Chapman, George, trans. (1559?–1634). The Odysseys of Homer, vol. 1. 1857.
THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.
THE ARGUMENT.
- HE shows from Hell his safe retreat
- To th’ isle Ææa, Circe’s seat;
- And how he scap’d the Sirens’ calls,
- With th’ erring rocks, and waters’ falls,
- That Scylla and Charybdis break;
- The Sun’s stolen herds; and his sad wreak
- Both of Ulysses’ ship and men,
- His own head ‘scaping scarce the pain.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT.
The rocks that err’d. - The Sirens’ call.
- The Sun’s stolen herd.
- The soldiers’ fall.
UR ship now past the straits of th’ ocean flood, She plow’d the broad sea’s billows, and made good The isle Ææa, where the palace stands Of th’ early riser with the rosy hands, Active Aurora, where she loves to dance, 5 And where the Sun doth his prime beams advance. When here arrived, we drew her up to land, And trod ourselves the re-saluted sand, Found on the shore fit resting for the night, Slept, and expected the celestial light. 10 Soon as the white-and-red-mix’d-finger’d Dame Had gilt the mountains with her saffron flame, I sent my men to Circe’s house before, To fetch deceas’d Elpenor to the shore. Straight swell’d the high banks with fell’d heaps of trees, 15 And, full of tears, we did due exsequies To our dead friend. Whose corse consum’d with fire, And honour’d arms, whose sepulchre entire, And over that a column raised, his oar, Curiously carved, to his desire before, 20 Upon the top of all his tomb we fixed. Of all rites fit his funeral pile was mix’d. Nor was our safe ascent from Hell concealed From Circe’s knowledge; nor so soon revealed But she was with us, with her bread and food, 25 And ruddy wine, brought by her sacred brood Of woods and fountains. In the midst she stood, And thus saluted us: ‘Unhappy men, That have, inform’d with all your senses, been In Pluto’s dismal mansion! You shall die 30 Twice now, where others, that Mortality In her fair arms holds, shall but once decease. But eat and drink out all conceit of these, And this day dedicate to food and wine, The following night to sleep. When next shall shine 35 The cheerful morning, you shall prove the seas. Your way, and every act ye must address, My knowledge of their order shall design, Lest with your own bad counsels ye incline Events as bad against ye, and sustain, 40 By sea and shore, the woful ends that reign In wilful actions.’ Thus did she advise, And, for the time, our fortunes were so wise To follow wise directions. All that day We sat and feasted. When his lower way 45 The Sun had enter’d, and the Even the high, My friends slept on their gables; she and I (Led by her fair hand to a place apart, By her well-sorted) did to sleep convert Our timid powers; when all things Fate let fall 50 In our affair she asked; I told her all. To which she answer’d: ‘These things thus took end. And now to those that I inform attend, Which you rememb’ring, God himself shall be The blessed author of your memory. 55 First to the Sirens ye shall come, that taint The minds of all men, whom they can acquaint With their attractions. Whomsoever shall, For want of knowledge moved, but hear the call Of any Siren, he will so despise 60 Both wife and children, for their sorceries, That never home turns his affection’s stream, Nor they take joy in him, nor he in them. The Sirens will so soften with their song (Shrill, and in sensual appetite so strong) 65 His loose affections, that he gives them head. And then observe: They sit amidst a mead, And round about it runs a hedge or wall Of dead men’s bones, their wither’d skins and all Hung all along upon it; and these men 70 Were such as they had fawn’d into their fen, And then their skins hung on their hedge of bones. Sail by them therefore, thy companions Beforehand causing to stop every ear With sweet soft wax, so close that none may hear 75 A note of all their charmings. Yet may you, If you affect it, open ear allow To try their motion; but presume not so To trust your judgment, when your senses go So loose about you, but give straight command 80 To all your men, to bind you foot and hand Sure to the mast, that you may safe approve How strong in instigation to their love Their rapting tunes are. If so much they move, That, spite of all your reason, your will stands 85 To be enfranchised both of feet and hands, Charge all your men before to slight your charge, And rest so far from fearing to enlarge That much more sure they bind you. When your friends Have outsail’d these, the danger that transcends 90 Rests not in any counsel to prevent, Unless your own mind finds the tract and bent Of that way that avoids it. I can say That in your course there lies a twofold way, The right of which your own, taught, present wit, 95 And grace divine, must prompt. In general yet Let this inform you: Near these Sirens’ shore Move two steep rocks, at whose feet lie and roar The black sea’s cruel billows; the bless’d Gods Call them the Rovers. Their abhorr’d abodes 100 No bird can pass; no not the doves, whose fear Sire Jove so loves that they are said to bear Ambrosia to him, can their ravine ‘scape, But one of them falls ever to the rape Of those sly rocks; yet Jove another still 105 Adds to the rest, that so may ever fill The sacred number. Never ship could shun The nimble peril wing’d there, but did run With all her bulk, and bodies of her men, To utter ruin. For the seas retain 110 Not only their outrageous æsture there, But fierce assistants of particular fear, And supernatural mischief, they expire, And those are whirlwinds of devouring fire Whisking about still. Th’ Argive ship alone, 115 Which bore the care of all men, got her gone, Come from Areta. Yet perhaps even she Had wrack’d at those rocks, if the Deity, That lies by Jove’s side, had not lent her hand To their transmission; since the man, that mann’d 120 In chief that voyage, she in chief did love. Of these two spiteful rocks, the one doth shove Against the height of heaven her pointed brow. A black cloud binds it round, and never show Lends to the sharp point; not the clear blue sky 125 Lets ever view it, not the summer’s eye, Not fervent autumn’s. None that death could end Could ever scale it, or, if up, descend, Though twenty hands and feet he had for hold, A polish’d ice-like glibness doth enfold 130 The rock so round, whose midst a gloomy cell Shrouds so far westward that it sees to hell. From this keep you as far, as from his bow An able young man can his shaft bestow. For here the whuling Scylla shrouds her face, 135 That breathes a voice at all parts no more base Than are a newly-kitten’d kitling’s cries, Herself a monster yet of boundless size, Whose sight would nothing please a mortal’s eyes, No nor the eyes of any God, if he 140 (Whom nought should fright) fell foul on her, and she Her full shape show’d. Twelve foul feet bear about Her ugly bulk. Six huge long necks look out Of her rank shoulders; every neck doth let A ghastly head out; every head three set, 145 Thick thrust together, of abhorred teeth, And every tooth stuck with a sable death. She lurks in midst of all her den, and streaks From out a ghastly whirlpool all her necks; Where, gloting round her rock, to fish she falls; 150 And up rush dolphins, dogfish; somewhiles whales, If got within her when her rapine feeds; For ever-groaning Amphitrite breeds About her whirlpool an unmeasured store. No sea-man ever boasted touch of shore 155 That there touch’d with his ship, but still she fed Of him and his; a man for every head Spoiling his ship of. You shall then descry The other humbler rock, that moves so nigh Your dart may mete the distance. It receives 160 A huge wild fig-tree, curl’d with ample leaves, Beneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits, Supping the black deeps. Thrice a day her pits She drinking all dry, and thrice a day again All up she belches, baneful to sustain. 165 When she is drinking, dare not near her draught, For not the force of Neptune, if once caught, Can force your freedom. Therefore in your strife To ‘scape Charybdis labour all for life To row near Scylla, for she will but have 170 For her six heads six men; and better save The rest, than all make off’rings to the wave.’ This need she told me of my loss, when I Desired to know, if that Necessity, When I had ‘scaped Charybdis’ outrages, 175 My powers might not revenge, though not redress? She answer’d: ‘O unhappy! art thou yet Enflamed with war, and thirst to drink thy sweat? Not to the Gods give up both arms and will? She deathless is, and that immortal ill 180 Grave, harsh, outrageous, not to be subdued, That men must suffer till they be renew’d. Nor lives there any virtue that can fly The vicious outrage of their cruelty. Shouldst thou put arms on, and approach the rock, 185 I fear six more must expiate the shock. Six heads six men ask still. Hoise sail, and fly, And, in thy flight, aloud on Cratis cry (Great Scylla’s mother, who exposed to light The bane of men) and she will do such right 190 To thy observance, that she down will tread Her daughter’s rage, nor let her show a head. From thenceforth then, for ever past her care, Thou shalt ascend the isle triangular, Where many oxen of the Sun are fed, 195 And fatted flocks. Of oxen fifty head In every herd feed, and their herds are seven; And of his fat flocks is their number even. Increase they yield not, for they never die. There every shepherdess a Deity. 