Classic Poem

While thus he thought, a monstrous wave upbore
The chief, and dashed him on the craggy shore;
Torn was his skin, nor had the ribs been whole,
But instant Pallas entered in his soul.
Close to the cliff with both his hands he clung,
And stuck adherent, and suspended hung;
Till the huge surge rolled off: then, backward sweep
The refluent tides, and plunge him in the deep.
As when the polypus, from forth his cave
Torn with full force, reluctant beats the wave;
His ragged claws are stuck with stones and sands;
So the rough rock had shagged Ulysses' hands.
And now had perished, whelm'd beneath the main,
The unhappy man; ev'n fate had been in vain;
But all-subduing Pallas lent her power,
And prudence saved him in the needful hour.
Beyond the beating surge his course he bore,
A wider circle, but in sight of shore,
With longing eyes, observing, to survey
Some smooth ascent, or safe sequestered bay.
Between the parting rocks at length he spied
A falling stream with gentler waters glide;
Where to the seas the shelving shore declined,
And formed a bay impervious to the wind,
To this calm port the glad Ulysses pressed,
And hailed the river, and its god addressed.