Book VII
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| | The princess Nausicaa returns to the city and Ulysses soon after | |
| | follows thither. He is met by Pallas in the form of a young | |
| | virgin, who guides him to the palace, and directs him in what | |
| | manner to address the queen Arete. She then involves him in a mist | |
| | which causes him to pass invisible. The palace and gardens of | |
| | Alcinous described. Ulysses falling at the feet of the queen, the | |
| | mist disperses, the Phaecians admire, and receive him with | |
| | respect. The queen inquiring by what means he had the garments he | |
| | then wore, be relates to her and Alcinous his departure from | |
| | Calypso, and his arrival in their dominions. | |
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| | The same day continues, and the book ends with the night. | |
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| | The patient heavenly man thus suppliant pray'd; | |
| | While the slow mules draws on the imperial maid; | |
| | Through the proud street she moves, the public gaze; | |
| | The turning wheel before the palace stays. | |
| | With ready love her brothers, gathering round, | |
| | Received the vestures, and the mules unbound. | |
| | She seeks the bridal bower: a matron there | |
| | The rising fire supplies with busy care, | |
| | Whose charms in youth her father's heart inflamed, | |
| | Now worn with age, Eurymedusa named; | |
| | The captive dame Phaeacian rovers bore, | |
| | Snatch'd from Epirus, her sweet native shore | |
| | (A grateful prize), and in her bloom bestow'd | |
| | On good Alcinous, honor'd as a god; | |
| | Nurse of Nausicaa from her infant years, | |
| | And tender second to a mother's cares. | |
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| | Now from the sacred thicket where he lay, | |
| | To town Ulysses took the winding way. | |
| | Propitious Pallas, to secure her care, | |
| | Around him spread a veil of thicken'd air; | |
| | To shun the encounter of the vulgar crowd, | |
| | Insulting still, inquisitive and loud. | |
| | When near the famed Phaeacian walls he drew, | |
| | The beauteous city opening to his view, | |
| | His step a virgin met, and stood before: | |
| | A polish'd urn the seeming virgin bore, | |
| | And youthful smiled; but in the low disguise | |
| | Lay hid the goddess with the azure eyes. | |
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| | "Show me, fair daughter (thus the chief demands), | |
| | The house of him who rules these happy lands | |
| | Through many woes and wanderings, do I come | |
| | To good Alcinous' hospitable dome. | |
| | Far from my native coast, I rove alone, | |
| | A wretched stranger, and of all unknown!" | |
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| | The goddess answer'd: "Father, I obey, | |
| | And point the wandering traveller his way: | |
| | Well known to me the palace you inquire, | |
| | For fast beside it dwells my honour'd sire: | |
| | But silent march, nor greet the common train | |
| | With question needless, or inquiry vain; | |
| | A race of ragged mariners are these, | |
| | Unpolish'd men, and boisterous as their seas | |
| | The native islanders alone their care, | |
| | And hateful he who breathes a foreign air. | |
| | These did the ruler of the deep ordain | |
| | To build proud navies, and command the main; | |
| | On canvas wings to cut the watery way; | |
| | No bird so light, no thought so swift as they." | |
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| | Thus having spoke, the unknown celestial leads: | |
| | The footsteps of the duty he treads, | |
| | And secret moves along the crowded space, | |
| | Unseen of all the rude Phaeacian race. | |
| | (So Pallas order'd, Pallas to their eyes | |
| | The mist objected, and condensed the skies.) | |
| | The chief with wonder sees the extended streets, | |
| | The spreading harbours, and the riding fleets; | |
| | He next their princes' lofty domes admires, | |
| | In separate islands, crown'd with rising spires; | |
| | And deep entrenchments, and high walls of stone. | |
