Translation of: The Odyssey of Homer: Book V

ARGUMENT     Mercury bears to Calypso a command from Jupiter that she dismiss Ulysses. She, after some remonstrances, promises obedience, and furnishes him with instruments and materials, with which he constructs a raft. He quits Calypso's island; is persecuted by Neptune with dreadful tempests, but by the assistance of a sea nymph, after having lost his raft, is enabled to swim to Phacia.             Aurora from beside her glorious mate             Tithonus now arose, light to dispense             Through earth and heav'n, when the assembled Gods             In council sat, o'er whom high-thund'ring Jove             Presided, mightiest of the Pow'rs above.             Amid them, Pallas on the num'rous woes             Descanted of Ulysses, whom she saw             With grief, still prison'd in Calypso's isle.                 Jove, Father, hear me, and ye other Pow'rs             Who live for ever, hear! Be never King             Henceforth to gracious acts inclined, humane,             Or righteous, but let ev'ry sceptred hand             Rule merciless, and deal in wrong alone,             Since none of all his people whom he sway'd             With such paternal gentleness and love             Remembers, now, divine Ulysses more.             He, in yon distant isle a suff'rer lies             Of hopeless sorrow, through constraint the guest             Still of the nymph Calypso, without means             Or pow'r to reach his native shores again,             Alike of gallant barks and friends depriv'd,             Who might conduct him o'er the spacious Deep.             Nor is this all, but enemies combine             To slay his son ere yet he can return             From Pylus, whither he hath gone to learn             There, or in Sparta, tidings of his Sire.                 To whom the cloud-assembler God replied.             What word hath pass'd thy lips, daughter belov'd?             Hast thou not purpos'd that arriving soon             At home, Ulysses shall destroy his foes?             Guide thou, Telemachus, (for well thou canst)             That he may reach secure his native coast,             And that the suitors baffled may return.                 He ceas'd, and thus to Hermes spake, his son.             Hermes! (for thou art herald of our will             At all times) to yon bright-hair'd nymph convey             Our fix'd resolve, that brave Ulysses thence             Depart, uncompanied by God or man.             Borne on a corded raft, and suff'ring woe             Extreme, he on the twentieth day shall reach,             Not sooner, Scherie the deep-soil'd, possess'd             By the Phacians, kinsmen of the Gods.             They, as a God shall reverence the Chief,             And in a bark of theirs shall send him thence             To his own home, much treasure, brass and gold             And raiment giving him, to an amount             Surpassing all that, had he safe return'd,             He should by lot have shared of Ilium's spoil.             Thus Fate appoints Ulysses to regain             His country, his own palace, and his friends.                 He ended, nor the Argicide refused,             Messenger of the skies; his sandals fair,             Ambrosial, golden, to his feet he bound,             Which o'er the moist wave, rapid as the wind,             Bear him, and o'er th' illimitable earth,             Then took his rod with which, at will, all eyes             He closes soft, or opes them wide again.             So arm'd, forth flew the valiant Argicide.             Alighting on Pieria, down he stoop'd             To Ocean, and the billows lightly skimm'd             In form a sew-mew, such as in the bays             Tremendous of the barren Deep her food             Seeking, dips oft in brine her ample wing.             In such disguise o'er many a wave he rode,             But reaching, now, that isle remote, forsook             The azure Deep, and at the spacious grot,             Where dwelt the amber-tressed nymph arrived,             Found her within. A fire on all the hearth             Blazed sprightly, and, afar-diffused, the scent             Of smooth-split cedar and of cypress-wood             Odorous, burning, cheer'd the happy isle.             She, busied at the loom, and plying fast             Her golden shuttle, with melodious voice             Sat chaunting there; a grove on either side,             Alder and poplar, and the redolent branch             Wide-spread of Cypress, skirted dark the cave.             There many a bird of broadest pinion built             Secure her nest, the owl, the kite, and daw             Long-tongued, frequenter of the sandy shores.             A garden-vine luxuriant on all sides             Mantled the spacious cavern, cluster-hung             Profuse; four fountains of serenest lymph             Their sinuous course pursuing side by side,             Stray'd all around, and ev'ry where appear'd             Meadows of softest verdure, purpled o'er             With violets; it was a scene to fill             A God from heav'n with wonder and delight.             Hermes, Heav'n's messenger, admiring stood             That sight, and having all survey'd, at length             Enter'd the grotto; nor the lovely nymph             Him knew not soon as seen, for not unknown             Each to the other the Immortals are,             How far soever sep'rate their abodes.             