to rove |
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|
| The horrid mazes of this magic grove? |
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|
| Each friend you seek in yon enclosure lies, |
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|
| All lost their form, and habitants of sties. |
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|
| Think'st thou by wit to model their escape? |
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|
| Sooner shalt thou, a stranger to thy shape, |
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|
| Fall prone their equal: first thy danger know, |
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|
| Then take the antidote the gods bestow. |
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|
| The plant I give through all the direful bower |
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|
| Shall guard thee, and avert the evil hour. |
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|
| Now hear her wicked arts: Before thy eyes |
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|
| The bowl shall sparkle, and the banquet rise; |
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|
| Take this, nor from the faithless feast abstain, |
|
|
| For temper'd drugs and poison shall be vain. |
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|
| Soon as she strikes her wand, and gives the word, |
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|
| Draw forth and brandish thy refulgent sword, |
|
|
| And menace death: those menaces shall move |
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|
| Her alter'd mind to blandishment and love. |
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|
| Nor shun the blessing proffer'd to thy arms, |
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|
| Ascend her bed, and taste celestial charms; |
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|
| So shall thy tedious toils a respite find, |
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|
| And thy lost friends return to human kind. |
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|
| But swear her first by those dread oaths that tie |
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|
| The powers below, the blessed in the sky; |
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|
| Lest to thee naked secret fraud be meant, |
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|
| Or magic bind thee cold and impotent. |
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|
|
|
| "Thus while he spoke, the sovereign plant he drew |
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|
| Where on the all-bearing earth unmark'd it grew, |
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|
| And show'd its nature and its wondrous power: |
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|
| Black was the root, but milky white the flower; |
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|
| Moly the name, to mortals hard to find, |
|
|
| But all is easy to the ethereal kind. |
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|
| This Hermes gave, then, gliding off the glade, |
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|
| Shot to Olympus from the woodland shade. |
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|
| While, full of thought, revolving fates to come, |
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|
| I speed my passage to the enchanted dome. |
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|
| Arrived, before the lofty gates I stay'd; |
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|
| The lofty gates the goddess wide display'd; |
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|
| She leads before, and to the feast invites; |
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|
| I follow sadly to the magic rites. |
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|
| Radiant with starry studs, a silver seat |
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|
| Received my limbs: a footstool eased my feet, |
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|
| She mix'd the potion, fraudulent of soul; |
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|
| The poison mantled in the golden bowl. |
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|
| I took, and quaff'd it, confident in heaven. |
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|
| Then waved the wand, and then the word was given. |
|
|
| 'Hence to thy fellows! (dreadful she began:) |
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|
| Go, be a beast!'—I heard, and yet was man. |
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|
|
| "'What art thou? say! from whence, from whom you came? |
|
|
| O more than human! tell thy race, thy name. |
|
|
| Amazing strength, these poisons to sustain! |
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|
| Not mortal thou, nor mortal is thy brain. |
|
|
| Or art thou he, the man to come (foretold |
|
|
| By Hermes, powerful with the wand of gold), |
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|
| The man from Troy, who wander'd ocean round; |
|
|
| The man for wisdom's various arts renown'd, |
|
|
| Ulysses? Oh! thy threatening fury cease; |
|
|
| Sheathe thy bright sword, and join our hands in peace! |
|
|
| Let mutual joys our mutual trust combine, |
|
|
| And love, and love-born confidence, be thine.' |
|
|
|
|
| "'And how, dread Circe! (furious I rejoin) |
|
|
| Can love, and love-born confidence, be mine, |
|
|
| Beneath thy charms when my companions groan, |
|
|
| Transform'd to beasts, with accents not their own? |
|
|
| O thou of fraudful heart, shall I be led |
|
|
| To share thy feast-rites, or ascend thy bed; |
|
|
| That, all unarm'd, thy vengeance may have vent, |
|
|
| And magic bind me, cold and impotent? |
|
|
| Celestial as thou art, yet stand denied; |
|
|
| Or swear that oath by which the gods are tied, |
|
|
| Swear, in thy soul no latent frauds remain, |
|
|
| Swear by the vow which never can be vain.' |
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|
| "The goddess swore: then seized my hand, and led |
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| To the sweet transports of the genial bed. |
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| Ministrant to the queen, with busy care |
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| Four faithful handmaids the soft rites prepare; |
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| Nymphs sprung from fountains, or from shady woods, |
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| Or the fair offspring of the sacred floods. |
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| One o'er the couches painted carpets threw, |
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| Whose purple lustre glow'd against the view: |
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| White linen lay beneath. Another placed |