| | That gird the city like a marble zone. | |
| | At length the kingly palace-gates he view'd; | |
| | There stopp'd the goddess, and her speech renew'd; | |
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| | "My task is done: the mansion you inquire | |
| | Appears before you: enter, and admire. | |
| | High-throned, and feasting, there thou shalt behold | |
| | The sceptred rulers. Fear not, but be bold: | |
| | A decent boldness ever meets with friends, | |
| | Succeeds, and even a stranger recommends | |
| | First to the queen prefer a suppliant's claim, | |
| | Alcinous' queen, Arete is her name. | |
| | The same her parents, and her power the same. | |
| | For know, from ocean's god Nausithous sprung, | |
| | And Peribaea, beautiful and young | |
| | (Eurymedon's last hope, who ruled of old | |
| | The race of giants, impious, proud, and bold: | |
| | Perish'd the nation in unrighteous war, | |
| | Perish'd the prince, and left this only heir), | |
| | Who now, by Neptune's amorous power compress'd, | |
| | Produced a monarch that his people bless'd, ' | |
| | Father and prince of the Phaeacian name; | |
| | From him Rhexenor and Alcinous came. | |
| | The first by Phoebus' hurtling arrows fired, | |
| | New from his nuptials, hapless youth! expired. | |
| | No son survived; Arete heir'd his state, | |
| | And her, Alcinous chose his royal mate. | |
| | With honours yet to womankind unknown. | |
| | This queen he graces, and divides the throne; | |
| | In equal tenderness her sons conspire, | |
| | And all the children emulate their sire. | |
| | When through the streets she gracious deigns to move | |
| | (The public wonder and the public love), | |
| | The tongues of all with transport sound her praise, | |
| | The eyes of all, as on a goddess, gaze. | |
| | She feels the triumph of a generous breast; | |
| | To heal divisions, to relieve the oppress'd; | |
| | In virtue rich; in blessing others, bless'd. | |
| | (to then secure, thy humble suit prefer | |
| | And owe thy country and tby friends to her." | |
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| | With that the goddess deign'd no longer stay, | |
| | But o'er the world of waters wing'd her way; | |
| | Forsaking Scheria's ever-pleasing shore, | |
| | The winds to Marathon the virgin bore: | |
| | Thence, where proud Athens rears her towery head, | |
| | With opening streets and shining structures spread, | |
| | She pass'd, delighted with the well-known seats; | |
| | And to Erectheus' sacred dome retreats. | |
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| | Meanwhile Ulysses at the palace waits, | |
| | There stops, and anxious with his soul debates, | |
| | Fix'd in amaze before the royal gates. | |
| | The front appear'd with radiant splendours gay, | |
| | Bright as the lamp of night, or orb of day, | |
| | The walls were massy brass: the cornice high | |
| | Blue metals crown'd in colours of the sky, | |
| | Rich plates of gold the folding doors incase; | |
| | The pillars silver, on a brazen base; | |
| | Silver the lintels deep-projecting o'er, | |
| | And gold the ringlets that command the door. | |
| | Two rows of stately dogs, on either hand, | |
| | In sculptured gold and labour'd silver stood | |
| | These Vulcan form'd with art divine, to wait | |
| | Immortal guardians at Alcinous' gate; | |
| | Alive each animated frame appears, | |
| | And still to live beyond the power of years, | |
| | Fair thrones within from space to space were raised, | |
| | Where various carpets with embroidery blessed, | |
| | The work of matrons: these the princes press'd. | |
| | Day following day, a long-continued feast, | |
| | Refulgent pedestals the walls surround, | |
| | Which boys of gold with illuming torches crown'd; | |
| | The polish'd oar, reflecting every ray, | |
| | Blazed on the banquets with a double day. | |
| | Full fifty handmaids form the household train; | |
| | Some turn the mill, or sift the golden grain; | |
| | Some ply the loom; their busy fingers move | |
| | Like poplar-leaves when Zephyr fans the grove. | |
| | Not more renown'd the men of Scheria's isle | |
| | For sailing arts and all the naval toil, | |
