Classic Poem

Aurora rose from high-borne Tithon's Bed,
That men and Gods might be illustrated:
And then the Deities sate. Imperiall Jove,
That makes the horrid murmure beate above,
Tooke place past all, whose height for ever springs
And from whom flowes th'eternall powre of things.
Then Pallas (mindfull of Ulysses) told
The many Cares that in Calypso's hold
He still sustaind — when he had felt before
So much affliction and such dangers more.
" O Father," said she, " and ye everblest!
Give never King hereafter interest
In any aide of yours by serving you,
By being gentle, humane, just, but grow
Rude, and for ever scornfull of your rights,
All justice ordring by their appetites,
Since he that rul'd as it in right behov'd,
That all his subjects as his children lov'd,
Finds you so thoughtlesse of him and his birth.
Thus men begin to say, ye rule in earth,
And grudge at what ye let him undergo,
Who yet the least part of his sufferance know —
Thralld in an Iland, shipwrackt in his teares,
And in the fancies that Calypso beares
Bound from his birthright, all his shipping gone,
And of his souldiers not retaining one.
And now his most-lov'd Sonne's life doth inflame
Their slaughterous envies; since his Father's fame
He puts in pursuite, and is gone as farre
As sacred Pylos, and the singular
Dame-breeding Sparta." This, with this reply,
The Cloud-assembler answerd: " What words flie
Thine owne remembrance, daughter? Hast not thou
The counsell given thy selfe, that told thee how
Ulysses shall with his returne addresse
His wooers' wrongs? And, for the safe accesse
His Sonne shall make to his innative Port,
Do thou direct it in as curious sort
As thy wit serves thee — it obeys thy powers —
And in their ship returne the speedlesse wowers."
Then turnd he to his issue Mercurie,
And said: " Thou hast made good our Ambassie
To th'other Statists. To the Nymph then now
On whose faire head a tuft of gold doth grow
Beare our true-spoken counsell, for retreat
Of patient Ulysses — who shall get
No aide from us, nor any mortall man;
But in a patcht-up skiffe (built as he can,
And suffering woes enow) the twentith day
At fruitfull Scheria let him breathe his way,
With the Phaeacians, that halfe Deities live,
Who like a God will honour him, and give
His wisedome clothes, and ship, and brasse, and gold,
More than for gaine of Troy he ever told —
Where, at the whole division of the prey,
If he a saver were, or got away
Without a wound (if he should grudge) twas well.
But th'end shall crowne all; therefore Fate will deale
So well with him, to let him land, and see
His native earth, friends, house and family."
Thus charg'd he; nor Argicides denied,
But to his feete his faire wingd shooes he tied,
Ambrosian, golden, that in his command
Put either sea or the unmeasur'd land
With pace as speedie as a puft of wind.
Then up his Rod went, with which he declin'd
The eyes of any waker, when he pleasd,
And any sleeper, when he wisht, diseasd.
This tooke, he stoopt Pieria, and thence
Glid through the aire, and Neptune's Confluence
Kist as he flew, and checkt the waves as light
As any Sea-Mew in her fishing flight,
Her thicke wings soucing in the savorie seas.
Like her, he past a world of wildernesse,
But when the far-off Ile he toucht, he went
Up from the blue sea to the Continent,
And reacht the ample Caverne of the Queene,
Whom he within found — without, seldome seene.
A Sun-like fire upon the harth did flame,
The matter precious, and divine the frame,
Of Cedar cleft, and Incense was the Pile,
That breath'd an odour round about the Ile.
Her selfe was seated in an inner roome,
Whom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loome
About a curious web, whose yarne she threw
In with a golden shittle. A Grove grew
In endlesse spring about her Caverne round,
With odorous Cypresse, Pines, and Poplars crownd,
Where Haulks, Sea-owles, and long-tongu'd Bittours bred,
And other birds their shadie pinions spred —
All Fowles maritimall; none roosted there
But those whose labours in the waters were.
A Vine did all the hollow Cave embrace,
Still greene, yet still ripe bunches gave it grace.
