“From thence we climb’d a point, whose airy brow Commands the prospect of the plains below; No tracks of beasts, or signs of men, we found, But smoky volumes rolling from the ground. Two with our herald thither we command, With speed to learn what men possess’d the land. They went, and kept the wheel’s smooth-beaten road Which to the city drew the mountain wood; When lo! they met, beside a crystal spring, The daughter of Antiphates the king; She to Artacia’s silver streams came down; (Artacia’s streams alone supply the town); The damsel they approach, and ask’d what race The people were? who monarch of the place? With joy the maid the unwary strangers heard And show’d them where the royal dome appear’d. They went; but as they entering saw the queen Of size enormous, and terrific mien (Not yielding to some bulky mountain’s height), A sudden horror struck their aching sight. Swift at her call her husband scour’d away To wreak his hunger on the destined prey; One for his food the raging glutton slew, But two rush’d out, and to the navy flew. “Balk’d of his prey, the yelling monster flies, And fills the city with his hideous cries; A ghastly band of giants hear the roar, And, pouring down the mountains, crowd the shore. Fragments they rend from off the craggy brow And dash the ruins on the ships below; The crackling vessels burst; hoarse groans arise, And mingled horrors echo to the skies; The men like fish, they struck upon the flood, And cramm’d their filthy throats with human food. Whilst thus their fury rages at the bay, My sword our cables cut, I call’d to weigh; And charged my men, as they from fate would fly, Each nerve to strain, each bending oar to ply. The sailors catch the word, their oars they seize, And sweep with equal strokes the smoky seas; Clear of the rocks the impatient vessel flies; Whilst in the port each wretch encumber’d dies. With earnest haste my frighted sailors press, While kindling transports glow’d at our success; But the sad fate that did our friends destroy, Cool’d every breast, and damp’d the rising joy. “Now dropp’d our anchors in the Ææan bay, Where Circe dwelt, the daughter of the Day! Her mother Perse, of old Ocean’s strain, Thus from the Sun descended, and the Main (From the same lineage stern Aeaetes came, The far-famed brother of the enchantress dame); Goddess, the queen, to whom the powers belong Of dreadful magic and commanding song. Some god directing to this peaceful bay Silent we came, and melancholy lay, Spent and o’erwatch’d. Two days and nights roll’d on, And now the third succeeding morning shone. I climb’d a cliff, with spear and sword in hand, Whose ridge o’erlook’d a shady length of land; To learn if aught of mortal works appear, Or cheerful voice of mortal strike the ear? From the high point I mark’d, in distant view, A stream of curling smoke ascending blue, And spiry tops, the tufted trees above, Of Circe’s palace bosom’d in the grove.