_Ul._ Answer me.—Say, what shore Is this I stand on, which is hidden from me By so thick mist: whether they promised true Who brought me hither, and it be indeed 100 Ithaca, or whether, as I rather fear, Some other land, to which my fated curse Hales me, or ever I may see my own? _Ath._ ’Tis Ithaca. _Ul._ I pray thee by my longing For that dear boon, goddess, deceive me not. _Ath._ Thou dost not yet believe; but if I show thee Thy very Ithaca, wilt thou believe? Turn now and set thy back against the noise Of the stilly-moaning surge and look inland. _Ul._ Nought. 110 _Ath._ Look! _Ul._ I see nought. ’Tis a thicker mist Than ever in my own cloud-gathering isle Clung to the frowning cliffs, when the warm south Beat up the vapours from the seas at morn. _Ath._ Look. _Ul._ Now it brightens somewhat, or mine eye Wearies with vainly poring on the dark. _Ath._ Look. _Ul._ Ay, the vapours lift, the highlands loom, The air obeys thee: thro’ its thinning veils The figure of some mountain jags the sky; And those should be my hills: ’tis Neritos, ’Tis Ithaca indeed. _Ath._ ’Tis Ithaca. 120 _Ul._ O Blessed Light, that unto all men’s eyes Shewest the lands and waters: that uprisest Day after day upon the windy seas And fertile plains, valleys and lovely hills, Rivers and shores, and heights and peopled towns; Now in all Greece is no tongue praiseth thee As mine, nor heart thanketh; nor any eye Rejoicest thou as mine. _Ath._ Turn now to left. There is the haven of Phorcys, here the tree, Thy well-remembered olive; and to right 130 The rock-roofed cave, where thou so oft hast done Sweet sacrifice unto the native Nymphs. _Ul._ Soil of my dear-desirèd fatherland, For warrant that I dream not, take this kiss; My home! And ye, dear sisters of the spring, I raise my hands to you, whom nevermore I looked to greet; but now, children of heaven, As once of old I praise you, and henceforth Will pay with loving vows, if your fair queen But grant me life, and comfort in my son. 140 _Ath._ Now thou believest. _Ul._ See, there be the firs, Which eastward of my house bar the red dawn With black, and in their feathery tops at night Sigh to the moon. Ay, and my house I see Unchanged. ’Tis Ithaca. _Ath._ Wilt thou not go Now to thy home, and with the sweet surprise Of thy desired return gladden thy wife, And greet thy son, a man, whom thou didst leave In cradle? See, I here will guard thy goods. Thou wouldst be gone.