Foure Fountaines one against another powrd
Their silver streames, and medowes all enflowrd
With sweete Balme-gentle and blue Violets hid,
That deckt the soft brests of each fragrant Mead.
Should any one (though he immortall were)
Arrive and see the sacred objects there,
He would admire them and be over-joyd.
And so stood Hermes' ravisht powres employd.
But having all admir'd, he enterd on
The ample Cave, nor could be seene unknowne
Of great Calypso (for all Deities are
Prompt in each other's knowledge, though so farre
Severd in dwellings), but he could not see
Ulysses there within. Without was he
Set sad ashore, where twas his use to view
Th'unquiet sea, sigh'd, wept, and emptie drew
His heart of comfort. Plac't here in her throne
(That beames cast up to Admiration)
Divine Calypso question'd Hermes thus:
" For what cause, deare, and much-esteem'd by us,
Thou golden-rod-adorned Mercurie,
Arriv'st thou here? Thou hast not usde t'apply
Thy passage this way. Say, what ever be
Thy heart's desire, my mind commands it thee,
If in my meanes it lie or powre of fact.
But first, what hospitable rights exact,
Come yet more neare and take." This said, she set
A Table forth, and furnisht it with meate
Such as the Gods taste, and serv'd in with it
Vermilion Nectar. When with banquet fit
He had confirmd his spirits, he thus exprest
His cause of coming: " Thou hast made request,
Goddesse of Goddesses, to understand
My cause of touch here: which thou shalt command,
And know with truth. Jove causd my course to thee
Against my will, for who would willingly
Lackey along so vast a lake of Brine,
Neare to no Citie that the powres divine
Receives with solemne rites and Hecatombs?
But Jove's will ever all law overcomes;
No other God can crosse or make it void.
And he affirmes that one, the most annoid
With woes and toiles of all those men that fought
For Priam's Citie, and to end hath brought
Nine yeares in the contention, is with thee.
For in the tenth yeare, when roy Victorie
Was wonne to give the Greeks the spoile of Troy,
Returne they did professe, but not enjoy,
Since Pallas they incenst, and she the waves
By all the winds' powre, that blew ope their graves.
And there they rested. Onely this poore one
This Coast both winds and waves have cast upon:
Whom now forthwith he wils thee to dismisse,
Affirming that th'unalterd destinies
Not onely have decreed he shall not die
Apart his friends, but of Necessitie
Enjoy their sights before those fatall houres,
His countrie earth reach, and erected Towres."
This strook a love-checkt horror through her powres,
When (naming him) she this reply did give:
" Insatiate are ye Gods past all that live
In all things you affect — which still converts
Your powres to Envies. It afflicts your hearts
That any Goddesse should (as you obtaine
The use of earthly Dames) enjoy the men,
And most in open mariage. So ye far'd
When the delicious-fingerd Morning shar'd
Orion's bed: you easie-living States
Could never satisfie your emulous hates
Till in Ortygia the precise-liv'd Dame
(Gold-thron'd Diana) on him rudely came,
And with her swift shafts slue him. And such paines,
When rich-haird Ceres pleasd to give the raines
To her affections, and the grace did yeeld
Of love and bed amidst a three-cropt field
To her Iasion, he paid angrie Jove,
Who lost no long time notice of their love,
But with a glowing lightning was his death.
And now your envies labour underneath
A mortal's choice of mine; whose life I tooke
To liberall safetie, when his ship Jove strooke
With red-hote flashes, peece-meale in the seas,
And all his friends and souldiers succourlesse
Perisht but he. Him, cast upon this coast
With blasts and billowes, I (in life given lost)
Preserv'd alone, lov'd, nourisht, and did vow
To make him deathlesse, and yet never grow
Crooked or worne with age his whole life long.
But since no reason may be made so strong
To strive with Jove's will, or to make it vaine —
No, not if all the other Gods should straine
Their powres against it — let his will be law,
So he affoord him fit meanes to withdraw
(As he commands him) to the raging Maine:
But meanes from me he never shall obtaine,
For my meanes yeeld nor men, nor ship, nor oares,
To set him off from my so envied shores.
But if my counsell and goodwill can aide
His safe passe home, my best shall be assaid."