| | Than works of female skill their women's pride, | |
| | The flying shuttle through the threads to guide: | |
| | Pallas to these her double gifts imparts, | |
| | Incentive genius, and industrious arts. | |
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| | Close to the gates a spacious garden lies, | |
| | From storms defended and inclement skies. | |
| | Four acres was the allotted space of ground, | |
| | Fenced with a green enclosure all around. | |
| | Tall thriving trees confess'd the fruitful mould: | |
| | The reddening apple ripens here to gold. | |
| | Here the blue fig with luscious juice o'erflows, | |
| | With deeper red the full pomegranate glows; | |
| | The branch here bends beneath the weighty pear, | |
| | And verdant olives flourish round the year, | |
| | The balmy spirit of the western gale | |
| | Eternal breathes on fruits, unthought to fail: | |
| | Each dropping pear a following pear supplies, | |
| | On apples apples, figs on figs arise: | |
| | The same mild season gives the blooms to blow, | |
| | The buds to harden, and the fruits to grow. | |
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| | Here order'd vines in equal ranks appear, | |
| | With all the united labours of the year; | |
| | Some to unload the fertile branches run, | |
| | Some dry the blackening clusters in the sun, | |
| | Others to tread the liquid harvest join: | |
| | The groaning presses foam with floods of wine | |
| | Here are the vines in early flower descried, | |
| | Here grapes discolour'd on the sunnyside, | |
| | And there in autumn's richest purple dyed, | |
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| | Beds of all various herbs, for ever green, | |
| | In beauteous order terminate the scene. | |
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| | Two plenteous fountains the whole prospect crown'd | |
| | This through the gardens leads its streams around | |
| | Visits each plant, and waters all the ground; | |
| | While that in pipes beneath the palace flows, | |
| | And thence its current on the town bestows: | |
| | To various use their various streams they bring, | |
| | The people one, and one supplies the king. | |
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| | Such were the glories which the gods ordain'd, | |
| | To grace Alcinous, and his happy land. | |
| | E'en from the chief whom men and nations knew, | |
| | The unwonted scene surprise and rapture drew; | |
| | In pleasing thought he ran the prospect o'er, | |
| | Then hasty enter'd at the lofty door. | |
| | Night now approaching, in the palace stand, | |
| | With goblets crown'd, the rulers of the land; | |
| | Prepared for rest, and offering to the god | |
| | Who bears the virtue of the sleepy rod, | |
| | Unseen he glided through the joyous crowd, | |
| | With darkness circled, and an ambient cloud. | |
| | Direct to great Alcinous' throne he came, | |
| | And prostrate fell before the imperial dame. | |
| | Then from around him dropp'd the veil of night; | |
| | Sudden he shines, and manifest to sight. | |
| | The nobles gaze, with awful fear oppress'd; | |
| | Silent they gaze, and eye the godlike guest. | |
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| | "Daughter of great Rhexenor! (thus began, | |
| | Low at her knees, the much-enduring man) | |
| | To thee, thy consort, and this royal train, | |
| | To all that share the blessings of your reign, | |
| | A suppliant bends: oh pity human woe! | |
| | 'Tis what the happy to the unhappy owe. | |
| | A wretched exile to his country send, | |
| | Long worn with griefs, and long without a friend | |
| | So may the gods your better days increase, | |
| | And all your joys descend on all your race; | |
| | So reign for ever on your country's breast, | |
| | Your people blessing, by your people bless'd!" | |
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| | Then to the genial hearth he bow'd his face, | |
| | And humbled in the ashes took his place. | |
| | Silence ensued. The eldest first began, | |
| | Echeneus sage, a venerable man! | |
| | Whose well-taught mind the present age surpass'd, | |