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| The silver stands, with golden flaskets graced: |
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| With dulcet beverage this the beaker crown'd, |
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| Fair in the midst, with gilded cups around: |
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| That in the tripod o'er the kindled pile |
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| The water pours; the bubbling waters boil; |
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| An ample vase receives the smoking wave; |
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| And, in the bath prepared, my limbs I lave: |
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| Reviving sweets repair the mind's decay, |
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| And take the painful sense of toil away. |
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| A vest and tunic o'er me next she threw, |
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| Fresh from the bath, and dropping balmy dew; |
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| Then led and placed me on the sovereign seat, |
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| With carpets spread; a footstool at my feet. |
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| The golden ewer a nymph obsequious brings, |
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| Replenish'd from the cool translucent springs; |
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| With copious water the bright vase supplies |
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| A silver laver of capacious size. |
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| I wash'd. The table in fair order spread, |
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| They heap the glittering canisters with bread: |
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| Viands of various kinds allure the taste, |
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| Of choicest sort and savour, rich repast! |
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| Circe in vain invites the feast to share; |
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| Absent I ponder, and absorb'd in care; |
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| While scenes of woe rose anxious in my breast, |
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| The queen beheld me, and these words address'd: |
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| "With that she parted: in her potent hand |
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| She bore the virtue of the magic wand. |
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| Then, hastening to the sties, set wide the door, |
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| Urged forth, and drove the bristly herd before; |
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| Unwieldy, out they rush'd with general cry, |
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| Enormous beasts, dishonest to the eye. |
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| Now touch'd by counter-charms they change again, |
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| And stand majestic, and recall'd to men. |
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| Those hairs of late that bristled every part, |
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| Fall off, miraculous effect of art! |
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| Till all the form in full proportion rise, |
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| More young, more large, more graceful to my eyes. |
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| They saw, they knew me, and with eager pace |
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| Clung to their master in a long embrace: |
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| Sad, pleasing sight! with tears each eye ran o'er, |
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| And sobs of joy re-echoed through the bower; |
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| E'en Circe wept, her adamantine heart |
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| Felt pity enter, and sustain'd her part. |
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| "As from fresh pastures and the dewy field |
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| (When loaded cribs their evening banquet yield) |
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| The lowing herds return; around them throng |
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| With leaps and bounds their late imprison'd young, |
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| Rush to their mothers with unruly joy, |
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| And echoing hills return the tender cry: |
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| So round me press'd, exulting at my sight, |
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| With cries and agonies of wild delight, |
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| The weeping sailors; nor less fierce their joy |
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| Than if return'd to Ithaca from Troy. |
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| 'Ah master! ever honour'd, ever dear! |
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| (These tender words on every side I hear) |
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| What other joy can equal thy return? |
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| Not that loved country for whose sight we mourn, |
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| The soil that nursed us, and that gave us breath: |
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| But ah! relate our lost companions' death.' |
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| "I heard incensed, and first resolved to speed |
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| My flying falchion at the rebel's head. |
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| Dear as he was, by ties of kindred bound, |
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| This hand had stretch'd him breathless on the ground. |
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| But all at once my interposing train |
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| For mercy pleaded, nor could plead in vain. |
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| 'Leave here the man who dares his prince desert, |
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| Leave to repentance and his own sad heart, |
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| To guard the ship. Seek we the sacred shades |
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| Of Circe's palace, where Ulysses leads.' |
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| "Meanwhile the goddess, with indulgent cares |
