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

‭ A huge, a high, and horrid sea, that seiz’d

       ‭ Him and his ship, and toss’d them through the lake.

       ‭ As when the violent winds together take

       ‭ Heaps of dry chaff, and hurl them ev’ry way;

       ‭ So his long wood-stack Neptune strook astray

       ‭ Then did Ulysses mount on rib, perforce,

       ‭ Like to a rider of a running horse,

       ‭ To stay himself a time, while he might shift

       ‭ His drenched weeds, that were Calypso’s gift.

       ‭ When putting straight Leucothea’s amulet

       ‭ About his neck, he all his forces set

       ‭ To swim, and cast him prostrate to the seas.

       ‭ When pow’rful Neptune saw the ruthless prease

       ‭ Of perils siege him thus, he mov’d his head,

       ‭ And this betwixt him and his heart he said:

       ‭ “So, now feel ills enow, and struggle so,

       ‭ Till to your Jove-lov’d islanders you row.

       ‭ But my mind says, you will not so avoid

       ‭ This last task too, but be with suff’rance cloy’d.”

       ‭ This said, his rich-man’d horse he mov’d, and reach’d

       ‭ His house at Ægas. But Minerva fetch’d

       ‭ The winds from sea, and all their ways but one

       ‭ Barr’d to their passage; the bleak North alone

       ‭ She set to blow, the rest she charg’d to keep

       ‭ Their rages in, and bind themselves in sleep.

       ‭ But Boreas still flew high to break the seas,

       ‭ Till Jove-bred Ithacus the more with ease

       ‭ The navigation-skill’d Phæacian states

       ‭ Might make his refuge, Death and angry Fates

       ‭ At length escaping. Two nights, yet, and days

       ‭ He spent in wrastling 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 hair,

       ‭ The winds grew calm, and clear was all the air,

       ‭ Not one breath stirring. Then he might descry,

       ‭ Rais’d by the high seas, clear, and land was nigh.

       ‭ And then, look how to good sons that esteem

       ‭ Their father’s life dear, (after pains extreme,

       ‭ Felt in some sickness, that hath held him long

       ‭ Down to his bed, and with affections strong

       ‭ Wasted his body, made his life his load,

       ‭ As being inflicted by some angry God)

       ‭ When on their pray’rs they see descend at length

       ‭ Health from the heav’ns, clad all in spirit and strength,

       ‭ The sight is precious; so, since here should end

       ‭ Ulysses’ toils, which therein should extend

       ‭ Health to his country, held to him his sire

       ‭ And on which long for him disease did tire,

       ‭ And then, besides, for his own sake to see

       ‭ The shores, the woods so near, such joy had he,

       ‭ As those good sons for their recover’d sire.

       ‭ Then labour’d feet and all parts to aspire

       ‭ To that wish’d continent; which when as near

       ‭ He came, as Clamour might inform an ear,

       ‭ He heard a sound beat from the sea-bred rocks,

       ‭ Against which gave a huge sea horrid shocks,

       ‭ That belch’d upon the firm land weeds and foam,

       ‭ With which were all things hid there, where no room

       ‭ Of fit capacity was for any port,

       ‭ Nor from the sea for any man’s resort,

       ‭ The shores, the rocks, the cliff’s, so prominent were.

       ‭ “O,” said Ulysses then, “now Jupiter

       ‭ Hath giv’n me sight of an unhop’d for shore,

       ‭ Though I have wrought these seas so long, so sore.

       ‭ Of rest yet no place shows the slend’rest prints,

       ‭ The rugged shore so bristled is with flints,

       ‭ Against which ev’ry way the waves so flock,

       ‭ And all the shore shows as one eminent rock,

       ‭ So near which ’tis so deep, that not a sand

       ‭ Is there for any tired foot to stand,

       ‭ Nor fly his death-fast-following miseries,

       ‭ Lest, if he land, upon him foreright flies

       ‭ A churlish wave, to crush him ’gainst a cliff,

       ‭ Worse than vain rend’ring all his landing strife.

       ‭ And should I swim to seek a hav’n elsewhere,

       ‭ Or land less way-beat, I may justly fear

       ‭ I shall be taken with a gale again,

       ‭ And cast a huge way off into the main;

       ‭ And there the great Earth-shaker (having seen

       ‭ My so near landing, and again his spleen

       ‭ Forcing me to him) will some whale send out,

       ‭ (Of which a horrid number here about

       ‭ His Amphitrite breeds) to swallow me.

       ‭ I well have prov’d, with what malignity

       ‭ He treads my steps.” While this discourse he held,

       ‭ A curs’d surge ’gainst a cutting rock impell’d

       ‭ His naked body, which it gash’d and tore,

       ‭ And had his bones broke, if but one sea more

       ‭ Had cast him on it. But She prompted him,

       ‭ That never fail’d, and bade him no more swim

       ‭ Still off and on, but boldly force the shore,

       ‭ And hug the rock that him so rudely tore;

       ‭ Which he with both hands sigh’d and clasp’d, till past

       ‭ The billow’s rage was; when ’scap’d, back so fast

       ‭ The rock repuls’d it, that it reft his hold,

       ‭ Sucking him from it, and far back he roll’d

       ‭ And as the polypus that (forc’d from home

       ‭ Amidst the soft sea, and near rough land come

       ‭ For shelter ’gainst the storms that beat on her

       ‭ At open sea, as she abroad doth err)

       ‭ A deal of gravel, and sharp little stones,

       ‭ Needfully gathers in her hollow bones;

       ‭ So he forc’d hither by the sharper ill,