Book X: Aeolus, the Lestrigonians, and Circè

“We reached the Aeolian isle, where Aeolus,Dear to the gods, a son of Hippotas,Made his abode. It was a floating isle;A wall of brass enclosed it, and smooth rocksEdged it around. Twelve children in his hallsWere born, six daughters and six blooming sons;He gave his daughters to his sons for wives.And they with their dear father and his queenBanquet from day to day, with endless changeOf meats before them. In his halls all dayThe sound of pipes is in the perfumed air;At night the youths beside their modest wivesSleep on fair couches spread with tapestry.So coming to his town and fair abode,I found a friendly welcome. One full monthThe monarch kept me with him, and inquiredOf all that might concern the fate of Troy,The Argive fleet, and the return to Greece,And just as it befell I told him all.And when I spake to him of going thence,And prayed him to dismiss me, he complied,And helped to make us ready for the sea.The bladder of a bullock nine years oldHe gave, in which he had compressed and boundThe stormy winds of air; for Saturn’s sonHad given him empire o’er the winds, with powerTo calm them or to rouse them at his will.This in our roomy galley he made fastWith a bright chain of silver, that no breathOf ruder air might blow. He only leftThe west wind free to waft our ships and usUpon our way. But that was not to be;We perished by a folly of our own.

“Nine days we held our way, both day and night;And now appeared in sight our native fieldsOn the tenth night, where on the shore we sawMen kindling fires. Meantime a pleasant sleepHad overcome my weary limbs, for longHad I been guiding with incessant toilThe rudder, nor would trust it to the handOf any other, such was my desireTo reach our country by the shortest way.Then talked my crew among themselves, and saidThat I had brought with me from Aeolus,The large-souled son of Hippotas, rich giftsOf gold and silver. Standing side by sideAnd looking at each other, thus they said:—

“ ‘How wonderfully is our chief reveredAnd loved by all men, wander where he willInto what realm soever! From the coastOf Troy he sailed with many precious things,His share of spoil, while we, who with him wentAnd with him came, are empty-handed yet;And now hath Aeolus, to show how muchHe prizes him, bestowed the treasures here.Come, let us see them; let us know how muchOf gold and silver is concealed in this.’

“Thus speaking to each other, they obeyedThe evil counsel. They untied the sack,And straight the winds rushed forth and seized the ship,And swept the crews, lamenting bitterly,Far from their country out upon the deep;And then I woke, and in my noble mindBethought me whether I should drop at onceInto the deep and perish, or remainAnd silently endure and keep my placeAmong the living. I remained, endured,And covered with my mantle lay withinMy galley, while the furious whirlwind boreBack to the Aeolian isle our groaning crews.

“We landed on the coast, and to our barquesBrought water. Then my men prepared a mealBeside the fleet; and having tasted foodAnd wine, I took a herald and a friend,And, hastening to the sumptuous palace-hallsOf Aeolus, I found him with his wifeAnd children banqueting. We sat us downUpon the threshold at the palace-doors,And they were all astonished, and inquired:—

“ ‘Why art thou here? What god thine enemyPursues thee, O Ulysses! whom we sentSo well prepared to reach thy native land,Thy home, or any place that pleased thee most?’

“They spake, and sorrowfully I replied:—‘The fault is all with my unthinking crewAnd my own luckless slumber. Yet, my friends,Repair the mischief, for ye have the power.’

“Thus with submissive words I spake, but theySat mute, the father only answered me:—

“ ‘Hence with thee! Leave our island instantly,Vilest of living men! It may not beThat I receive or aid as he departsOne who is hated by the blessed gods—And thou art hated by the gods. Away!’

“He spake, and sent us from the palace-doorLamenting. Sorrowfully went we on.And now with rowing hard and long—the fruitOf our own folly—all our crews lost heart,And every hope of safe return was gone.

“Six days and nights we sailed; the seventh we cameTo lofty Laestrigoni with wide gates,The city of Lamos, where, on going forth,The shepherd calls to shepherd entering in.There might a man who never yields to sleepEarn double wages, first in pasturing herds,And then in tending sheep; for there the fieldsGrazed in the daytime are by others grazedAt night. We reached its noble haven, girtBy towering rocks that rise on every side,And the bold shores run out to form its mouth—A narrow entrance. There the other crewsStationed their barques, and moored them close besideEach other, in that hill-encircled port.No billow, even the smallest, rises there;The water glimmers with perpetual calm.I only kept my dark-hulled ship without,And bound its cable to a jutting rock.