" Vouchsafe it so," said heaven's Ambassador,
" And daigne it quickly. By all meanes abhorre
T'incense Jove's wrath against thee — that with grace
He may hereafter all thy wish embrace."
Thus tooke the Argus-killing God his wings.
And since the reverend Nymph these awfull things
Receiv'd from Jove, she to Ulysses went:
Whom she ashore found, drownd in discontent;
His eyes kept never drie he did so mourne,
And waste his deare age for his wisht returne —
Which still without the Cave he usde to do,
Because he could not please the Goddesse so.
At night yet (forc't) together tooke their rest,
The willing Goddesse and th'unwilling Guest.
But he all day in rockes and on the shore
The vext sea viewd, and did his Fate deplore.
Him, now, the Goddesse (coming neare) bespake:
" Unhappie man, no more discomfort take
For my constraint of thee, nor waste thine age.
I now will passing freely disengage
Thy irksome stay here. Come then, fell thee wood,
And build a ship to save thee from the flood.
I'le furnish thee with fresh wave, bread, and wine,
Ruddie and sweet, that will the Piner pine,
Put garments on thee, give thee winds foreright,
That every way thy home-bent appetite
May safe attaine to it, if so it please
At all parts all the heaven-housd Deities,
That more in powre are, more in skill, than I,
And more can judge what fits humanitie."
He stood amaz'd at this strange change in her,
And said: " O Goddesse! thy intents preferre
Some other project than my parting hence,
Commanding things of too high consequence
For my performance. That my selfe should build
A ship of powre, my home-assaies to shield
Against the great Sea of such dread to passe —
Which not the best-built ship that ever was
Will passe exulting, when such winds as Jove
Can thunder up their trims and tacklings prove.
But could I build one, I would ne're aboord
(Thy will opposde) nor (won) without thy word,
Given in the great oath of the Gods to me,
Not to beguile me in the least degree."
The Goddesse smilde, held hard his hand, and said:
" O y'are a shrewd one, and so habited
In taking heed thou knowst not what it is
To be unwary, nor use words amisse.
How hast thou charmd me, were I ne're so slie!
Let earth know then, and heaven, so broad, so hie,
And th'under-sunke waves of th'infernall streame
(Which is an oath as terribly supreame
As any God sweares) that I had no thought
But stood with what I spake, nor would have wrought,
Nor counseld, any act against thy good;
But ever diligently weighd, and stood
On those points in perswading thee, that I
Would use my selfe in such extremitie.
For my mind simple is, and innocent,
Not given by cruell sleights to circumvent,
Nor beare I in my breast a heart of steele,
But with the Sufferer willing sufferance feele."
This said, the Grace of Goddesses led home;
He tract her steps; and (to the Caverne come)
In that rich Throne, whence Mercurie arose,
He sate. The Nymph her selfe did then appose
For food and bevridge to him all best meate
And drinke that mortals use to taste and eate.
Then sate she opposite, and for her Feast
Was Nectar and Ambrosia addrest
By handmaids to her. Both, what was prepar'd
Did freely fall to. Having fitly far'd,
The Nymph Calypso this discourse began:
" Jove-bred Ulysses! many-witted man!
Still is thy home so wisht? So soone, away?
Be still of cheare, for all the worst I say.
But if thy soule knew what a summe of woes
For thee to cast up thy sterne Fates impose
Ere to thy country earth thy hopes attaine,
Undoubtedly thy choice would here remaine,
Keepe house with me, and be a liver ever.
Which (me thinkes) should thy house and thee dissever,
Though for thy wife there thou art set on fire,
And all thy dayes are spent in her desire —
And though it be no boast in me to say,
In forme and mind I match her every way.
Nor can it fit a mortall Dame's compare
T'affect those termes with us that deathlesse are."
The great in counsels made her this reply:
" Renowm'd and to be reverenc'd Deitie!
Let it not move thee that so much I vow
My comforts to my wife, though well I know
All cause my selfe why wise Penelope
In wit is farre inferiour to thee,
In feature, stature, all the parts of show,
She being a mortall, an Immortall thou,
Old ever growing, and yet never old.