| | And join'd to that the experience of the last. | |
| | Fit words attended on his weighty sense, | |
| | And mild persuasion flow'd in eloquence. | |
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| | "Oh sight (he cried) dishonest and unjust! | |
| | A guest, a stranger, seated in the dust! | |
| | To raise the lowly suppliant from the ground | |
| | Befits a monarch. Lo! the peers around | |
| | But wait thy word, the gentle guest to grace, | |
| | And seat him fair in some distinguish'd place. | |
| | Let first the herald due libation pay | |
| | To Jove, who guides the wanderer on his way: | |
| | Then set the genial banquet in his view, | |
| | And give the stranger-guest a stranger's due." | |
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| | His sage advice the listening king obeys, | |
| | He stretch'd his hand the prudent chief to raise, | |
| | And from his seat Laodamas removed | |
| | (The monarch's offspring, and his best-beloved); | |
| | There next his side the godlike hero sate; | |
| | With stars of silver shone the bed of state. | |
| | The golden ewer a beauteous handmaid brings, | |
| | Replenish'd from the cool translucent springs, | |
| | Whose polish'd vase with copious streams supplies | |
| | A silver layer of capacious size. | |
| | The table next in regal order spread, | |
| | The glittering canisters are heap'd with bread: | |
| | Viands of various kinds invite the taste, | |
| | Of choicest sort and savour, rich repast! | |
| | Thus feasting high, Alcinous gave the sign, | |
| | And bade the herald pour the rosy wine; | |
| | "Let all around the due libation pay | |
| | To Jove, who guides the wanderer on his way." | |
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| | He said. Pontonous heard the king's command; | |
| | The circling goblet moves from hand to hand; | |
| | Each drinks the juice that glads the heart of man. | |
| | Alcinous then, with aspect mild, began: | |
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| | "Princes and peers, attend; while we impart | |
| | To you the thoughts of no inhuman heart. | |
| | Now pleased and satiate from the social rite | |
| | Repair we to the blessings of the night; | |
| | But with the rising day, assembled here, | |
| | Let all the elders of the land appear, | |
| | Pious observe our hospitable laws, | |
| | And Heaven propitiate in the stranger's cause; | |
| | Then join'd in council, proper means explore | |
| | Safe to transport him to the wished-for shore | |
| | (How distant that, imports us not to know, | |
| | Nor weigh the labour, but relieve the woe). | |
| | Meantime, nor harm nor anguish let him bear | |
| | This interval, Heaven trusts him to our care | |
| | But to his native land our charge resign'd, | |
| | Heaven's is his life to come, and all the woes behind. | |
| | Then must he suffer what the Fates ordain; | |
| | For Fate has wove the thread of life with pain? | |
| | And twins, e'en from the birth, are Misery and Man! | |
| | But if, descended from the Olympian bower, | |
| | Gracious approach us some immortal power; | |
| | If in that form thou comest a guest divine: | |
| | Some high event the conscious gods design. | |
| | As yet, unbid they never graced our feast, | |
| | The solemn sacrifice call'd down the guest; | |
| | Then manifest of Heaven the vision stood, | |
| | And to our eyes familiar was the god. | |
| | Oft with some favour'd traveller they stray, | |
| | And shine before him all the desert way; | |
| | With social intercourse, and face to face, | |
| | The friends and guardians of our pious race. | |
| | So near approach we their celestial kind, | |
| | By justice, truth, and probity of mind; | |
| | As our dire neighbours of Cyclopean birth | |
| | Match in fierce wrong the giant-sons of earth." | |
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| | "Let no such thought (with modest grace rejoin'd | |
| | The prudent Greek) possess the royal mind. | |
| | Alas! a mortal, like thyself, am I; | |
| | No glorious native of yon azure sky: | |
| | In form, ah how unlike their heavenly kind! | |
| | How more inferior in the gifts of mind! | |