Yet found he not within the mighty Chief             Ulysses; he sat weeping on the shore,             Forlorn, for there his custom was with groans             Of sad regret t' afflict his breaking heart.             Looking continual o'er the barren Deep.             Then thus Calypso, nymph divine, the God             Question'd, from her resplendent throne august.                 Hermes! possessor of the potent rod!             Who, though by me much reverenc'd and belov'd,             So seldom com'st, say, wherefore comest now?             Speak thy desire; I grant it, if thou ask             Things possible, and possible to me.             Stay not, but ent'ring farther, at my board             Due rites of hospitality receive.                 So saying, the Goddess with ambrosial food             Her table cover'd, and with rosy juice             Nectareous charged the cup. Then ate and drank             The argicide and herald of the skies,             And in his soul with that repast divine             Refresh'd, his message to the nymph declared.                 Questionest thou, O Goddess, me a God?             I tell thee truth, since such is thy demand.             Not willing, but by Jove constrain'd, I come.             For who would, voluntary, such a breadth             Enormous measure of the salt expanse,             Where city none is seen in which the Gods             Are served with chosen hecatombs and pray'r?             But no divinity may the designs             Elude, or controvert, of Jove supreme.             He saith, that here thou hold'st the most distrest             Of all those warriors who nine years assail'd             The city of Priam, and, (that city sack'd)             Departed in the tenth; but, going thence,             Offended Pallas, who with adverse winds             Opposed their voyage, and with boist'rous waves.             Then perish'd all his gallant friends, but him             Billows and storms drove hither; Jove commands             That thou dismiss him hence without delay,             For fate ordains him not to perish here             From all his friends remote, but he is doom'd             To see them yet again, and to arrive             At his own palace in his native land.                 He said; divine Calypso at the sound             Shudder'd, and in wing'd accents thus replied.                 Ye are unjust, ye Gods, and envious past             All others, grudging if a Goddess take             A mortal man openly to her arms!             So, when the rosy-finger'd Morning chose             Orion, though ye live yourselves at ease,             Yet ye all envied her, until the chaste             Diana from her golden throne dispatch'd             A silent shaft, which slew him in Ortygia.             So, when the golden-tressed Ceres, urged             By passion, took Ision to her arms             In a thrice-labour'd fallow, not untaught             Was Jove that secret long, and, hearing it,             Indignant, slew him with his candent bolt.             So also, O ye Gods, ye envy me             The mortal man, my comfort. Him I saved             Myself, while solitary on his keel             He rode, for with his sulph'rous arrow Jove             Had cleft his bark amid the sable Deep.             Then perish'd all his gallant friends, but him             Billows and storms drove hither, whom I lov'd             Sincere, and fondly destin'd to a life             Immortal, unobnoxious to decay.             But since no Deity may the designs             Elude or controvert of Jove supreme,             Hence with him o'er the barren Deep, if such             The Sov'reign's will, and such his stern command.             But undismiss'd he goes by me, who ships             Myself well-oar'd and mariners have none             To send with him athwart the spacious flood;             Yet freely, readily, my best advice             I will afford him, that, escaping all             Danger, he may regain his native shore.                 Then Hermes thus, the messenger of heav'n.             Act as thou say'st, fearing the frown of Jove,             Lest, if provoked, he spare not even thee.                 So saying, the dauntless Argicide withdrew,             And she (Jove's mandate heard) all-graceful went,             Seeking the brave Ulysses; on the shore             She found him seated; tears succeeding tears             Delug'd his eyes, while, hopeless of return,             Life's precious hours to eating cares he gave             Continual, with the nymph now charm'd no more.             Yet, cold as she was am'rous, still he pass'd             His nights beside her in the hollow grot,             Constrain'd, and day by day the rocks among             Which lined the shore heart-broken sat, and oft             While wistfully he eyed the barren Deep,             Wept, groaned, desponded, sigh'd, and wept again.             Then, drawing near, thus spake the nymph divine.                 Unhappy! weep not here, nor life consume             In anguish; go; thou hast my glad consent.             Arise to labour; hewing down the trunks             Of lofty trees, fashion them with the ax             To a broad raft, which closely floor'd above,             Shall hence convey thee o'er the gloomy Deep.             Bread, water, and the red grape's cheering juice             Myself will put on board, which shall preserve             Thy life from famine; I will also give             New raiment for thy limbs, and will dispatch             Winds after thee to waft thee home unharm'd,             If such the pleasure of the Gods who dwell             In yonder boundless heav'n, superior far             To me, in knowledge and in skill to judge.                 