Yet her desire shall all my dayes see told,
Adding the sight of my returning day,
And naturall home. If any God shall lay
His hand upon me as I passe the seas,
I'le beare the worst of what his hand shall please,
As having given me such a mind as shall
The more still rise, the more his hand lets fall.
In warres and waves my sufferings were not small.
I now have sufferd much; as much before;
Hereafter let as much result, and more."
This said, the Sunne set, and earth shadowes gave,
When these two (in an in-roome of the Cave
Left to themselves) left Love no rites undone.
The early Morne up, up he rose, put on
His in and out weed. She her selfe inchaces
Amidst a white robe; full of all the Graces,
Ample and pleated, thicke, like fishie skales.
A golden girdle then her waste empales;
Her head a veile decks; and abroad they come.
And now began Ulysses to go home.
A great Axe first she gave, that two wayes cut,
In which a faire wel-polisht helme was put
That from an Olive bough receiv'd his frame.
A plainer then. Then led she till they came
To loftie woods that did the Ile confine.
The Firre tree, Poplar and heaven-scaling Pine
Had there their ofspring. Of which those that were
Of driest matter and grew longest there,
He chusde for lighter saile. This place thus showne,
The Nymph turnd home. He fell to felling downe,
And twentie trees he stoopt in litle space,
Plaind, usde his Plumb, did all with artfull grace.
In meane time did Calypso wimbles bring.
He bor'd, closde, naild, and orderd every thing.
And looke how much a ship-wright will allow
A ship of burthen (one that best doth know
What fits his Art), so large a Keele he cast —
Wrought up her decks and hatches, side-boords, mast,
With willow watlings armd her to resist
The billowes' outrage, added all she mist —
Sail-yards and sterne for guide. The Nymph then brought
Linnen for sailes, which with dispatch he wrought —
Gables, and halsters, tacklings. All the Frame
In foure dayes' space to full perfection came.
The fifth day they dismist him from the shore,
Weeds, neate and odorous, gave him, victles' store,
Wine and strong waters, and a prosperous wind.
To which Ulysses (fit to be divin'd)
His sailes exposd, and hoised. Off he gat;
And chearfull was he. At the Sterne he sat
And ster'd right artfully. No sleepe could seise
His ey-lids: he beheld the Pleiades,
The Beare, surnam'd the Waine, that round doth move
About Orion, and keepes still above
The billowie Ocean, the slow-setting starre,
Bootes calld, by some the Waggonar.
Calypso warnd him he his course should stere
Still to his left hand. Seventeene dayes did cleare
The cloudie Night's command in his moist way,
And by the eighteenth light he might display
The shadie hils of the Phaeacian shore,
For which, as to his next abode, he bore.
The countrie did a pretie figure yeeld,
And lookt from off the darke seas like a shield.
Imperious Neptune (making his retreate
From th'Æthiopian earth, and taking seate
Upon the mountaines of the Solymi,
From thence farre off discovering) did descrie
Ulysses his fields plowing. All on fire
The sight strait set his heart, and made desire
Of wreake runne over, it did boile so hie.
When (his head nodding): " O impietie!"
He cried out, " Now the Gods" inconstancie
Is most apparent, altring their designes
Since I the Æthiops saw, and here confines
To this Ulysses' fate his misery.
The great marke on which all his hopes rely
Lies in Phaeacia. But I hope he shall
Feele woe at height ere that dead calme befall.'
This said, he (begging) gatherd clouds from land,
Frighted the seas up, snatcht into his hand
His horrid Trident, and aloft did tosse
(Of all the winds) all stormes he could engrosse.
All earth tooke into sea with clouds; grim Night
Fell tumbling headlong from the cope of Light.
The East and Southwinds justld in the aire;
The violent Zephyr and North making-faire
Rould up the waves before them: and then bent
Ulysses' knees; then all his spirit was spent.
In which despaire, he thus spake: " Woe is me!
What was I borne to, man of miserie?
Feare tels me now that all the Goddesse said
Truth's selfe will author, that Fate would be paid
Griefe's whole summe due from me at sea, before
I reacht the deare touch of my countrie's shore.