“I climbed a rugged headland, and looked forth.No marks of tilth appeared, the work of menOr oxen, only smokes that from belowRose in the air. And then I sent forth scoutsTo learn what race of men who live by breadInhabited the land. Two chosen menI sent, a herald made the third; and theseWent inland by a level path, on whichThe wains brought fuel from the woody heightsInto the city. On their way they met,Before the town, a damsel with an ewer—The stately daughter of Antiphates,The Laestrigonian, who was coming downTo where Artacia’s smoothly flowing fountGave water for the city. They drew nearAnd spake, and asked her who was sovereign there,And who his people. Straight she pointed outA lofty pile in which her father dwelt.They entered that proud palace, and beheld,Tall as a mountain peak, the monarch’s wife,And shuddered at the sight. With eager hasteShe called her husband, King Antiphates,From council. With a murderous intentHe came, and, seizing one of my poor friends,Devoured him, while the other two betookThemselves to sudden flight and reached the ships.And then he raised a fearful yell that rangThrough all the city. The strong LaestrigonsRushed forth by thousands from all sides, more likeTo giants than to common men. They hurledStones of enormous weight from cliffs above,And cries of those who perished and the crashOf shattered galleys rose. They speared our friendsLike fishes for their horrid feasts, and thusBore them away. While those within the portWere slaughtered, drawing my good sword I cutThe hawsers fastened to my ship’s blue prow,And cheered my men, and bade them fling themselvesUpon the oars, that so we might escapeOur threatened fate. They heard, and plied their oarsLike men who rowed for life. The galley shotForth from these beetling rocks into the seaFull gladly; all the others perished there.

“Onward we sailed, with sorrow in our heartsFor our lost friends, though glad to be reprievedFrom death. And now we landed at an isle—Aeaea, where the fair-haired Circè dwelt,A goddess high in rank and skilled in song,Own sister of the wise Aeaetes. BothWere children of the source of light, the Sun,And Persè, Ocean’s daughter, brought them forth.We found a haven here, where ships might lie;And guided by some deity we broughtOur galley silently against the shore,And disembarked, and gave two days and nightsTo rest, unmanned with hardship and with grief.

“When bright-haired Morning brought the third day round,I took my spear and my good sword, and leftThe ship, and climbed a height, in hope to spySome trace of human toil, or hear some voice.On a steep precipice I stood, and sawFrom the broad earth below a rising smoke,Where midst the thickets and the forest-groundStood Circè’s palace. Seeing that dark smoke,The thought arose within my mind that thereI should inquire. I pondered till at lastThis seemed the wisest—to return at onceTo my good ship upon the ocean-side,And give my crew their meal, and send them forthTo view the region. Coming to the spotWhere lay my well-oared barque, some pitying godBeneath whose eye I wandered forth aloneSent a huge stag into my very path,High-horned, which from his pasture in the woodDescended to the riverside to drink,For grievously he felt the hot sun’s power.Him as he ran I smote; the weapon pierced,Just at the spine, the middle of his back.The brazen blade passed through, and with a moonHe fell amid the dust, and yielded upHis life. I went to him, and set my footAgainst him, and plucked forth the brazen spear,And left it leaning there. And then I brokeLithe osiers from the shrubs, and twined of theseA rope, which, doubled, was an ell in length.With that I tied the enormous creature’s feet,And slung him on my neck, and brought him thusTo my black ship. I used the spear to propMy steps, since he no longer could be borneUpon the shoulder, aided by the hand,Such was the animal’s bulk. I flung him downBefore the ship, encouraging my menWith cheerful words, and thus I said to each:—

“ ‘My friends, we will not, wretched as we are,Go down to Pluto’s realm before our time.While food and wine are yet within the holdOf our good galley, let us not forgetOur daily meals, and famine-stricken pine.’

“I spake; they all obeyed, and at my wordCame forth, and standing by the barren deepAdmired the stag, for he was huge of bulk;And when their eyes were tired with wondering,My people washed their hands, and soon had madeA noble banquet ready. All that dayTill set of sun we sat and feasted thereUpon the abundant meat and delicate wine;And when the sun went down, and darkness came,We slept upon the shore. But when the Morn,The rosy-fingered child of Dawn, looked forth,I called a council of my men and spake:—

“ ‘Give ear, my friends, amid your sufferings,To words that I shall say. We cannot hereKnow which way lies the west, nor where the east,Nor where the sun, that shines for all mankind,Descends below the earth, nor where againHe rises from it. Yet will we consult,If room there be for counsel—which I doubt,For when I climbed that height I overlookedAn isle surrounded by the boundless deep—An isle low lying. In the midst I sawSmoke rising from a thicket of the wood.’