200 Fair Phaethusa, and Lampetie, The lovely Nymphs are that their guardians be, Who to the daylight’s lofty-going Flame Had gracious birthright from the heavenly Dame, Still young Neæra; who (brought forth and bred) 205 Far off dismiss’d them, to see duly fed Their father’s herds and flocks in Sicily. These herds and flocks if to the Deity Ye leave, as sacred things, untouch’d, and on Go with all fit care of your home, alone, 210 (Though through some suff’rance) you yet safe shall land In wished Ithaca. But if impious hand You lay on those herds to their hurts, I then Presage sure ruin to thy ship and men. If thou escap’st thyself, extending home 215 Thy long’d-for landing, thou shalt loaded come With store of losses, most exceeding late, And not consorted with a saved mate.’ This said, the golden-throned Aurora rose, She her way went, and I did mine dispose 220 Up to my ship, weigh’d anchor, and away. When reverend Circe helped us to convey Our vessel safe, by making well inclined A seaman’s true companion, a forewind, With which she fill’d our sails; when, fitting all 225 Our arms close by us, I did sadly fall To grave relation what concern’d in fate My friends to know, and told them that the state Of our affairs’ success, which Circe had Presaged to me alone, must yet be made 230 To one nor only two known, but to all; That, since their lives and deaths were left to fall In their elections, they might life elect, And give what would preserve it fit effect. I first inform’d them, that we were to fly 235 The heavenly-singing Sirens’ harmony, And flower-adorned meadow; and that I Had charge to hear their song, but fetter’d fast In bands, unfavour’d, to th’ erected mast, From whence, if I should pray, or use command, 240 To be enlarged, they should with much more band Contain my strugglings. This I simply told To each particular, nor would withhold What most enjoin’d mine own affection’s stay, That theirs the rather might be taught t’ obey. 245 In mean time flew our ships, and straight we fetch’d The Siren’s isle; a spleenless wind so stretch’d Her wings to waft us, and so urged our keel. But having reach’d this isle, we could not feel The least gasp of it, it was stricken dead, 250 And all the sea in prostrate slumber spread, The Sirens’ devil charm’d all. Up then flew My friends to work, struck sail, together drew, And under hatches stow’d them, sat, and plied The polish’d oars, and did in curls divide 255 The white-head waters. My part then came on: A mighty waxen cake I set upon, Chopp’d it in fragments with my sword, and wrought With strong hand every piece, till all were soft. The great power of the sun, in such a beam 260 As then flew burning from his diadem, To liquefaction help’d us. Orderly I stopp’d their ears; and they as fair did ply My feet and hands with cords, and to the mast With other halsers made me soundly fast. 265 Then took they seat, and forth our passage strook, The foamy sea beneath their labour shook. Row’d on, in reach of an erected voice, The Sirens soon took note, without our noise, Tuned those sweet accents that made charms so strong, 270 And these learn’d numbers made the Sirens’ song: Come here, thou worthy of a world of praise, That dost so high the Grecian glory raise, Ulysses! stay thy ship, and that song hear That none past ever but it bent his ear, 275 But left him ravish’d, and instructed more By us, than any ever heard before. For we know all things whatsoever were In wide Troy labour’d; whatsoever there The Grecians and the Trojans both sustain’d 280 By those high issues that the Gods ordain’d. And whatsoever all the earth can show T’ inform a knowledge of desert, we know. This they gave accent in the sweetest strain That ever open’d an enamour’d vein. 285 When my constrain’d heart needs would have mine ear Yet more delighted, force way forth, and hear. To which end I commanded with all sign Stern looks could make (for not a joint of mine Had power to stir) my friends to rise, and give 290 My limbs free way. They freely strived to drive Their ship still on. When, far from will to loose, Eurylochus, and Perimedes rose To wrap me surer, and oppress’d me more With many a halser than had use before. 295 When, rowing on without the reach of sound, My friends unstopp’d their ears, and me unbound, And that isle quite we quitted. But again Fresh fears employ’d us. I beheld a main Of mighty billows, and a smoke ascend, 300 A horrid murmur hearing. Every friend Astonish’d sat; from every hand his oar Fell quite forsaken; with the dismal roar Were all things there made echoes; stone still stood Our ship itself, because the ghastly flood 305 Took all men’s motions from her in their own. I through the ship went, labouring up and down My friends’ recover’d spirits. One by one I gave good words, and said: That well were known These ills to them before, I told them all, 310 And that these could not prove more capital Than those the Cyclops block’d us up in, yet My virtue, wit, and heaven-help’d counsels set Their freedoms open. I could not believe But they remember’d it, and wish’d them give 315 My equal care and means now equal trust. The strength