She ceas'd; but horror at that sound the heart             Chill'd of Ulysses, and in accents wing'd             With wonder, thus the noble Chief replied.                 Ah! other thoughts than of my safe return             Employ thee, Goddess, now, who bid'st me pass             The perilous gulph of Ocean on a raft,             That wild expanse terrible, which even ships             Pass not, though form'd to cleave their way with ease,             And joyful in propitious winds from Jove.             No--let me never, in despight of thee,             Embark on board a raft, nor till thou swear,             O Goddess! the inviolable oath,             That future mischief thou intend'st me none.                 He said; Calypso, beauteous Goddess, smiled,             And, while she spake, stroaking his cheek, replied.                 Thou dost asperse me rudely, and excuse             Of ignorance hast none, far better taught;             What words were these? How could'st thou thus reply?             Now hear me Earth, and the wide Heav'n above!             Hear, too, ye waters of the Stygian stream             Under the earth (by which the blessed Gods             Swear trembling, and revere the awful oath!)             That future mischief I intend thee none.             No, my designs concerning thee are such             As, in an exigence resembling thine,             Myself, most sure, should for myself conceive.             I have a mind more equal, not of steel             My heart is form'd, but much to pity inclined.                 So saying, the lovely Goddess with swift pace             Led on, whose footsteps he as swift pursued.             Within the vaulted cavern they arrived,             The Goddess and the man; on the same throne             Ulysses sat, whence Hermes had aris'n,             And viands of all kinds, such as sustain             The life of mortal man, Calypso placed             Before him, both for bev'rage and for food.             She opposite to the illustrious Chief             Reposed, by her attendant maidens served             With nectar and ambrosia. They their hands             Stretch'd forth together to the ready feast,             And when nor hunger more nor thirst remain'd             Unsated, thus the beauteous nymph began.                 Laertes' noble son, for wisdom famed             And artifice! oh canst thou thus resolve             To seek, incontinent, thy native shores?             I pardon thee. Farewell! but could'st thou guess             The woes which fate ordains thee to endure             Ere yet thou reach thy country, well-content             Here to inhabit, thou would'st keep my grot             And be immortal, howsoe'er thy wife             Engage thy ev'ry wish day after day.             Yet can I not in stature or in form             Myself suspect inferior aught to her,             Since competition cannot be between             Mere mortal beauties, and a form divine.                 To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.             Awful Divinity! be not incensed.             I know that my Penelope in form             And stature altogether yields to thee,             For she is mortal, and immortal thou,             From age exempt; yet not the less I wish             My home, and languish daily to return.             But should some God amid the sable Deep             Dash me again into a wreck, my soul             Shall bear _that_ also; for, by practice taught,             I have learned patience, having much endured             By tempest and in battle both. Come then             This evil also! I am well prepared.                 He ended, and the sun sinking, resign'd             The earth to darkness. Then in a recess             Interior of the cavern, side by side             Reposed, they took their amorous delight.             But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,             Look'd rosy forth, Ulysses then in haste             Put on his vest and mantle, and, the nymph             Her snowy vesture of transparent woof,             Graceful, redundant; to her waist she bound             Her golden zone, and veil'd her beauteous head,             Then, musing, plann'd the noble Chief's return.             She gave him, fitted to the grasp, an ax             Of iron, pond'rous, double-edg'd, with haft             Of olive-wood, inserted firm, and wrought             With curious art. Then, placing in his hand             A polish'd adze, she led, herself, the way             To her isles' utmost verge, where tallest trees             But dry long since and sapless stood, which best             Might serve his purposes, as buoyant most,             The alder, poplar, and cloud-piercing fir.             To that tall grove she led and left him there,             Seeking her grot again. Then slept not He,             But, swinging with both hands the ax, his task             Soon finish'd; trees full twenty to the ground             He cast, which, dext'rous, with his adze he smooth'd,             The knotted surface chipping by a line.             Meantime the lovely Goddess to his aid             Sharp augres brought, with which he bored the beams,             Then, side by side placing them, fitted each             To other, and with long cramps join'd them all.             