“I spake; their courage died within their heartsAs they remembered what Antiphates,The Laestrigon, had done, and what foul deedsThe cannibal Cyclops, and they wept aloud.Tears flowed abundantly, but tears were nowOf no avail to our unhappy band.

“Numbering my well-armed men, I made of themTwo equal parties, giving each its chief.Myself commanded one; Eurylochus,The hero, took the other in his charge.

“Then in a brazen helm we shook the lots;The lot of brave Eurylochus leaped forth,And he with two-and-twenty of our menWent forward with quick steps, and yet in tears,While we as sorrowful were left behind.

“They found the fair abode where Circè dwelt,A palace of hewn stone within the vale,Yet nobly seated. There were mountain wolvesAnd lions round it, which herself had tamedWith powerful drugs; yet these assaulted notThe visitors, but, wagging their long tails,Stood on their hinder feet, and fawned on them,Like mastiffs on their master when he comesFrom banqueting and brings them food. So fawnedThe strong-clawed wolves and lions on my men.With fear my men beheld those beasts of prey,Yet went, and, standing in the porticoOf the bright-haired divinity, they heardHer sweet voice singing, as within she threwThe shuttle through the wide immortal web,Such as is woven by the goddesses—Delicate, bright of hue, and beautiful.

“Polites then, a chief the most belovedAnd most discreet of all my comrades, spake:—

“ ‘Someone is here, my friends, who sweetly sings,Weaving an ample web, and all the floorRings to her voice. Whoever she may be,Woman or goddess, let us call to her.’

“He spake; aloud they called, and forth she cameAnd threw at once the shining doors apart,And bade my comrades enter. Without thoughtThey followed her. Eurylochus aloneRemained without, for he suspected guile.She led them in and seated them on thrones.Then mingling for them Pramnian wine with cheese,Meal, and fresh honey, and infusing drugsInto the mixture—drugs which made them loseThe memory of their home—she handed themThe beverage and they drank. Then instantlyShe touched them with a wand, and shut them upIn sties, transformed to swine in head and voice,Bristles and shape, though still the human mindRemained to them. Thus sorrowing they were drivenInto their cells, where Circè flung to themAcorns of oak and ilex, and the fruitOf cornel, such as nourish wallowing swine.

“Back came Eurylochus to our good shipWith news of our poor comrades and their fate,He strove to speak, but could not; he was stunnedBy that calamity; his eyes were filledWith tears, and his whole soul was given to grief.We marvelled greatly; long we questioned him,And thus he spake of our lost friends at last:—

“ ‘Through yonder thickets, as thou gav’st command,Illustrious chief! we went, until we reachedA stately palace of hewn stones, withinA vale, yet nobly seated. Someone there,Goddess or woman, weaving busilyAn ample web, sang sweetly as she wrought.My comrades called aloud, and forth she came,And threw at once the shining doors apart,And bade us enter. Without thought the restFollowed, while I alone, suspecting guile,Remained without. My comrades, from that hour,Were seen no more; not one of them againCame forth, though long I sat and watched for them.’

“He spake; I slung my silver-studded swordUpon my shoulders—a huge blade of brass—And my bow with it, and commanded himTo lead the way. He seized and clasped my kneesWith both his hands in attitude of prayer,And sorrowfully said these winged words:—

“ ‘Take me not thither; force me not to go,O foster-child of Jove! but leave me here;For thou wilt not return, I know, nor yetDeliver one of our lost friends. Our partIs to betake ourselves to instant flightWith these who yet remain, and so escape.’

“He spake, and I replied: ‘Eurylochus,Remain thou here, beside our roomy ship,Eating and drinking. I shall surely go.A strong necessity is laid on me.’

“I spake, and from the ship and shore went upInto the isle; and when I found myselfWithin that awful valley, and not farFrom the great palace in which Circè dwelt,The sorceress, there met me on my wayA youth; he seemed in manhood’s early prime,When youth has most of grace. He took my handAnd held it, and, accosting me, began:—

“ ‘Rash mortal! whither art thou wandering thusAlone among the hills, where every placeIs strange to thee? Thy comrades are shut upIn Circè’s palace in close cells like swine.Com’st thou to set them free? Nay, thou like themWilt rather find thyself constrained to stay.Let me bestow the means to make thee safeAgainst that mischief. Take this potent herb,And bear it with thee to the palace-hallsOf Circè, and it shall avert from theeThe threatened evil. I will now revealThe treacherous arts of Circè. She will bringA mingled draught to thee, and drug the bowl,But will not harm thee thus; the virtuous plantI gave thee will prevent it. Hear yet more:When she shall smite thee with her wand, draw forthThy good sword from thy thigh and rush at herAs if to take her life, and she will crouchIn fear, and will solicit thine embrace.Refuse her not, that so she may releaseThy comrades, and may send thee also backTo thine own land; but first exact of herThe solemn oath which binds the blessed gods,That she will meditate no other harmTo thee, nor strip thee of thy manly strength.’

