Classic Poem

The Sun descending, the Phaeacian train
Spread their broad sails, and launch into the main:
At once they bend, and strike their equal oars,
And leave the sinking hills, and less'ning shores.
While on the deck the Chief in silence lies,
And pleasing slumbers steal upon his eyes.
As fiery coursers in the rapid race,
Urg'd by fierce drivers thro' the dusty space,
Toss their high heads, and scour along the plain;
So mounts the bounding vessel o'er the main:
Back to the stern the parted billows flow,
And the black ocean foams and roars below.
Thus with spread sails the winged gally flies;
Less swift, an eagle cuts the liquid skies:
Divine Ulysses was her sacred load,
A man, in wisdom equal to a God.
Much danger long, and mighty toils he bore,
In storms by sea, and combats on the shore:
All which soft sleep now banish'd from his breast;
Wrapt in a pleasing, deep, and death-like rest.
But when the morning star with early ray
Flam'd in the front of heav'n, and promis'd day,
Like distant clouds the mariner descries
Fair Ithaca 's emerging hills arise.
Far from the town, a spacious port appears,
Sacred to Phorcys ' pow'r, whose name it bears;
Two craggy rocks, projecting to the main,
The roaring winds tempestuous rage restrain;
Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide,
And ships secure without their haulsers ride.
High at the head a branching olive grows,
And crowns the pointed cliffs with shady boughs.
Beneath, a gloomy Grotto's cool recess
Delights the Nereids of the neighb'ring seas;
Where bowls and urns were form'd of living stone,
And massy beams in native marble shone,
On which the labours of the nymphs were roll'd,
Their webs divine of purple mix'd with gold.
Within the cave, the clustring bees attend
Their waxen works, or from the roof depend.
Perpetual waters o'er the pavement glide;
Two marble doors unfold on either side;
Sacred the south, by which the Gods descend,
But mortals enter at the northern end.
Thither they bent, and haul'd their ship to land,
(The crooked keel divides the yellow sand)
Ulysses sleeping, on his couch they bore,
And gently plac'd him on the rocky shore:
His treasures next, Alcinous ' gifts, they laid
In the wild olive's unfrequented shade;
Secure from theft; then launch'd the bark again,
And tugg'd their oars, and measur'd back the main.
Mean while Ulysses in his country lay,
Releas'd from sleep; and round him might survey
The solitary shore, and rowling sea.
Yet had his mind, thro' tedious absence, lost
The dear remembrance of his native coast;
Besides Minerva , to secure her care,
Diffus'd around a veil of thicken'd air:
For so the Gods ordain'd, to keep unseen
His royal person from his friends and Queen,
Till the proud suitors, for their crimes, afford
An ample vengeance to her injur'd Lord.
Now all the land another prospect bore,
Another port appear'd, another shore;
And long-continu'd ways, and winding floods,
And unknown mountains, crown'd with unknown woods.
Pensive and slow, with sudden grief opprest,
The King arose, and beat his careful breast,
Cast a long look o'er all the coast and main,
And sought around his native realm in vain;
Then with erected eyes stood fix'd in woe,
And, as he spoke, the tears began to flow.
Ye Gods (he cry'd) upon what barren coast,
In what new region is Ulysses tost?
Possess'd by wild barbarians fierce in arms?
Or men, whose bosom tender pity warms?
Where shall this treasure now in safety lie?
And whither, whither its sad owner fly?
Ah why did I Alcinous ' grace implore?
Ah why forsake Phaeacia 's happy shore?
Some juster prince perhaps had entertain'd,
And safe restor'd me to my native land.
Is this the promis'd, long expected coast;
And this the faith Phaeacia 's rulers boast?
Oh righteous Gods! of all the great, how few
Are just to heav'n, and to their promise true!
BuThe the pow'r, to whose all-seeing eyes
The deeds of men appear without disguise,
'Tis his alone, t'avenge the wrongs I bear;
For still th' oppress'd are his peculiar care:
To count these presents, and from thence to prove
Their faith, is mine, the rest belongs to Jove .
Then on the sands he rang'd his wealthy store,
The gold, the vests, the tripods number'd o'er;
All these he found, but still, in error lost,
Disconsolate he wanders on the coast:
Sighs for his country; and laments again
To the deaf rocks, and hoarse-resounding main.
When lo! the guardian Goddess of the wise,
Celestial Pallas , stood before his eyes;
In show a youthful swain, of form divine,
Who seem'd descended from some princely line:
A graceful robe her slender body drest,
Around her shoulders flew the waving vest,
Her decent hand a shining javelin bore,
And painted sandals on her feet she wore:
To whom the King: Whoe'er of human race
Thou art, that wander'st in this desart place,
With joy to thee, as to some God, I bend,
To thee my treasures and my self commend.
O tell a wretch, in exile doom'd to stray,
What air I breath, what country I survey?
The fruitful continent's extreamest bound,
Or some fair isle which Neptune 's arms surround?
From what far clime (said she) remote from fame,
Arriv'st thou here, a stranger to our name?
Thou seest an island, not to those unknown,
Whose hills are brighten'd by the rising sun;
Nor those that plac'd beneath his utmost reign,
Behold him sinking in the western main.
