Thus spoke the prince; the attending peers obey; In state they move; Alcinous heads the way Swift to Demodocus the herald flies, At once the sailors to their charge arise; They launch the vessel, and unfurl the sails, And stretch the swelling canvas to the gales; Then to the palace move: a gathering throng, Youth, and white age, tumultuous pour along. Now all accesses to the dome are fill’d; Eight boars, the choicest of the herd, are kill’d; Two beeves, twelve fatlings, from the flock they bring To crown the feast; so wills the bounteous king. The herald now arrives, and guides along The sacred master of celestial song; Dear to the Muse! who gave his days to flow With mighty blessings, mix’d with mighty woe; With clouds of darkness quench’d his visual ray, But gave him skill to raise the lofty lay. High on a radiant throne sublime in state, Encircled by huge multitudes, he sate; With silver shone the throne; his lyre, well strung To rapturous sounds, at hand Poutonous hung. Before his seat a polish’d table shines, And a full goblet foams with generous wines; His food a herald bore; and now they fed; And now the rage of craving hunger fled. Then, fired by all the Muse, aloud he sings The mighty deeds of demigods and kings; From that fierce wrath the noble song arose, That made Ulysses and Achilles foes; How o’er the feast they doom the fall of Troy; The stern debate Atrides hears with joy; For Heaven foretold the contest, when he trod The marble threshold of the Delphic god, Curious to learn the counsels of the sky, Ere yet he loosed the rage of war on Troy. Touch’d at the song, Ulysses straight resign’d To soft affliction all his manly mind. Before his eyes the purple vest he drew, Industrious to conceal the falling dew; But when the music paused, he ceased to shed The flowing tear, and raised his drooping head; And, lifting to the gods a goblet crown’d, He pour’d a pure libation to the ground. Transported with the song, the listening train Again with loud applause demand the strain; Again Ulysses veil’d his pensive head. Again unmann’d, a shower of sorrows shed; Conceal’d he wept; the king observed alone The silent tear, and heard the secret groan; Then to the bard aloud—“O cease to sing, Dumb be thy voice and mute the harmonious string; Enough the feast has pleased, enough the power Of heavenly song has crown’d the genial hour! Incessant in the games your strength display, Contest, ye brave the honours of the day! That pleased the admiring stranger may proclaim In distant regions the Phæacian fame: None wield the gauntlet with so dire a sway, Or swifter in the race devour the way; None in the leap spring with so strong a bound, Or firmer, in the wrestling, press the ground.” Thus spoke the king; the attending peers obey; In state they move, Alcinous lends the way; His golden lyre Demodocus unstrung, High on a column in the palace hung; And guided by a herald’s guardian cares, Majestic to the lists of Fame repairs.