| | Alas, a mortal! most oppress'd of those | |
| | Whom Fate has loaded with a weight of woes; | |
| | By a sad train of Miseries alone | |
| | Distinguish'd long, and second now to none! | |
| | By Heaven's high will compell'd from shore to shore; | |
| | With Heaven's high will prepared to suffer more. | |
| | What histories of toil could I declare! | |
| | But still long-wearied nature wants repair; | |
| | Spent with fatigue, and shrunk with pining fast, | |
| | My craving bowels still require repast. | |
| | Howe'er the noble, suffering mind may grieve | |
| | Its load of anguish, and disdain to live, | |
| | Necessity demands our daily bread; | |
| | Hunger is insolent, and will be fed. | |
| | But finish, oh ye peers! what you propose, | |
| | And let the morrow's dawn conclude my woes. | |
| | Pleased will I suffer all the gods ordain, | |
| | To see my soil, my son, my friends again. | |
| | That view vouchsafed, let instant death surprise | |
| | With ever-during shade these happy eyes!" | |
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| | The assembled peers with general praise approved | |
| | His pleaded reason, and the suit he moved. | |
| | Each drinks a full oblivion of his cares, | |
| | And to the gifts of balmy sleep repairs, | |
| | Ullysses in the regal walls alone | |
| | Remain'd: beside him, on a splendid throne, | |
| | Divine Arete and Alcinous shone. | |
| | The queen, an nearer view, the guest survey'd, | |
| | Rob'd in the garments her own hands had made, | |
| | Not without wonder seen. Then thus began, | |
| | Her words addressing to the godlike man: | |
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| | "Camest thou hither, wondrous stranger I say, | |
| | From lands remote and o'er a lemgth of sea? | |
| | Tell, then, whence art thou? whence, that princely air? | |
| | And robes like these, so recent and so fair?" | |
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| | "Hard is the task, O princess! you impose | |
| | (Thus sighing spoke the man of many woes), | |
| | The long, the mournful series to relate | |
| | Of all my sorrows sent by Heaven and Fate! | |
| | Yet what you ask, attend. An island lies | |
| | Beyond these tracts, and under other skies, | |
| | Ogygia named, in Ocean's watery arms; | |
| | Where dwells Calypso, dreadful in her charms! | |
| | Remote from gods or men she holds her reign, | |
| | Amid the terrors of a rolling main. | |
| | Me, only me, the hand of fortune bore, | |
| | Unblest! to tread that interdicted shore: | |
| | When Jove tremendous in the sable deeps | |
| | Launch'd his red lightning at our scattered ships; | |
| | Then, all my fleet and all my followers lost. | |
| | Sole on a plank on boiling surges toss'd, | |
| | Heaven drove my wreck the Ogygian Isle to find, | |
| | Full nine days floating to the wave and wind. | |
| | Met by the goddess there with open arms, | |
| | She bribed my stay with more than human charms; | |
| | Nay, promised, vainly promised, to bestow | |
| | Immortal life, exempt from age and woe; | |
| | But all her blandishments successless prove, | |
| | To banish from my breast my country's love. | |
| | I stay reluctant seven continued years, | |
| | And water her ambrosial couch with tears, | |
| | The eighth she voluntary moves to part, | |
| | Or urged by Jove, or her own changeful heart. | |
| | A raft was formed to cross the surging sea; | |
| | Herself supplied the stores and rich array, | |
| | And gave the gales to waft me on my way, | |
| | In seventeen days appear'd your pleasing coast, | |
| | And woody mountains half in vapours lost. | |
| | Joy touched my soul; my soul was joy'd in vain, | |
| | For angry Neptune roused the raging main; | |
| | The wild winds whistle, and the billows roar; | |
| | The splitting raft the furious tempest tore; | |
| | And storms vindictive intercept the shore. | |
| | Soon as their rage subsides, the seas I brave | |
| | With naked force, and shoot along the wave, | |
| | To reach this isle; but there my hopes were lost, | |
| | The surge impell'd me on a craggy coast. | |
| | I chose the safer sea, and chanced to find | |