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| And social joys, the late transform'd repairs; |
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| The bath, the feast, their fainting soul renews: |
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| Rich in refulgent robes, and dropping balmy dews: |
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| Brightening with joy, their eager eyes behold, |
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| Each other's face, and each his story told; |
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| Then gushing tears the narrative confound, |
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| And with their sobs the vaulted roof resound. |
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| When hush'd their passion, thus the goddess cries: |
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| 'Ulysses, taught by labours to be wise, |
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| Let this short memory of grief suffice. |
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| To me are known the various woes ye bore. |
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| In storms by sea, in perils on the shore; |
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| Forget whatever was in Fortune's power, |
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| And share the pleasures of this genial hour. |
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| Such be your mind as ere ye left your coast, |
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| Or learn'd to sorrow for a country lost. |
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| Exiles and wanderers now, where'er ye go, |
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| Too faithful memory renews your woe: |
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| The cause removed, habitual griefs remain, |
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| And the soul saddens by the use of pain.' |
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| "'Is this, Ulysses, our inglorious lot? |
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| And is the name of Ithaca forgot? |
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| Shall never the dear land in prospect rise, |
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| Or the loved palace glitter in our eyes? |
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| "Melting I heard; yet till the sun's decline |
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| Prolong'd the feast, and quaff'd the rosy wine |
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| But when the shades came on at evening hour, |
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| And all lay slumbering in the dusky bower, |
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| I came a suppliant to fair Circe's bed, |
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| The tender moment seized, and thus I said: |
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| 'Be mindful, goddess! of thy promise made; |
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| Must sad Ulysses ever be delay'd? |
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| Around their lord my sad companions mourn, |
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| Each breast beats homeward, anxious to return: |
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| If but a moment parted from thy eyes, |
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| Their tears flow round me, and my heart complies.' |
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|
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| "'Go then (she cried), ah go! yet think, not I, |
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| Not Circe, but the Fates, your wish deny. |
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| Ah, hope not yet to breathe thy native air! |
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| Far other journey first demands thy care; |
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| To tread the uncomfortable paths beneath, |
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| And view the realms of darkness and of death. |
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|
| There seek the Theban bard, deprived of sight; |
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| Within, irradiate with prophetic light; |
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| To whom Persephone, entire and whole, |
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| Gave to retain the unseparated soul: |
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| The rest are forms, of empty ether made; |
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| Impassive semblance, and a flitting shade.' |
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|
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| "Struck at the word, my very heart was dead: |
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| Pensive I sate: my tears bedew'd the bed: |
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| To hate the light and life my soul begun, |
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| And saw that all was grief beneath the sun: |
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| Composed at length the gushing tears suppress'd, |
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| And my toss'd limbs now wearied into rest. |
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|
| 'How shall I tread (I cried), ah, Circe! say, |
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| The dark descent, and who shall guide the way? |
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|
| Can living eyes behold the realms below? |
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|
| What bark to waft me, and what wind to blow?' |
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| "'Thy fated road (the magic power replied), |
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| Divine Ulysses! ask no mortal guide. |
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| Rear but the mast, the spacious sail display, |
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| The northern winds shall wing thee on thy way. |
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| Soon shalt thou reach old Ocean's utmost ends, |
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|
| Where to the main the shelving shore descends; |
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|
| The barren trees of Proserpine's black woods, |
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|
| Poplars and willows trembling o'er the floods: |
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|
| There fix thy vessel in the lonely bay, |
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|
| And enter there the kingdoms void of day, |