“The Argus-queller spake, and plucked from earthThe potent plant and handed it to me,And taught me all its powers. The root is black,The blossom white as milk. Among the godsIts name is Moly; hard it is for menTo dig it up; the gods find nothing hard.

“Back through the woody island Hermes wentToward high Olympus, while I took my wayTo Circè’s halls, yet with a beating heart.There, as I stood beneath the porticoOf that bright-haired divinity, I calledAloud; the goddess heard my voice and came,And threw at once the shining doors apart,And prayed me to come in. I followed her,Yet grieving still. She led me in and gaveA seat upon a silver-studded throne,Beautiful, nobly wrought, and placed beneathA footstool, and prepared a mingled draughtWithin a golden chalice, and infusedA drug with mischievous intent. She gaveThe cup; I drank it off; the charm wrought not,And then she smote me with her wand and said:—‘Go to the sty, and with thy fellows sprawl.’

“She spake; but drawing forth the trusty swordUpon my thigh, I rushed at her as ifTo take her life. She shrieked and, stooping low,Ran underneath my arm and clasped my knees,And uttered piteously these winged words:—“ ‘Who art thou? of what race and of what land,And who thy parents? I am wonder-struckTo see that thou couldst drink that magic juiceAnd yield not to its power. No living man,Whoever he might be, that tasted onceThose drugs, or passed them o’er his lips, has yetWithstood them. In thy breast a spirit dwellsNot to be thus subdued. Art thou not thenUlysses, master of wise stratagems,Whose coming hither, on his way from Troy,In his black galley, oft has been foretoldBy Hermes of the golden wand? But sheatheThy sword and share my couch, that, joined in love,Each may hereafter trust the other’s faith.’

“She spake, and I replied: ‘How canst thou ask,O Circè, that I gently deal with thee,Since thou, in thine own palace, hast transformedMy friends to swine, and plottest even nowTo keep me with thee, luring me to passInto thy chamber and to share thy couch,That thou mayst strip me of my manly strengthI come not to thy couch till thou engage,O goddess, by a solemn oath, that thouWilt never seek to do me further harm.’

“I spake; she straightway took the oath required,And, after it was uttered and confirmed,Up to her sumptuous couch I went. MeanwhileFour diligent maidens ministered withinThe palace—servants of the household they,Who had their birth from fountains and from groves,And sacred rivers flowing to the sea.One spread the thrones with gorgeous coverings;Above was purple arras, and beneathWere linen webs; another, setting forthThe silver tables just before the thrones,Placed on them canisters of gold; a thirdMingled the rich wines in a silver bowl,And placed the golden cups; and, last, the fourthBrought water from the fountain, and beneathA massive tripod kindled a great fireAnd warmed the water. When it boiled withinThe shining brass, she led me to the bath,And washed me from the tripod. On my headAnd shoulders pleasantly she shed the streamsThat from my members took away the senseOf weariness, unmanning body and mind.And when she thus had bathed me and with oilAnointed me, she put a princely cloakAnd tunic on me, led me in, and showedMy seat—a stately silver-studded throne,High-wrought—and placed a footstool for my feet.Then came a handmaid with a golden ewer,And from it poured pure water for my handsInto a silver laver. Next she placedA polished table near to me, on whichThe matron of the palace laid the feast,With many delicacies from her store,And bade me eat. The banquet pleased me not.My thoughts were elsewhere; dark imaginingsWere in my mind. When Circè marked my mood,As in a gloomy revery I sat,And put not forth my hands to touch the feast,She came to me and spake these winged words:—

“ ‘Why sittest thou like one who has no powerOf speech, Ulysses, wrapt in thoughts that gnawThy heart, and tasting neither food nor wine?Still dost thou dream of fraud? It is not wellThat thou shouldst fear it longer, since I pledgedMyself against it with a mighty oath.’