Broad as an artist, skill'd in naval works,             The bottom of a ship of burthen spreads,             Such breadth Ulysses to his raft assign'd.             He deck'd her over with long planks, upborne             On massy beams; He made the mast, to which             He added suitable the yard;--he framed             Rudder and helm to regulate her course,             With wicker-work he border'd all her length             For safety, and much ballast stow'd within.             Meantime, Calypso brought him for a sail             Fittest materials, which he also shaped,             And to his sail due furniture annex'd             Of cordage strong, foot-ropes, and ropes aloft,             Then heav'd her down with levers to the Deep.             He finish'd all his work on the fourth day,             And on the fifth, Calypso, nymph divine,             Dismiss'd him from her isle, but laved him first,             And cloath'd him in sweet-scented garments new.             Two skins the Goddess also placed on board,             One charg'd with crimson wine, and ampler one             With water, nor a bag with food replete             Forgot, nutritious, grateful to the taste,             Nor yet, her latest gift, a gentle gale             And manageable, which Ulysses spread,             Exulting, all his canvas to receive.             Beside the helm he sat, steering expert,             Nor sleep fell ever on his eyes that watch'd             Intent the Pleiads, tardy in decline             Bootes, and the Bear, call'd else the Wain,             Which, in his polar prison circling, looks             Direct toward Orion, and alone             Of these sinks never to the briny Deep.             That star the lovely Goddess bade him hold             Continual on his left through all his course.             Ten days and sev'n, he, navigating, cleav'd             The brine, and on the eighteenth day, at length,             The shadowy mountains of Phacia's land             Descried, where nearest to his course it lay             Like a broad buckler on the waves afloat.                 But Neptune, now returning from the land             Of Ethiopia, mark'd him on his raft             Skimming the billows, from the mountain-tops             Of distant Solyma.[21] With tenfold wrath             Inflamed that sight he view'd, his brows he shook,             And thus within himself, indignant, spake.                 So then--new counsels in the skies, it seems,             Propitious to Ulysses, have prevail'd             Since thiopia hath been my abode.             He sees Phacia nigh, where he must leap             The bound'ry of his woes; but ere that hour             Arrive, I will ensure him many a groan.                 So saying, he grasp'd his trident, gather'd dense             The clouds and troubled ocean; ev'ry storm             From ev'ry point he summon'd, earth and sea             Darkening, and the night fell black from heav'n.             The East, the South, the heavy-blowing West,             And the cold North-wind clear, assail'd at once             His raft, and heaved on high the billowy flood.             All hope, all courage, in that moment, lost,             The Hero thus within himself complain'd.                 Wretch that I am, what destiny at last             Attends me! much I fear the Goddess' words             All true, which threaten'd me with num'rous ills             On the wide sea, ere I should reach my home.             Behold them all fulfill'd! with what a storm             Jove hangs the heav'ns, and agitates the Deep!             The winds combined beat on me. Now I sink!             Thrice blest, and more than thrice, Achaia's sons             At Ilium slain for the Atrid' sake!             Ah, would to heav'n that, dying, I had felt             That day the stroke of fate, when me the dead             Achilles guarding, with a thousand spears             Troy's furious host assail'd! Funereal rites             I then had shared, and praise from ev'ry Greek,             Whom now the most inglorious death awaits.                 While thus he spake, a billow on his head             Bursting impetuous, whirl'd the raft around,             And, dashing from his grasp the helm, himself             Plunged far remote. Then came a sudden gust             Of mingling winds, that in the middle snapp'd             His mast, and, hurried o'er the waves afar,             Both sail and sail-yard fell into the flood.             Long time submerged he lay, nor could with ease             The violence of that dread shock surmount,             Or rise to air again, so burthensome             His drench'd apparel proved; but, at the last,             He rose, and, rising, sputter'd from his lips             The brine that trickled copious from his brows.             Nor, harass'd as he was, resign'd he yet             His raft, but buffetting the waves aside             With desp'rate efforts, seized it, and again             Fast seated on the middle deck, escaped.             Then roll'd the raft at random in the flood,             Wallowing unwieldy, toss'd from wave to wave.             As when in autumn, Boreas o'er the plain             Conglomerated thorns before him drives,             They, tangled, to each other close adhere,             So her the winds drove wild about the Deep.             