If any one supposes that the noxious herbs of the Hæmonian lands and magic arts can be of avail, let him see to it. That is the old-fashioned method of sorcery; my Apollo, in his hallowed lines, is pointing out an innoxious art. Under my guidance, no ghost shall be summoned to come forth [1222] from the tomb; no hag with her disgusting spells shall cleave the ground. No crops of corn shall remove from one field into another; nor shall the disk of Phoebus suddenly be pale. Tiberinus [1223] shall flow into the waves of the ocean just as he is wont; just as she is wont, shall the Moon be borne by her snow-White steeds. No breasts shall lay aside their cares dispelled by enchantments; vanquished by virgin sulphur, [1224] love shall not take to flight. Colchian damsel, what did the herbs of the Phasian land avail thee, when thou didst desire to remain in thy native home? Of what use, Circe, were the herbs of thy mother Persia to thee, when the favouring breeze bore away the barks of Neritos? [1225] Every thing didst thou do that thy crafty guest might not depart; still did he give his filled sails to an assured flight.. Every thing didst thou do that the fierce flames might not consume thee; still a lasting passion settled deep in thy reluctant breast. Thou, who wast able to change men into a thousand shapes, wast not able to change the bent of thy own inclination. Thou art said to have detained the Lulicillan chief, [1226] when now he wished to depart, even in these words: "I do not now entreat that which, as I remember, I was at first wont to hope for, that thou shouldst consent to be my husband. And still, I did seem worthy to be thy wife, since I was a Goddess, since I was the daughter of the Sun. Hasten not away, I entreat thee; a little delay, as a favour, do I ask. What less can he prayed for by my entreaties? Thou seest, too, that the seas are troubled; and of them thou oughtst to stand in dread. Before long, the winds will be more favourable to thy sails. What is the cause of thy flight? No Troy is rising here anew; no fresh Rhesus is calling his companions to arms. Here love abides, here peace exists; during which I alone am fatally wounded; the whole, too, of my realms shall be under thy sway." She thus spoke; Ulysses unmoored his bark; the South winds bore away her unavailing words together with his sails. Circe was inflamed, and had recourse to her wonted arts; and still by them her passion was not diminished.