With what clouds Jove heaven's heightned forehead binds!
How tyrannize the wraths of all the winds!
How all the tops he bottomes with the deepes!
And in the bottomes all the tops he steepes!
Thus dreadfull is the presence of our death.
Thrice foure times blest were they that sunke beneath
Their Fates at Troy, and did to nought contend
But to renowme Atrides with their end!
I would to God my houre of death and Fate
That day had held the power to terminate,
When showres of darts my life bore undeprest
About divine Æacides' deceast.
Then had I bene allotted to have died
By all the Greeks with funerals glorified
(Whence Death, encouraging good life, had growne)
Where now I die by no man mournd, nor knowne."
This spoke, a huge wave tooke him by the head
And hurld him o're-boord: ship and all it laid
Inverted quite amidst the waves, but he
Farre off from her sprawld, strowd about the sea,
His Sterne still holding, broken off; his Mast
Burst in the midst, so horrible a blast
Of mixt winds strooke it. Sailes and saile-yards fell
Amongst the billowes, and himselfe did dwell
A long time under water, nor could get
In haste his head out — wave with wave so met
In his depression, and his garments too
(Given by Calypso) gave him much to do,
Hindring his swimming; yet he left not so
His drenched vessell, for the overthrow
Of her nor him, but gat at length againe
(Wrestling with Neptune) hold of her, and then
Sate in her Bulke, insulting over Death —
Which (with the salt streame prest to stop his breath)
He scap't and gave the sea againe to give
To other men. His ship so striv'd to live,
Floting at randon, cufft from wave to wave,
As you have seene the Northwind when he drave
In Autumne heapes of thorne-fed Grashoppers
Hither and thither; one heape this way beares,
Another that, and makes them often meete
In his confusde gales; so Ulysses' fleete
The winds hurl'd up and downe: now Boreas
Tost it to Notus, Notus gave it passe
To Eurus; Eurus Zephyr made pursue
The horrid Tennis. This sport calld the view
Of Cadmus' daughter, with the narrow heele,
(Ino Leucothea) that first did feele
A mortall Dame's desires, and had a tongue,
But now had th'honor to be nam'd among
The marine Godheads. She with pitie saw
Ulysses justl'd thus from flaw to flaw;
And (like a Cormorand in forme and flight)
Rose from a whirl-poole, on the ship did light,
And thus bespeake him: " Why is Neptune thus
In thy pursuite extremely furious,
Oppressing thee with such a world of ill
Even to thy death? He must not serve his will,
Though tis his studie. Let me then advise
As my thoughts serve: thou shalt not be unwise
To leave thy weeds and ship to the commands
Of these rude winds, and worke out with thy hands
Passe to Phaeacia, where thy austere Fate
Is to pursue thee with no more such hate.
Take here this Tablet with this riband strung,
And see it still about thy bosome hung —
By whose eternall vertue never feare
To suffer thus againe, nor perish here.
But when thou touchest with thy hand the shore,
Then take it from thy necke, nor weare it more,
But cast it farre off from the Continent,
And then thy person farre ashore present."
Thus gave she him the Tablet; and againe
(Turnd to a Cormorand) div'd past sight the Maine.
Patient Ulysses sighd at this, and stucke
In the conceit of such faire-spoken Lucke,
And said: " Alas, I must suspect even this,
Lest any other of the Deities
Adde sleight to Neptune's force, to counsell me
To leave my vessell, and so farre off see
The shore I aime at. Not with thoughts too cleare
Will I obey her: but to me appeare
These counsels best — as long as I perceive
My ship not quite dissolv'd I will not leave
The helpe she may affoord me, but abide
And suffer all woes till the worst be tride.
When she is split, I'le swim: no miracle can,
Past neare and cleare meanes, move a knowing man."
While this discourse emploid him, Neptune raisd
A huge, a high, and horrid sea, that seisd
Him and his ship and tost them through the Lake.
As when the violent winds together take
Heapes of drie chaffe and hurle them every way,
So his long woodstacke Neptune strooke astray.
