Landfall

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 fathers 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; [. . .]

Ulysses, then, toward the palace moved
Of King Alcinoüs, but immersed in thought
Stood, first, and paused, ere with his foot he press'd
The brazen threshold; for a light he saw
As of the sun or moon illuming clear
The palace of Phaeacia's mighty King.
Walls plated bright with brass, on either side
Stretch'd from the portal to th' interior house,
With azure cornice crown'd; the doors were gold
Which shut the palace fast; silver the posts
Rear'd on a brazen threshold, and above,
The lintels, silver, architraved with gold.
Mastiffs, in gold and silver, lined the approach
On either side, by art celestial framed
Of Vulcan, guardians of Alcinoüs gate
For ever, unobnoxious to decay.
Sheer from the threshold to the inner house
Fixt thrones the walls, through all their length, adorn'd,
With mantles overspread of subtlest warp
Transparent, work of many a female hand.
On these the princes of Phaeacia sat,
Holding perpetual feasts, while golden youths
On all the sumptuous altars stood, their hands
With burning torches charg'd, which, night by night,
Shed radiance over all the festive throng.
Full fifty female menials serv'd the King
In household offices; the rapid mills
These turning, pulverize the mellow'd grain,
Those, seated orderly, the purple fleece
Wind off, or ply the loom, restless as leaves
Of lofty poplars fluttering in the breeze;
Bright as with oil the new-wrought texture shone.
Far as Phaeacian mariners all else
Surpass, the swift ship urging through the floods,
So far in tissue-work the women pass
All others, by Minerva's self endow'd
With richest fancy and superior skill.
Without the court, and to the gates adjoin'd
A spacious garden lay, fenced all around
Secure, four acres measuring complete.
There grew luxuriant many a lofty tree,
Pomegranate, pear, the apple blushing bright,
The honied fig, and unctuous olive smooth.
Those fruits, nor winter's cold nor summer's heat
Fear ever, fail not, wither not, but hang
Perennial, while unceasing zephyr breathes
Gently on all, enlarging these, and those
Maturing genial; in an endless course
Pears after pears to full dimensions swell,
Figs follow figs, grapes clust'ring grow again
Where clusters grew, and (ev'ry apple stript)
The boughs soon tempt the gath'rer as before.
There too, well-rooted, and of fruit profuse,
His vineyard grows; part, wide-extended, basks
In the sun's beams; the arid level glows;
In part they gather, and in part they tread
The wine-press, while, before the eye, the grapes
Here put their blossom forth, there, gather fast
Their blackness. On the garden's verge extreme
Flow'rs of all hues smile all the year, arranged
With neatest art judicious, and amid
The lovely scene two fountains welling forth,
One visits, into ev'ry part diffused,
The garden-ground, the other soft beneath
The threshold steals into the palace-court,
Whence ev'ry citizen his vase supplies.
Such were the ample blessings on the house
Of King Alcinoüs by the Gods bestow'd.
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Author of original: 
Homer
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