| | A river's mouth impervious to the wind, | |
| | And clear of rocks. I fainted by the flood; | |
| | Then took the shelter of the neighbouring wood. | |
| | 'Twas night, and, covered in the foliage deep, | |
| | Jove plunged my senses in the death of sleep. | |
| | All night I slept, oblivious of my pain: | |
| | Aurora dawned and Phoebus shined in vain, | |
| | Nor, till oblique he sloped his evening ray, | |
| | Had Somnus dried the balmy dews away. | |
| | Then female voices from the shore I heard: | |
| | A maid amidst them, goddess-like appear'd; | |
| | To her I sued, she pitied my distress; | |
| | Like thee in beauty, nor in virtue less. | |
| | Who from such youth could hope considerate care? | |
| | In youth and beauty wisdom is but rare! | |
| | She gave me life, relieved with just supplies | |
| | My wants, and lent these robes that strike your eyes. | |
| | This is the truth: and oh, ye powers on high! | |
| | Forbid that want should sink me to a lie." | |
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| | To this the king: "Our daughter but express'd | |
| | Her cares imperfect to our godlike guest. | |
| | Suppliant to her, since first he chose to pray, | |
| | Why not herself did she conduct the way, | |
| | And with her handmaids to our court convey?" | |
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| | "Hero and king (Ulysses thus replied) | |
| | Nor blame her faultless nor suspect of pride: | |
| | She bade me follow in the attendant train; | |
| | But fear and reverence did my steps detain, | |
| | Lest rash suspicion might alarm thy mind: | |
| | Man's of a jealous and mistaken kind." | |
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| | "Far from my soul (he cried) the gods efface | |
| | All wrath ill-grounded, and suspicion base! | |
| | Whate'er is honest, stranger, I approve, | |
| | And would to Phoebus, Pallas, and to Jove, | |
| | Such as thou art, thy thought and mine were one, | |
| | Nor thou unwilling to be called my son. | |
| | In such alliance couldst thou wish to join, | |
| | A palace stored with treasures should be thine. | |
| | But if reluctant, who shall force thy stay? | |
| | Jove bids to set the stranger on his way, | |
| | And ships shall wait thee with the morning ray. | |
| | Till then, let slumber cross thy careful eyes: | |
| | The wakeful mariners shall watch the skies, | |
| | And seize the moment when the breezes rise: | |
| | Then gently waft thee to the pleasing shore, | |
| | Where thy soul rests, and labour is no more. | |
| | Far as Euboea though thy country lay, | |
| | Our ships with ease transport thee in a day. | |
| | Thither of old, earth's giant son to view, | |
| | On wings of wind with Rhadamanth they flew; | |
| | This land, from whence their morning course begun, | |
| | Saw them returning with the setting sun. | |
| | Your eyes shall witness and confirm my tale, | |
| | Our youth how dexterous, and how fleet our sail, | |
| | When justly timed with equal sweep they row, | |
| | And ocean whitens in long tracks below." | |
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| | Thus he. No word the experienced man replies, | |
| | But thus to heaven (and heavenward lifts his eyes): | |
| | "O Jove! O father! what the king accords | |
| | Do thou make perfect! sacred be his words! | |
| | Wide o'er the world Alcinous' glory shine! | |
| | Let fame be his, and ah! my country mine!" | |
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| | Meantime Arete, for the hour of rest, | |
| | Ordains the fleecy couch, and covering vest; | |
| | Bids her fair train the purple quilts prepare, | |
| | And the thick carpets spread with busy care. | |
| | With torches blazing in their hands they pass'd, | |
| | And finish'd all their queen's command with haste: | |
| | Then gave the signal to the willing guest: | |
| | He rose with pleasure, and retired to rest. | |
| | There, soft extended, to the murmuring sound | |
| | Of the high porch, Ulysses sleeps profound! | |
| | Within, released from cares, Alcinous lies; | |
| | And fast beside were closed Arete's eyes. | |
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