they had for stirring up they must Rouse and extend, to try if Jove had laid His powers in theirs up, and would add his aid To ‘scape even that death. In particular then, 320 I told our pilot, that past other men He most must bear firm spirits, since he sway’d The continent that all our spirits convey’d, In his whole guide of her. He saw there boil The fiery whirlpools that to all our spoil 325 Inclosed a rock, without which he must steer, Or all our ruins stood concluded there. All heard me and obey’d, and little knew That, shunning that rock, six of them should rue The wrack another hid. For I conceal’d 330 The heavy wounds, that never would be heal’d, To be by Scylla open’d; for their fear Would then have robb’d all of all care to steer, Or stir an oar, and made them hide beneath, When they and all had died an idle death. 335 But then even I forgot to shun the harm Circe forewarn’d; who will’d I should not arm, Nor show myself to Scylla, lest in vain I ventured life. Yet could not I contain, But arm’d at all parts, and two lances took, 340 Up to the foredeck went, and thence did look That rocky Scylla would have first appear’d, And taken my life with the friends I fear’d. From thence yet no place could afford her sight, Though through the dark rock mine eye threw her light, 345 And ransack’d all ways. I then took a strait That gave myself, and some few more, receipt ‘Twixt Scylla and Charybdis; whence we saw How horridly Charybdis’ throat did draw The brackish sea up, which when all abroad 350 She spit again out, never caldron sod With so much fervour, fed with all the store That could enrage it; all the rock did roar With troubled waters; round about the tops Of all the steep crags flew the foamy drops. 355 But when her draught the sea and earth dissunder’d, The troubled bottoms turn’d up, and she thunder’d, Far under shore the swart sands naked lay. Whose whole stern sight the startled blood did fray From all our faces. And while we on her 360 Our eyes bestow’d thus to our ruin’s fear, Six friends had Scylla snatch’d out of our keel, In whom most loss did force and virtue feel. When looking to my ship, and lending eye To see my friends’ estates, their heels turn’d high, 365 And hands cast up, I might discern, and hear Their calls to me for help, when now they were To try me in their last extremities. And as an angler med’cine for surprise Of little fish sits pouring from the rocks, 370 From out the crook’d horn of a fold-bred ox, And then with his long angle hoists them high Up to the air, then slightly hurls them by, When helpless sprawling on the land they lie; So easily Scylla to her rock had rapt 375 My woeful friends, and so unhelp’d entrapt Struggling they lay beneath her violent rape, Who in their tortures, desperate of escape, Shriek’d as she tore, and up their hands to me Still threw for sweet life. I did never see, 380 In all my suff’rance ransacking the seas, A spectacle so full of miseries. Thus having fled these rocks (these cruel dames Scylla, Charybdis) where the King of flames Hath offerings burn’d to him our ship put in, 385 The island that from all the earth doth win The epithet ‘Faultless’, where the broad-of-head And famous oxen for the Sun are fed, With many fat flocks of that high-gone God. Set in my ship, mine ear reach’d where we rode 390 The bellowing of oxen, and the bleat Of fleecy sheep, that in my memory’s seat Put up the forms that late had been impress’d By dread Ææan Circe, and the best Of souls and prophets, the blind Theban seer, 395 The wise Tiresias, who was grave decreer Of my return’s whole means; of which this one In chief he urg’d–that I should always shun The island of the man-delighting Sun. When, sad at heart for our late loss, I pray’d 400 My friends to hear fit counsel (though dismay’d With all ill fortunes) which was given to me By Circe’s and Tiresias’ prophecy,– That I should fly the isle where was ador’d The Comfort of the world, for ills abhorr’d 405 Were ambush’d for us there; and therefore will’d They should put off and leave the isle. This kill’d Their tender spirits; when Eurylochus A speech that vex’d me utter’d, answering thus: ‘Cruel Ulysses! Since thy nerves abound 410 In strength, the more spent, and no toils confound Thy able limbs, as all beat out of steel, Thou ablest us too, as unapt to feel The teeth of Labour and the spoil of Sleep, And therefore still wet waste us in the deep, 415 Nor let us land to eat, but madly now In night put forth, and leave firm land to strow The sea with errors. All the rabid flight Of winds that ruin ships are bred in night. Who is it that can keep off cruel Death, 420 If suddenly should rush out th’ angry breath Of Notus, or the eager-spirited West, That cuff ships dead, and do the Gods their best? Serve black Night still with shore, meat, sleep, and ease. And offer to the Morning for the seas.’ 425 