Then did Ulysses mount on rib, perforce,
Like to a rider of a running horse,
To stay himselfe a time, while he might shift
His drenched weeds that were Calypso's gift.
When putting strait Leucothea's Amulet
About his necke, he all his forces set
To swim, and cast him prostrate to the seas.
When powrefull Neptune saw the ruthlesse prease
Of perils siege him thus, he mov'd his head,
And this betwixt him and his heart he said:
" So, now feele ils enow, and struggle so,
Till to your Jove-lov'd Ilanders you row.
But my mind sayes you will not so avoid
This last taske too, but be with sufferance cloid."
This said, his rich-man'd horse he mov'd, and reacht
His house at Ægas. But Minerva fetcht
The winds from sea, and all their wayes but one
Barrd to their passage; the bleake North alone
She set to blow; the rest she charg'd to keepe
Their rages in, and bind themselves in sleepe.
But Boreas still flew high to breake the seas,
Till Jove-bred Ithacus the more with ease
The navigation-skild Phaeacian States
Might make his refuge, Death and angrie Fates
At length escaping. Two nights yet, and daies,
He spent in wrestling with the sable seas,
In which space often did his heart propose
Death to his eyes. But when Aurora rose
And threw the third light from her orient haire,
The winds grew calme and cleare was all the aire,
Not one breath stirring. Then he might descrie
(Raisd by the high seas) cleare, the land was nie.
And then, looke how to good sonnes that esteeme
Their father's life deare (after paines extreame,
Felt in some sicknesse that hath held him long
Downe to his bed, and with affections strong
Wasted his bodie, made his life his lode,
As being inflicted by some angrie God)
When on their praires they see descend at length
Health from the heavens, clad all in spirit and strength,
The sight is precious: so, since here should end
Ulysses' toiles, which therein should extend
Health to his countrie (held to him his Sire)
And on which long for him Disease did tire,
And then besides, for his owne sake to see
The shores, the woods so neare, such joy had he,
As those good sonnes for their recoverd Sire.
Then labourd feete and all parts to aspire
To that wisht Continent, which, when as neare
He came as Clamor might informe an eare,
He heard a sound beate from the sea-bred rocks
Against which gave a huge sea horrid shocks,
That belcht upon the firme land weeds and fome,
With which were all things hid there — where no roome
Of fit capacitie was for any port,
Nor (from the sea) for any man's resort,
The shores, the rocks, and cliffes so prominent were.
" O," said Ulysses then, " now Jupiter
Hath given me sight of an unhop't for shore,
(Though I have wrought these seas so long, so sore)
Of rest yet no place shewes the slendrest prints,
The rugged shore so bristl'd is with flints,
Against which every way the waves so flocke,
And all the shore shewes as one eminent rocke —
So neare which tis so deepe, that not a sand
Is there for any tired foote to stand:
Nor flie his death-fast-following miseries,
Lest, if he land, upon him fore-right flies
A churlish wave to crush him gainst a Cliffe,
Worse than vaine rendring all his landing strife.
And should I swim to seeke a haven elsewhere,
Or land lesse wave-beate, I may justly feare
I shall be taken with a gale againe
And cast a huge way off into the Maine;
And there the great Earth-shaker (having seene
My so neare landing, and againe his spleene
Forcing me to him) will some Whale send out
(Of which a horrid number here about
His Amphitrite breeds) to swallow me.
I well have prov'd with what malignitie
He treds my steps." While this discourse he held,
A curst Surge gainst a cutting rocke impeld
His naked bodie, which it gasht and tore,
And had his bones broke, if but one sea more
Had cast him on it. But she prompted him
That never faild, and bad him no more swim
Still off and on, but boldly force the shore
And hug the rocke that him so rudely tore.
Which he with both hands sigh'd and claspt till past
The billowes' rage was; which scap't backe, so fast
The rocke repulst it, that it reft his hold,
Sucking him from it, and farre backe he rould.
And as the Polypus that (forc't from home
Amidst the soft sea, and neare rough land come
For shelter gainst the stormes that beate on her
At open sea, as she abroad doth erre)
A deale of gravill and sharpe little stones
Needfully gathers in her hollow bones:
So he forc't hither (by the sharper ill
Shunning the smoother), where he best hop't, still
The worst succeeded: for the cruell friend,
To which he clingd for succour, off did rend
From his broad hands the soken flesh so sore
That off he fell and could sustaine no more.