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|
| Where Phlegethon's loud torrents, rushing down, |
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|
| Hiss in the flaming gulf of Acheron; |
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|
| And where, slow rolling from the Stygian bed, |
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|
| Cocytus' lamentable waters spread: |
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|
| Where the dark rock o'erhangs the infernal lake, |
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|
| And mingling streams eternal murmurs make. |
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|
| First draw thy falchion, and on every side |
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|
| Trench the black earth a cubit long and wide: |
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|
| To all the shades around libations pour, |
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|
| And o'er the ingredients strew the hallow'd flour: |
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|
| New wine and milk, with honey temper'd bring, |
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|
| And living water from the crystal spring. |
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|
| Then the wan shades and feeble ghosts implore, |
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|
| With promised offerings on thy native shore; |
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|
| A barren cow, the stateliest of the isle, |
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|
| And heap'd with various wealth, a blazing pile: |
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|
| These to the rest; but to the seer must bleed |
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|
| A sable ram, the pride of all thy breed. |
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|
| These solemn vows and holy offerings paid |
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|
| To all the phantom nations of the dead, |
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|
| Be next thy care the sable sheep to place |
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|
| Full o'er the pit, and hellward turn their face: |
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|
| But from the infernal rite thine eye withdraw, |
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|
| And back to Ocean glance with reverend awe. |
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|
| Sudden shall skim along the dusky glades |
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|
| Thin airy shoals, and visionary shades. |
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|
| Then give command the sacrifice to haste, |
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|
| Let the flay'd victims in the flame be cast, |
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|
| And sacred vows and mystic song applied |
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|
| To grisly Pluto and his gloomy bride. |
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|
| Wide o'er the pool thy falchion waved around |
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|
| Shall drive the spectres from unbidden ground: |
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|
| The sacred draught shall all the dead forbear, |
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|
| Till awful from the shades arise the seer. |
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|
| Let him, oraculous, the end, the way, |
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|
| The turns of all thy future fate display, |
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|
| Thy pilgrimage to come, and remnant of thy day.' |
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|
|
| "So speaking, from the ruddy orient shone |
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|
| The morn, conspicuous on her golden throne. |
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|
| The goddess with a radiant tunic dress'd |
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|
| My limbs, and o'er me cast a silken vest. |
|
|
| Long flowing robes, of purest white, array |
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|
| The nymph, that added lustre to the day: |
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|
| A tiar wreath'd her head with many a fold; |
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|
| Her waist was circled with a zone of gold. |
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|
| Forth issuing then, from place to place I flew; |
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|
| Rouse man by man, and animate my crew. |
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|
| 'Rise, rise, my mates! 'tis Circe gives command: |
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|
| Our journey calls us; haste, and quit the land.' |
|
|
| All rise and follow, yet depart not all, |
|
|
| For Fate decreed one wretched man to fall. |
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|
|
| "A youth there was, Elpenor was he named, |
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|
| Not much for sense, nor much for courage famed: |
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|
| The youngest of our band, a vulgar soul, |
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|
| Born but to banquet, and to drain the bowl. |
|
|
| He, hot and careless, on a turret's height |
|
|
| With sleep repair'd the long debauch of night: |
|
|
| The sudden tumult stirred him where he lay, |
|
|
| And down he hasten'd, but forgot the way; |
|
|
| Full headlong from the roof the sleeper fell, |
|
|
| And snapp'd the spinal joint, and waked in hell. |
|
|
|
|
| "The rest crowd round me with an eager look; |
|
|
| I met them with a sigh, and thus bespoke: |
|
|
| 'Already, friends! ye think your toils are o'er, |
|
|
| Your hopes already touch your native shore: |
|
|
| Alas! far otherwise the nymph declares, |
|
|
| Far other journey first demands our cares; |
|
|
| To tread the uncomfortable paths beneath, |
|
|
| The dreary realms of darkness and of death; |
|
|
| To seek Tiresias' awful shade below, |
|
|
| And thence our fortunes and our fates to know.' |
|
|
|
|
| "My sad companions heard in deep despair; |
|
|
| Frantic they tore their manly growth of hair; |
|
|
| To earth they fell: the tears began to rain; |
|
|
| But tears in mortal miseries are vain, |
|
|
| Sadly they fared along the sea-beat shore; |
|
|
| Still heaved their hearts, and still their eyes ran o'er. |
|
|
| The ready victims at our bark we found, |
|
|
| The sable ewe and ram together bound. |
|
|
| For swift as thought the goddess had been there, |
|
|
| And thence had glided, viewless as the air: |
|
|
| The paths of gods what mortal can survey? |
|
|
| Who eyes their motion? who shall trace their way?" |
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|