“She spake, and I replied: ‘What man whose heartIs faithful could endure to taste of foodOr wine till he should see his captive friendsOnce more at large? If with a kind intentThou bidst me eat and drink, let me beholdWith mine own eyes my dear companions free.’

“I spake; and Circè took her wand and wentForth from her halls, and, opening the gateThat closed the sty, drove forth what seemed a herdOf swine in their ninth year. They ranged themselvesBefore her, and she went from each to eachAnd shed on them another drug. ForthwithFell from their limbs the bristles which had grownAll over them, when mighty Circè gaveAt first the baleful potion. Now againMy friends were men, and younger than before,And of a nobler mien and statelier growth.They knew me all; and each one pressed my handIn his, and there were tears and sobs of joyThat sounded through the palace. Circè tooWas moved, the mighty goddess; she drew nearAnd stood by me, and spake these winged words:—

“ ‘Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise,Ulysses! go to thy good ship besideThe sea and draw it up the beach, and hideThe goods and weapons in the caverns there,And come thou back and bring with thee thy friends.’

“She spake, and easily my generous mindWas moved by what she said. Forthwith I wentTo my good ship beside the sea, and foundMy friends in tears, lamenting bitterly.As in some grange the calves come leaping roundA herd of kine returning to the stallFrom grassy fields where they have grazed their fill,Nor can the stall contain the young which springAround their mothers with continual bleat;So when my comrades saw me through their tears,They sprang to meet me, and their joy was suchAs if they were in their own native landAnd their own city, on the rugged coastOf Ithaca, where they were born and reared;And as they wept they spake these winged words:—

“ ‘O foster-child of Jove! we welcome theeOn thy return with a delight as greatAs if we all had reached again the landThat gave us birth, our Ithaca. And nowTell by what death our other friends have died.’

“They spake; I answered with consoling words:—‘First draw our galley up the beach, and hideOur goods and all our weapons in the caves,And then let all make haste to follow me,And see our friends in Circè’s sacred halls,Eating and drinking at the plenteous board.’

“I spake; and cheerfully my men obeyed,Save that Eurylochus alone essayedTo hold them back, and spake these winged words:—

“ ‘Ah, whither are we going, wretched ones?Are ye so eager for an evil fate,That ye must go where Circè dwells, who waitsTo turn us into lions, swine, or wolves,Forced to remain and guard her spacious house?So was it with the Cyclops, when our friendsWent with this daring chief to his abode,And perished there through his foolhardiness.’

“He spake; and then I thought to draw my swordFrom my stout thigh, and with the trenchant bladeStrike off his head and let it fall to earth,Though he were my near kinsman; yet the restRestrained me, each one speaking kindly words:—

“ ‘Nay, foster-child of Jove! if thou consent,This man shall stay behind and with the ship,And he shall guard the ship, but lead us thouTo where the sacred halls of Circè stand.’

“They spake, and from the ship and shore went upInto the land, nor was EurylochusLeft with the ship; he followed, for he fearedMy terrible threat. Meantime had Circè bathedMy comrades at the palace, and with oilAnointed them, and robed them in fair cloaksAnd tunics. There we found them banqueting.When they and those who came with me beheldEach other, and the memory of the pastCame back to them, they wept abundantly,And all the palace echoed with their sobs.And then the mighty goddess came and said:—

“ ‘Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise,Prolong thou not these sorrows. Well I knowWhat ye have suffered on the fishy deep,And all the evil that malignant menHave done to you on land. Now take the foodBefore you, drink the wine, till ye receiveInto your hearts the courage that was yoursWhen long ago ye left your fatherland,The rugged Ithaca. Ye are unnervedAnd spiritless with thinking constantlyOn your long wanderings, and your minds allowNo space for mirth, for ye have suffered much.’

“She spake; her words persuaded easilyOur generous minds, and there from day to dayWe lingered a full year, and banquetedNobly on plenteous meats and delicate wines.But when the year was ended, and the hoursRenewed their circle, my beloved friendsFrom Circè’s palace called me forth and said:—

“ ‘Good chief, do not forget thy native land,If fate indeed permit that ever thouReturn in safety to that lofty pileThy palace in the country of thy birth.’

“So spake they, and my generous mind was moved.All that day long until the set of sunWe sat and feasted on the abundant meatsAnd delicate wines; and when the sun went downThey took their rest within the darkened halls,While I to Circè’s sumptuous couch went up,A suppliant at her knees. The goddess heardMy prayer, as thus in winged words I said:—

“ ‘O Circè! make, I pray, the promise goodWhich thou hast given, to send me to my home.My heart is pining for it, and the heartsOf all my friends, who weary out my lifeLamenting round me when thou art not nigh.’