By turns the South consign'd her to be sport             For the rude North-wind, and, by turns, the East             Yielded her to the worrying West a prey.             But Cadmus' beauteous daughter (Ino once,             Now named Leucothea) saw him; mortal erst             Was she, and trod the earth,[22] but nymph become             Of Ocean since, in honours shares divine.             She mark'd his anguish, and, while toss'd he roam'd,             Pitied Ulysses; from the flood, in form             A cormorant, she flew, and on the raft             Close-corded perching, thus the Chief address'd.                 Alas! unhappy! how hast thou incensed             So terribly the Shaker of the shores,             That he pursues thee with such num'rous ills?             Sink thee he cannot, wish it as he may.             Thus do (for I account thee not unwise)             Thy garments putting off, let drive thy raft             As the winds will, then, swimming, strive to reach             Phacia, where thy doom is to escape.             Take this. This ribbon bind beneath thy breast,             Celestial texture. Thenceforth ev'ry fear             Of death dismiss, and, laying once thy hands             On the firm continent, unbind the zone,             Which thou shalt cast far distant from the shore             Into the Deep, turning thy face away.                 So saying, the Goddess gave into his hand             The wond'rous zone, and, cormorant in form,             Plunging herself into the waves again             Headlong, was hidden by the closing flood.             But still Ulysses sat perplex'd, and thus             The toil-enduring Hero reason'd sad.                 Alas! I tremble lest some God design             T' ensnare me yet, bidding me quit the raft.             But let me well beware how I obey             Too soon that precept, for I saw the land             Of my foretold deliv'rance far remote.             Thus, therefore, will I do, for such appears             My wiser course. So long as yet the planks             Mutual adhere, continuing on board             My raft, I will endure whatever woes,             But when the waves shall shatter it, I will swim,             My sole resource then left. While thus he mused,             Neptune a billow of enormous bulk             Hollow'd into an overwhelming arch             On high up-heaving, smote him. As the wind             Tempestuous, falling on some stubble-heap,             The arid straws dissipates ev'ry way,             So flew the timbers. He, a single beam             Bestriding, oar'd it onward with his feet,             As he had urged an horse. His raiment, then,             Gift of Calypso, putting off, he bound             His girdle on, and prone into the sea             With wide-spread palms prepar'd for swimming, fell.             Shore-shaker Neptune noted him; he shook             His awful brows, and in his heart he said,                 Thus, suff'ring many mis'ries roam the flood,             Till thou shalt mingle with a race of men             Heav'n's special favourites; yet even there             Fear not that thou shalt feel thy sorrows light.                 He said, and scourging his bright steeds, arrived             At g, where his glorious palace stands.                 But other thoughts Minerva's mind employ'd             Jove's daughter; ev'ry wind binding beside,             She lull'd them, and enjoin'd them all to sleep,             But roused swift Boreas, and the billows broke             Before Ulysses, that, deliver'd safe             From a dire death, the noble Chief might mix             With maritime Phacia's sons renown'd.                 Two nights he wander'd, and two days, the flood             Tempestuous, death expecting ev'ry hour;             But when Aurora, radiant-hair'd, had brought             The third day to a close, then ceas'd the wind,             And breathless came a calm; he, nigh at hand             The shore beheld, darting acute his sight             Toward it, from a billow's tow'ring top.                 Precious as to his children seems the life             Of some fond father through disease long time             And pain stretch'd languid on his couch, the prey             Of some vindictive Pow'r, but now, at last,             By gracious heav'n to ease and health restored,             So grateful to Ulysses' sight appear'd             Forests and hills. Impatient with his feet             To press the shore, he swam; but when within             Such distance as a shout may fly, he came,             The thunder of the sea against the rocks             Then smote his ear; for hoarse the billows roar'd             On the firm land, belch'd horrible abroad,             And the salt spray dimm'd all things to his view.             For neither port for ships nor shelt'ring cove             Was there, but the rude coast a headland bluff             Presented, rocks and craggy masses huge.             Then, hope and strength exhausted both, deep-groan'd             The Chief, and in his noble heart complain'd.                 Alas! though Jove hath given me to behold,             Unhoped, the land again, and I have pass'd,             Furrowing my way, these num'rous waves, there seems             No egress from the hoary flood for me.             Sharp stones hem in the waters; wild the surge             Raves ev'ry where; and smooth the rocks arise;             Deep also is the shore, on which my feet             No standing gain, or chance of safe escape.             