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

comprest.

       ‭ And still she stood him, as resolv’d to know

       ‭ What man he was, or out of what should grow

       ‭ His strange repair to them. And here was he

       ‭ Put to his wisdom; if her virgin knee

       ‭ He should be bold, but kneeling, to embrace,

       ‭ Or keep aloof, and try with words of grace,

       ‭ In humblest suppliance, if he might obtain

       ‭ Some cover for his nakedness, and gain

       ‭ Her grace to show and guide him to the town.

       ‭ The last he best thought, to be worth his own,

       ‭ In weighing both well; to keep still aloof,

       ‭ And give with soft words his desires their proof,

       ‭ Lest, pressing so near as to touch her knee,

       ‭ He might incense her maiden modesty.

       ‭ This fair and fil’d speech then shew’d this was he:

       ‭ “Let me beseech, O queen, this truth of thee,

       ‭ Are you of mortal, or the defied, race?

       ‭ If of the Gods, that th’ ample heav’ns embrace,

       ‭ I can resemble you to none above

       ‭ So near as to the chaste-born birth of Jove,

       ‭ The beamy Cynthia. Her you full present,

       ‭ In grace of ev’ry God-like lineament,

       ‭ Her goodly magnitude, and all th’ address

       ‭ You promise of her very perfectness.

       ‭ If sprung of humans, that inhabit earth,

       ‭ Thrice blest are both the authors of your birth,

       ‭ Thrice blest your brothers, that in your deserts

       ‭ Must, ev’n to rapture, bear delighted hearts,

       ‭ To see, so like the first trim of a tree,

       ‭ Your form adorn a dance. But most blest he,

       ‭ Of all that breathe, that hath the gift t’ engage

       ‭ Your bright neck in the yoke of marriage,

       ‭ And deck his house with your commanding merit

       ‭ I have not seen a man of so much spirit,

       ‭ Nor man, nor woman, I did ever see,

       ‭ At all parts equal to the parts in thee.

       ‭ T’ enjoy your sight, doth admiration seize

       ‭ My eyes, and apprehensive faculties.

       ‭ Lately in Delos (with a charge of men

       ‭ Arriv’d, that render’d me most wretched then,

       ‭ Now making me thus naked) I beheld

       ‭ The burthen of a palm, whose issue swell’d

       ‭ About Apollo’s fane, and that put on

       ‭ A grace like thee; for Earth had never none

       ‭ Of all her sylvan issue so adorn’d.

       ‭ Into amaze my very soul was turn’d,

       ‭ To give it observation; as now thee

       ‭ To view, O virgin, a stupidity

       ‭ Past admiration strikes me, join’d with fear

       ‭ To do a suppliant’s due, and press so near,

       ‭ As to embrace thy knees. Nor is it strange,

       ‭ For one of fresh and firmest spirit would change

       ‭ T’ embrace so bright an object. But, for me,

       ‭ A cruel habit of calamity

       ‭ Prepar’d the strong impression thou hast made;

       ‭ For this last day did fly night’s twentieth shade

       ‭ Since I, at length, escap’d the sable seas;

       ‭ When in the mean time th’ unrelenting prease

       ‭ Of waves and stern storms toss’d me up and down,

       ‭ From th’ isle Ogygia. And now God hath thrown

       ‭ My wrack on this shore, that perhaps I may

       ‭ My mis’ries vary here; for yet their stay,

       ‭ I fear, Heav’n hath not order’d, though, before

       ‭ These late afflictions, it hath lent me store.

       ‭ O queen, deign pity then, since first to you

       ‭ My fate importunes my distress to vow.

       ‭ No other dame, nor man, that this Earth own,

       ‭ And neighbour city, I have seen or known.

       ‭ The town then show me; give my nakedness

       ‭ Some shroud to shelter it, if to these seas

       ‭ Linen or woollen you have brought to cleanse.

       ‭ God give you, in requital, all th’ amends

       ‭ Your heart can wish, a husband, family,

       ‭ And good agreement. Nought beneath the sky

       ‭ More sweet, more worthy is, than firm consent

       ‭ Of man and wife in household government.

       ‭ It joys their wishers-well, their enemies wounds,

       ‭ But to themselves the special good redounds.”

       ‭ She answer’d: “Stranger! I discern in thee

       ‭ Nor sloth, nor folly, reigns; and yet I see

       ‭ Th’ art poor and wretched. In which I conclude,

       ‭ That industry nor wisdom make endued

       ‭ Men with those gifts that make them best to th’ eye;

       ‭ Jove only orders man’s felicity.

       ‭ To good and bad his pleasure fashions still

       ‭ The whole proportion of their good and ill.

       ‭ And he, perhaps, hath form’d this plight in thee,

       ‭ Of which thou must be patient, as he free.

       ‭ But after all thy wand’rings, since thy way,

       ‭ Both to our earth, and near our city, lay,

       ‭ As being expos’d to our cares to relieve,

       ‭ Weeds, and what else a human hand should give

       ‭ To one so suppliant and tam’d with woe,

       ‭ Thou shalt not want. Our city I will show,

       ‭ And tell our people’s name: This neighbour town,

       ‭ And all this kingdom, the Phæacians own.

       ‭ And (since thou seem’dst so fain to know my birth,

       ‭ And mad’st a question, if of heav’n or earth.)

       ‭ This earth hath bred me; and my father’s name

       ‭ Alcinous is, that in the pow’r and frame

       ‭ Of this isle’s rule is supereminent.”

       ‭ Thus, passing him, she to the virgins went,

       ‭ And said: “Give stay both to your feet and fright.

       ‭ Why thus disperse ye for a man’s mere sight?

       ‭ Esteem you him a Cyclop, that long since

       ‭ Made use to prey upon our citizens?