The rugged soil allows no level space
For flying chariots, or the rapid race;
Yet not ungrateful to the peasant's pain,
Suffices fulness to the swelling grain;
The loaded trees their various fruits produce,
And clust'ring grapes afford a gen'rous juice;
Woods crown our mountains, and in ev'ry grove
The bounding goats and frisking heifers rove;
Soft rains and kindly dews refresh the field,
And rising springs eternal verdure yield.
Ev'n to those shores is Ithaca renown'd,
Where Troy 's majestic ruins strow the ground.
At this, the chief with transport was possest,
His panting heart exulted in his breast:
Yet well dissembling his untimely joys,
And veiling truth in plausible disguise;
Thus, with an air sincere, in fiction bold,
His ready tale th' inventive hero told.
Oft' have I heard in Crete this island's name,
For 'twas from Crete , my native soil, I came;
Self-banish'd thence, I sail'd before the wind,
And left my children and my friends behind.
From fierce Idomeneus ' revenge I flew,
Whose son, the swift Orsilochus , I slew,
(With brutal force he seiz'd my Trojan prey,
Due to the toils of many a bloody day.)
Unseen I 'scap'd; and, favour'd by the night,
In a Phaenician vessel took my flight;
For Pyle or Elis bound; but tempests tost,
And raging billows drove us on your coast:
In dead of night an unknown port we gain'd,
Spent with fatigue, and slept secure on land;
But 'ere the rosy morn renew'd the day,
While in th' embrace of pleasing sleep I lay,
Sudden, invited by auspicious gales,
They land my goods, and hoist their flying sails,
Abandon'd here, my fortune I deplore,
A hapless exile on a foreign shore.
Thus while he spoke, the blue-ey'd maid began
With pleasing smiles to view the godlike man;
Then chang'd her form, and now divinely bright
Jove 's heav'nly daughter stood confess'd to sight,
Like a fair virgin in her beauty's bloom,
Skill'd in th' illustrious labours of the loom.
O still the same Ulysses! she rejoin'd,
In useful craft successfully refin'd;
Artful in speech, in action, and in mind!
Suffic'd it not, that thy long labours past
Secure thou seest thy native shore at last?
But this to me? who, like thy self excell
In arts of counsel, and dissembling well:
To me, whose wit exceeds the pow'rs divine,
No less, than mortals are surpass'd by thine:
Know'st thou not me, who made thy life my care,
Thro' ten years wandring, and thro' ten years war;
Who taught thee arts, Alcinous to persuade,
To raise his wonder, and engage his aid?
And now appear, thy treasures to protect,
Conceal thy person, thy designs direct,
And tell what more thou must from fate expect;
Domestic woes, far heavier to be born,
The pride of fools, and slaves insulting scorn.
But thou be silent, nor reveal thy state,
Yield to the force of unresisted fate,
And bear unmov'd the wrongs of base mankind,
The last and hardest conquest of the mind.
Goddess of wisdom! ( Ithacus replies)
He who discerns thee must be truly wise,
So seldom view'd, and ever in disguise.
When the bold Argives led their warring pow'rs
Against proud Ilion 's well-defended tow'rs,
Ulysses was thy care, celestial maid,
Grac'd with thy sight, and favour'd with thy aid:
But when the Trojan piles in ashes lay,
And, bound for Greece , we plow'd the watry way;
Our fleet dispers'd, and driv'n from coast to coast;
Thy sacred presence from that hour I lost;
Till I beheld thy radiant form once more,
And heard thy counsels on Phaeacia 's shore.
But by th' almighty author of thy race,
Tell me, oh tell, is this my native place?
For much I fear, long tracts of land and sea
Divide this coast from distant Ithaca .
The sweet delusion kindly you impose,
To sooth my hopes and mitigate my woes.
Thus he: The blue-ey'd Goddess thus replies:
How prone to doubt, how cautious are the wise?
Who vers'd in fortune, fear the flatt'ring show,
And taste not half the bliss the Gods bestow.
The more shall Pallas aid thy just desires,
And guard the wisdom which her self inspires.
Others, long absent from their native place,
Strait seek their home, and fly with eager pace,
To their wives arms, and childrens dear embrace.
Not thus Ulysses ; he decrees to prove
His subjects faith, and Queen's suspected love,
Who mourn'd her Lord twice ten revolving years,
And wastes the days in grief, the nights in tears.
But Pallas knew (thy friends and navy lost)
Once more 'twas giv'n thee to behold thy coast:
Yet how could I with adverse fate engage,
And mighty Neptune 's unrelenting rage? —
Now lift thy longing eyes, while I restore
The pleasing prospect of thy native shore!
Behold the port of Phorcys , fenc'd around
With rocky mountains, and with olives crown'd!
Behold the gloomy Grot, whose cool recess
Delights the Nereids of the neighb'ring seas;
Whose now neglected altars in thy reign
Blush'd with the blood of sheep and oxen slain.
Behold where Neritus the clouds divides,
And shakes the waving forests on his sides!
So spake the Goddess, and the prospect clear'd,
The mists dispers'd, and all the coast appear'd:
The King with joy confess'd his place of birth,
And, on his knees, salutes his mother earth;
Then, with his suppliant hands upheld in air,
Thus to the sea-green sisters sends his pray'r.
All hail! Ye virgin daughters of the main;
Ye streams, beyond my hopes beheld again!
To you once more your own Ulysses bows,
Attend his transports and receive his vows.
If Jove prolong my days, and Pallas crown
The growing virtues of my youthful son,
To you shall rites divine be ever paid,
And grateful off'rings on your altars laid.