Quite under water fell he, and, past Fate,
Haplesse Ulysses there had lost the state
He held in life, if (still the grey-eyd Maid
His wisedome prompting) he had not assaid
Another course and ceast t'attempt that shore,
Swimming, and casting round his eye, t'explore
Some other shelter. Then the mouth he found
Of faire Callicoe's flood, whose shores were crownd
With most apt succors — rocks so smooth they seemd
Polisht of purpose, land that quite redeemd
With breathlesse coverts th'other's blasted shores.
The flood he knew, and thus in heart implores:
" King of this River, heare! Whatever name
Makes thee invokt, to thee I humbly frame
My flight from Neptune's furies. Reverend is
To all the ever-living Deities
What erring man soever seekes their aid.
To thy both flood and knees a man dismaid
With varied sufferance sues. Yeeld then some rest
To him that is thy suppliant profest."
This (though but spoke in thought) the Godhead heard,
Her Current strait staid, and her thicke waves cleard
Before him, smooth'd her waters, and just where
He praid, halfe drownd, entirely sav'd him there.
Then forth he came, his both knees faltring, both
His strong hands hanging downe, and all with froth
His cheeks and nosthrils flowing, voice and breath
Spent to all use; and downe he sunke to Death.
The sea had soakt his heart through: all his vaines
His toiles had rackt t'a labouring woman's paines.
Dead wearie was he. But when breath did find
A passe reciprocall, and in his mind
His spirit was recollected, up he rose
And from his necke did th'Amulet unlose
That Ino gave him, which he hurld from him
To sea. It sounding fell, and backe did swim
With th'ebbing waters till it strait arriv'd
Where Ino's faire hand it againe receiv'd.
Then kist he th'humble earth, and on he goes,
Till bulrushes shewd place for his repose,
Where laid, he sigh'd, and thus said to his soule:
" O me, what strange perplexities controule
The whole skill of thy powres in this event?
What feele I if till Care-nurse Night be spent
I watch amidst the flood? The sea's chill breath
And vegetant dewes I feare will be my death,
So low brought with my labours. Towards day
A passing sharpe aire ever breathes at sea.
If I the pitch of this next mountaine scale
And shadie wood, and in some thicket fall
Into the hands of Sleepe, though there the cold
May well be checkt and healthfull slumbers hold
Her sweete hand on my powres, all care allaid,
Yet there will beasts devoure me. Best appaid
Doth that course make me yet; for there some strife,
Strength and my spirit may make me make for life,
Which, though empaird, may yet be fresh applied
Where perill possible of escape is tried.
But he that fights with heaven, or with the sea,
To Indiscretion addes Impietie."
Thus to the woods he hasted, which he found
Not farre from sea, but on farre-seeing ground,
Where two twin under-woods he enterd on,
With Olive trees and oile-trees overgrowne,
Through which the moist force of the loud-voic't wind
Did never beate, nor ever Phaebus shin'd,
Nor showre beate through — they grew so one in one,
And had, by turnes, their powre t'exclude the Sunne.
Here enterd our Ulysses, and a bed
Of leaves huge and of huge abundance spred
With all his speed. Large he made it, for there
For two or three men ample Coverings were,
Such as might shield them from the Winter's worst,
Though steele it breath'd and blew as it would burst.
Patient Ulysses joyd that ever day
Shewd such a shelter. In the midst he lay,
Store of leaves heaping high on every side.
And as in some out-field a man doth hide
A kindld brand to keepe the seed of fire,
No neighbour dwelling neare, and his desire
Serv'd with selfe store he else would aske of none,
But of his fore-spent sparks rakes th'ashes on:
So this out-place Ulysses thus receives;
And thus nak't vertue's seed lies hid in leaves.
Yet Pallas made him sleepe as soone as men
Whom Delicacies all their flatteries daine.
And all that all his labours could comprise
Quickly concluded in his closed eies.