The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems. Homer

‭ But what the old and still-true-spoken God,

       ‭ That from the sea breathes oracles abroad,

       ‭ Disclos’d to me, to thee I’ll all impart,

       ‭ Nor hide one word from thy sollicitous heart.

       ‭ I was in Ægypt, where a mighty time

       ‭ The Gods detain’d me, though my natural clime

       ‭ I never so desir’d, because their homes

       ‭ I did not greet with perfect hecatombs.

       ‭ For they will put men evermore in mind,

       ‭ How much their masterly commandments bind.

       ‭ There is, besides, a certain island, call’d

       ‭ Pharos, that with the high-wav’d sea is wall’d,

       ‭ Just against Ægypt, and so much remote,

       ‭ As in a whole day, with a fore-gale smote,

       ‭ A hollow ship can sail. And this isle bears

       ‭ A port most portly, where sea-passengers

       ‭ Put in still for fresh water, and away

       ‭ To sea again. Yet here the Gods did stay

       ‭ My fleet full twenty days; the winds, that are

       ‭ Masters at sea, no prosp’rous puff would spare

       ‭ To put us off; and all my victuals here

       ‭ Had quite corrupted, as my men’s minds were,

       ‭ Had not a certain Goddess giv’n regard,

       ‭ And pitied me in an estate so hard;

       ‭ And ’twas Idothea, honour’d Proteus’ seed,

       ‭ That old sea-farer. Her mind I make bleed

       ‭ With my compassion, when (walk’d all alone,

       ‭ From all my soldiers, that were ever gone

       ‭ About the isle on fishing with hooks bent;

       ‭ Hunger their bellies on her errand sent)

       ‭ She came close to me, spake, and thus began:

       ‭ ‘Of all men thou art the most foolish man!

       ‭ Or slack in business, or stay’st here of choice,

       ‭ And dost in all thy suff’rances rejoice,

       ‭ That thus long liv’st detain’d here, and no end

       ‭ Canst give thy tarriance? Thou dost much offend

       ‭ The minds of all thy fellows.’ I replied:

       ‭ ‘Whoever thou art of the Deified,

       ‭ I must affirm, that no way with my will

       ‭ I make abode here; but, it seems, some ill

       ‭ The Gods, inhabiting broad heav’n, sustain

       ‭ Against my getting off. Inform me then,

       ‭ For Godheads all things know, what God is he

       ‭ That stays my passage from the fishy sea?’

       ‭ ‘Stranger,’ said she, ‘I’ll tell thee true: There lives

       ‭ An old sea-farer in these seas, that gives

       ‭ A true solution of all secrets here,

       ‭ Who deathless Proteus is, th’ Ægyptian peer,

       ‭ Who can the deeps of all the seas exquire,

       ‭ Who Neptune’s priest is, and, they say, the sire

       ‭ That did beget me. Him, if any way

       ‭ Thou couldst inveigle, he would clear display

       ‭ Thy course from hence, and how far off doth lie

       ‭ Thy voyage’s whole scope through Neptune’s sky.

       ‭ Informing thee, O God-preserv’d, beside,

       ‭ If thy desires would so be satisfied,

       ‭ Whatever good or ill hath got event,

       ‭ In all the time thy long and hard course spent,

       ‭ Since thy departure from thy house.’ This said;

       ‭ Again I answer’d: ‘Make the sleights display’d

       ‭ Thy father useth, lest his foresight see,

       ‭ Or his foreknowledge taking note of me,

       ‭ He flies the fixt place of his us’d abode.

       ‭ ’Tis hard for man to countermine with God.’

       ‭ She straight replied: ‘I’ll utter truth in all:

       ‭ When heav’n’s supremest height the sun doth skall,

       ‭ The old Sea-tell-truth leaves the deeps, and hides

       ‭ Amidst a black storm, when the West Wind chides,

       ‭ In caves still sleeping. Round about him sleep

       ‭ (With short feet swimming forth the foamy deep)

       ‭ The sea-calves, lovely Halosydnes call’d,

       ‭ From whom a noisome odour is exhal’d,

       ‭ Got from the whirl-pools, on whose earth they lie.

       ‭ Here, when the morn illustrates all the sky,

       ‭ I’ll guide, and seat thee in the fittest place

       ‭ For the performance thou hast now in chace.

       ‭ In mean time, reach thy fleet, and choose out three

       ‭ Of best exploit, to go as aids to thee.

       ‭ But now I’ll show thee all the old God’s sleights:

       ‭ He first will number, and take all the sights

       ‭ Of those his guard, that on the shore arrives.

       ‭ When having view’d, and told them forth by fives,

       ‭ He takes place in their midst, and there doth sleep,

       ‭ Like to a shepherd midst his flock of sheep.

       ‭ In his first sleep, call up your hardiest cheer,

       ‭ Vigour and violence, and hold him there,

       ‭ In spite of all his strivings to be gone.

       ‭ He then will turn himself to ev’ry one

       ‭ Of all things that in earth creep and respire,

       ‭ In water swim, or shine in heav’nly fire.

       ‭ Yet still hold you him firm, and much the more

       ‭ Press him from passing. But when, as before,

       ‭ When sleep first bound his pow’rs, his form ye see,

       ‭ Then cease your force, and th’ old heroë free,

       ‭ And then demand, which heav’n-born it may be

       ‭ That so afflicts you, hind’ring your retreat,

       ‭ And free sea-passage to your native seat.’

       ‭ This said, she div’d into the wavy seas,

       ‭ And I my course did to my ships address,

       ‭ That on the sands stuck; where arriv’d, we made

       ‭ Our supper ready. Then th’ ambrosian shade

       ‭ Of night fell on us, and to sleep we fell.

       ‭ Rosy Aurora rose; we rose as well,

       ‭ And three of them on whom I most relied,

       ‭ For firm at ev’ry force, I