“I spake; the mighty goddess thus replied:—‘Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise,Ulysses! ye must not remain with meUnwillingly; but ye have yet to makeAnother voyage, and must visit firstThe abode of Pluto, and of ProserpineHis dreaded queen, and there consult the soulOf the blind seer Tiresias—him of Thebes—Whose intellect was spared; for ProserpineGave back to him in death the power of mind,That only he might know of things to come.The rest are shades that flit from place to place.’

“Thus spake the goddess; and my heart was wrungWith sorrow, and I sat upon the couchAnd wept, nor could I longer wish to liveAnd see the light of day. But when my grief,With shedding tears and tossing where I sat,Was somewhat spent, I spake to Circè thus:—

“ ‘O Circè, who will guide me when I makeThis voyage? for no galley built by manHas ever yet arrived at Pluto’s realm.’

“I spake; the mighty goddess answered me:—‘Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise,Take thou no thought of who shall guide thy barque,But raise the mast and spread the glimmering sail,And seat thyself, and let the north-wind waftThy galley on. As soon as thou shalt crossOcéanus, and come to the low shoreAnd groves of Proserpine, the lofty groupsOf poplars, and the willows that let fallTheir withered fruit, moor thou thy galley thereIn the deep eddies of Océanus,And pass to Pluto’s comfortless abode.There into Acheron are poured the streamsOf Pyriphlegethon, and of that armOf Styx, Cocytus. At the place where meetThe ever-roaring waters stands a rock;Draw near to that, and there I bid thee scoopIn earth a trench, a cubit long and wide.And round about it pour to all the deadLibations—milk and honey first, and nextRich wine, and lastly water, scatteringWhite meal upon them. Offer there thy prayerFervently to that troop of airy forms,And make the vow that thou wilt sacrifice,When thou at last shalt come to Ithaca,A heifer without blemish, barren yet,In thine own courts, and heap the altar-pyreWith things of price; and to the seer alone,Tiresias, by himself, a ram whose fleeceIs wholly black, the best of all thy flocks.And after thou hast duly offered prayerTo all the illustrious nations of the dead,Then sacrifice a ram and a black ewe,Their faces turned toward Erebus, but thineThe other way and toward the river streams.Thither the souls of those who died will flockIn multitudes. Then call thy friends, and giveCommand to flay in haste the sheep that lieSlain by the cruel brass, and, burning thereThe carcasses, pay worship to the gods—The powerful Pluto and dread Proserpine.Draw then the sword upon thy thigh, and sit,And suffer none of all those airy formsTo touch the blood until thou first bespeakTiresias. He will come, and speedily—The leader of the people—and will tellWhat voyage thou must make, what length of wayThou yet must measure, and will show thee howThou mayst return across the fishy deep.’

“She spake; and while she spake the Morn looked forthUpon her golden throne. The Nymph bestowedOn me a cloak and tunic, and arrayedHerself in a white robe with ample folds—A delicate web and graceful. Round her loinsShe clasped a shining zone of gold, and hungA veil upon her forehead. Forth I wentThroughout the palace and aroused my friends,And thus I said in cheerful tones to each:—

“ ‘No longer give yourselves to idle restAnd pleasant slumber; we are to depart.The gracious Circè counsels us to go.’

“I spake, and easily their generous mindsInclined to me. Yet brought I not awayAll my companions safely from the isle.Elpenor was the youngest of our band,Not brave in war was he, nor wise in thought.He, overcome with wine, and for the sakeOf coolness, had lain down to sleep, apartFrom all the rest, in Circè’s sacred house;And as my friends bestirred themselves, the noiseAnd tumult roused him; he forgot to comeBy the long staircase; headlong from the roofHe plunged; his neck was broken at the spine,And his soul went to the abode of death.

“My friends came round me, and I said to them:—‘Haply your thought may be that you are boundFor the dear country of your birth; but knowThat Circè sends us elsewhere, to consultThe Theban seer, Tiresias, in the abodeOf Pluto and the dreaded Proserpine.’

“I spake, and their hearts failed them as they heard;They sat them down, and wept, and tore their hair,But fruitless were their sorrow and their tears.

“Thus as we sadly moved to our good shipUpon the seashore, weeping all the while,Circè, meantime, had visited its deck,And there had bound a ram and a black eweBy means we saw not; for what eye discernsThe presence of a deity, who movesFrom place to place, and wills not to be seen?”