What if some billow catch me from the Deep             Emerging, and against the pointed rocks             Dash me conflicting with its force in vain?             But should I, swimming, trace the coast in search             Of sloping beach, haven or shelter'd creek,             I fear lest, groaning, I be snatch'd again             By stormy gusts into the fishy Deep,             Or lest some monster of the flood receive             Command to seize me, of the many such             By the illustrious Amphitrite bred;             For that the mighty Shaker of the shores             Hates me implacable, too well I know.                 While such discourse within himself he held,             A huge wave heav'd him on the rugged coast,             Where flay'd his flesh had been, and all his bones             Broken together, but for the infused             Good counsel of Minerva azure-eyed.             With both hands suddenly he seized the rock,             And, groaning, clench'd it till the billow pass'd.             So baffled he that wave; but yet again             The refluent flood rush'd on him, and with force             Resistless dash'd him far into the sea.             As pebbles to the hollow polypus             Extracted from his stony bed, adhere,             So he, the rough rocks clasping, stripp'd his hands             Raw, and the billows now whelm'd him again.             Then had the hapless Hero premature             Perish'd, but for sagacity inspired             By Pallas azure-eyed. Forth from the waves             Emerging, where the surf burst on the rocks,             He coasted (looking landward as he swam)             The shore, with hope of port or level beach.             But when, still swimming, to the mouth he came             Of a smooth-sliding river, there he deem'd             Safest th' ascent, for it was undeform'd             By rocks, and shelter'd close from ev'ry wind.             He felt the current, and thus, ardent, pray'd.                 O hear, whate'er thy name, Sov'reign, who rul'st             This river! at whose mouth, from all the threats             Of Neptune 'scap'd, with rapture I arrive.             Even the Immortal Gods the wand'rer's pray'r             Respect, and such am I, who reach, at length,             Thy stream, and clasp thy knees, after long toil.             I am thy suppliant. Oh King! pity me.                 He said; the river God at once repress'd             His current, and it ceas'd; smooth he prepared             The way before Ulysses, and the land             Vouchsafed him easy at his channel's mouth.             There, once again he bent for ease his limbs             Both arms and knees, in conflict with the floods             Exhausted; swoln his body was all o'er,             And from his mouth and nostrils stream'd the brine.             Breathless and speechless, and of life well nigh             Bereft he lay, through dreadful toil immense.             But when, revived, his dissipated pow'rs             He recollected, loosing from beneath             His breast the zone divine, he cast it far             Into the brackish stream, and a huge wave             Returning bore it downward to the sea,             Where Ino caught it. Then, the river's brink             Abandoning, among the rushes prone             He lay, kiss'd oft the soil, and sighing, said,             Ah me! what suff'rings must I now sustain,             What doom, at last, awaits me? If I watch             This woeful night, here, at the river's side,             What hope but that the frost and copious dews,             Weak as I am, my remnant small of life             Shall quite extinguish, and the chilly air             Breath'd from the river at the dawn of day?             But if, ascending this declivity             I gain the woods, and in some thicket sleep,             (If sleep indeed can find me overtoil'd             And cold-benumb'd) then I have cause to fear             Lest I be torn by wild beasts, and devour'd.                 Long time he mused, but, at the last, his course             Bent to the woods, which not remote he saw             From the sea-brink, conspicuous on a hill.             Arrived, between two neighbour shrubs he crept,             Both olives, this the fruitful, that the wild;             A covert, which nor rough winds blowing moist             Could penetrate, nor could the noon-day sun             Smite through it, or unceasing show'rs pervade,             So thick a roof the ample branches form'd             Close interwoven; under these the Chief             Retiring, with industrious hands a bed             Collected broad of leaves, which there he found             Abundant strew'd, such store as had sufficed             Two travellers or three for cov'ring warm,             Though winter's roughest blasts had rag'd the while.             That bed with joy the suff'ring Chief renown'd             Contemplated, and occupying soon             The middle space, hillock'd it high with leaves.             As when some swain hath hidden deep his torch             Beneath the embers, at the verge extreme             Of all his farm, where, having neighbours none,             He saves a seed or two of future flame             Alive, doom'd else to fetch it from afar,             So with dry leaves Ulysses overspread             His body, on whose eyes Minerva pour'd             The balm of sleep copious, that he might taste             Repose again, after long toil severe.