This all the rest approved, and then knew I That past all doubt the Devil did apply His slaught’rous works. Nor would they be withheld; I was but one, nor yielded but compell’d. But all that might contain them I assay’d, 430 A sacred oath on all their powers I laid, That if with herds or any richest flocks We chanc’d t’ encounter, neither sheep nor ox We once should touch, nor (for that constant ill That follows folly) scorn advice and kill, 435 But quiet sit us down and take such food As the immortal Circe had bestow’d. They swore all this in all severest sort; And then we anchor’d in the winding port Near a fresh river, where the long’d-for shore 440 They all flew out to, took in victuals store, And, being full, thought of their friends, and wept Their loss by Scylla, weeping till they slept. In Night’s third part, when stars began to stoop, The Cloud-assembler put a tempest up. 445 A boist’rous spirit he gave it, drave out all His flocks of clouds, and let such darkness fall That Earth and Seas, for fear, to hide were driven, For with his clouds he thrust out Night from heaven. At Morn we drew our ships into a cave, 450 In which the Nymphs that Phoebus’ cattle drave Fair dancing-rooms had, and their seats of state. I urged my friends then, that, to shun their fate, They would observe their oath, and take the food Our ship afforded, nor attempt the blood 455 Of those fair herds and flocks, because they were The dreadful God’s that all could see and hear. They stood observant, and in that good mind Had we been gone; but so adverse the wind Stood to our passage, that we could not go. 460 For one whole month perpetually did blow Impetuous Notus, not a breath’s repair But his and Eurus’ ruled in all the air. As long yet as their ruddy wine and bread Stood out amongst them, so long not a head 465 Of all those oxen fell in any strife Amongst those students for the gut and life; But when their victuals fail’d they fell to prey, Necessity compell’d them then to stray In rape of fish and fowl; whatever came 470 In reach of hand or hook, the belly’s flame Afflicted to it. I then fell to prayer, And (making to a close retreat repair, Free from both friends and winds) I wash’d my hands, And all the Gods besought, that held commands 475 In liberal heaven, to yield some mean to stay Their desperate hunger, and set up the way Of our return restrain’d. The Gods, instead Of giving what I pray’d for–power of deed– A deedless sleep did on my lids distill, 480 For mean to work upon my friends their fill. For whiles I slept there waked no mean to curb Their headstrong wants; which he that did disturb My rule in chief at all times, and was chief To all the rest in counsel to their grief, 485 Knew well, and of my present absence took His fit advantage, and their iron strook At highest heat. For, feeling their desire In his own entrails, to allay the fire That Famine blew in them, he thus gave way 490 To that affection: ‘Hear what I shall say, Though words will staunch no hunger, every death To us poor wretches that draw temporal breath You know is hateful; but, all know, to die The death of Famine is a misery 495 Past all death loathsome. Let us, therefore, take The chief of this fair herd, and offerings make To all the Deathless that in broad heaven live, And in particular vow, if we arrive In natural Ithaca, to straight erect 500 A temple to the Haughty in aspect, Rich and magnificent, and all within Deck it with relics many and divine. If yet he stands incens’d, since we have slain His high-brow’d herd, and, therefore, will sustain 505 Desire to wrack our ship, he is but one, And all the other Gods that we atone With our divine rites will their suffrage give To our design’d return, and let us live. If not, and all take part, I rather crave 510 To serve with one sole death the yawning wave, Than in a desert island lie and sterve, And with one pin’d life many deaths observe.’ All cried ‘He counsels nobly,’ and all speed Made to their resolute driving; for the feed 515 Of those coal-black, fair, broad-brow’d, sun-loved beeves Had place close by our ships. They took the lives Of sence, most eminent; about their fall Stood round, and to the States Celestial Made solemn vows; but other rites their ship 520 Could not afford them, they did, therefore, strip The curl’d-head oak of fresh young leaves, to make Supply of service for their barley-cake. And on the sacredly enflamed, for wine, Pour’d purest water, all the parts divine 525 Spitting and roasting; all the rites beside Orderly using. Then did light divide My low and upper lids; when, my repair Made near my ship, I met the delicate air Their roast exhaled; out instantly I cried, 530 And said: ‘O Jove, and all ye Deified, Ye have oppress’d me with a cruel sleep, While ye conferr’d on me a loss as deep As Death descends to. To themselves alone My rude men left ungovern’d, they have done 535 A deed so impious, I stand well assured, That you will not forgive though ye procured.’ Then flew Lampetie with the ample robe Up to her father with the golden globe, Ambassadress t’ inform him that my men 540 Had slain his oxen. Heart-incensed then, He cried: ‘Revenge me, Father, and the rest Both ever-living and for ever blest! Ulysses’ impious men have drawn the blood Of those my oxen that it did me good 545 To look on, walking all my starry round, And when I trod earth all with meadows crown’d. Without your full amends I’ll leave heaven quite, Dis and the dead adorning with my light.’ The Cloud-herd answer’d: ‘Son! Thou shalt be ours, 550 And light those mortals in that mine of flowers! My red-hot flash shall graze but on their ship, And eat it, burning, in the boiling deep.’ This by Calypso I was told, and she Informed it from the verger Mercury. 555 Come to our ship, I chid and told by name Each man how impiously he was to blame. But chiding got no peace, the beeves were slain! When straight the Gods forewent their following pain With dire ostents. The hides the flesh had lost 560 Crept all before them. As the flesh did roast, It bellow’d like the ox itself alive. And yet my soldiers did their dead beeves drive Through all these prodigies in daily feasts. Six days they banqueted and slew fresh beasts; 565 And when the seventh day Jove reduced the wind That all the month raged, and so in did bind Our ship and us, was turn’d and calmed, and we Launch’d, put up masts, sails hoised, and to sea. The island left so far that land nowhere 570 But only sea and sky had power t’ appear, Jove fixed a cloud above our ship, so black That all the sea it darken’d. Yet from wrack She ran a good free time, till from the West Came Zephyr ruffling forth, and put his breast 575 Out in a singing tempest, so most vast It burst the gables that made sure our mast; Our masts came tumbling down, our cattle down Rush’d to the pump, and by our pilot’s crown The main-mast pass’d his fall, pash’d all his skull, 580 And all this wrack but one flaw made at full; Off from the stern the sternsman diving fell, And from his sinews flew his soul to hell. Together all this time Jove’s thunder chid, And through and through the ship his lightning glid, 585 Till it embraced her round; her bulk was fill’d With nasty sulphur, and her men were kill’d, Tumbled to sea, like sea-mews swum about, And there the date of their return was out. I toss’d from side to side still, till all broke 590 Her ribs were with the storm, and she did choke With let-in surges; for the mast torn down Tore her up piecemeal, and for me to drown Left little undissolved. But to the mast There was a leather thong left, which I cast 595 About it and the keel, and so sat tost With baneful weather, till the West had lost His stormy tyranny. And then arose The South, that bred me more abhorred woes; For back again his blasts expell’d me quite 600 On ravenous Charybdis. All that night I totter’d up and down, till Light and I At Scylla’s rock encounter’d, and the nigh Dreadful Charybdis. As I drave on these, I saw Charybdis supping up the seas, 605 And had gone up together, if the tree That bore the wild figs had not rescued me; To which I leap’d, and left my keel, and high Chamb’ring upon it did as close imply My breast about it as a reremouse could; 610 Yet might my feet on no stub fasten hold To ease my hands, the roots were crept so low Beneath the earth, and so aloft did grow The far-spread arms that, though good height I gat, I could not reach them. To the main bole flat 615 I, therefore, still must cling; till up again She belch’d my mast, and after that amain My keel came tumbling. So at length it chanced To me, as to a judge that long advanced To judge a sort of hot young fellows’ jars, 620 At length time frees him from their civil wars, When glad he riseth and to dinner goes; So time, at length, released with joys my woes, And from Charybdis’ mouth appear’d my keel. To which, my hand now loos’d and now my heel, 625 I altogether with a huge noise dropp’d, Just in her midst fell, where the mast was propp’d, And there row’d off with owers of my hands. God and man’s Father would not from her sands Let Scylla see me, for I then had died 630 That bitter death that my poor friends supplied. Nine days at sea I hover’d; the tenth night In th’ isle Ogygia, where, about the bright And right renown’d Calypso, I was cast By power of Deity; where I lived embraced 635 With love and feasts. But why should I relate Those kind occurrents? I should iterate What I in part to your chaste queen and you So late imparted. And, for me to grow A talker over of my tale again, 640 Were past my free contentment to sustain.” FINIS DUODECIMI LIBRI HOM. ODYSS. Opus novem dierum. … CHISWICK PRESS:–PRINTED BY C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.
