Borne toward the rock, He clutched it instantly, with both his hands, And panting clung till that huge wave rolled by, And so escaped its fury. But it came, And smote him once again, and flung him far Seaward. As to the claws of polypus, Plucked from its bed, the pebbles thickly cling, So flakes of skin, from off his powerful hands, Were left upon the rock. The mighty surge O'erwhelmed him; he had perished ere his time, Hapless Ulysses, but the blue-eyed maid, Pallas, informed his mind with forecast. Straight Emerging from the wave that shoreward rolled, He swam along the coast and eyed it well, In hope of sloping beach or sheltered creek. But when, in swimming, he had reached the mouth Of a soft-flowing river, here appeared The spot he wished for, smooth, without a rock, And here was shelter from the wind. He felt The current's flow, and thus devoutly prayed: "Hear me, oh sovereign power, whoe'er thou art! To thee, the long-desired, I come. I seek Escape from Neptune's threatenings on the sea. The deathless gods respect the prayer of him Who looks to them for help, a fugitive, As I am now, when to thy stream I come, And to thy knees, from many a hardship past, Oh thou that here art ruler, I declare Myself thy suppliant; be thou merciful." He spoke; the river stayed his current, checked The billows, smoothed them, to a calm, and gave The swimmer a safe landing at his mouth. Then dropped his knees and sinewy arms, at once Unstrung, for faint with struggling was his heart. His body was all swoln; the brine gushed forth From mouth and nostrils; all unnerved he lay, Breathless and speechless; utter weariness O'ermastered him. But when he breathed again, And his flown senses had returned, he loosed The veil that Ino gave him from his breast, And to the salt flood cast it. A great wave Bore it far down the stream; the goddess there In her own hands received it. He, meanwhile, Withdrawing from the brink, lay down among The reeds, and kissed the harvest-bearing earth, And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said: "Ah me! what must I suffer more! what yet Will happen to me? If, by the river's side, I pass the unfriendly watches of the night, The cruel cold and dews that steep the bank May, in this weakness, end me utterly, For chilly blows the river-air at dawn. But should I climb this hill, to sleep within The shadowy wood, among their shrubs, if cold And weariness allow me, then I fear, That, while the pleasant slumbers o'er me steal, I may become the prey of savage beasts." Yet, as he longer pondered, this seemed best. He rose and sought the wood, and found it near The water, on a height, o'erlooking far The region round. Between two shrubs, that sprung Both from one spot, he entered--olive-trees, One wild, one fruitful. The damp-blowing wind Ne'er pierced their covert; never blazing sun