Then to her maids: “Why, why, ye coward train, These fears, this flight? ye fear, and fly in vain. Dread ye a foe? dismiss that idle dread, ’Tis death with hostile step these shores to tread; Safe in the love of heaven, an ocean flows Around our realm, a barrier from the foes; ’Tis ours this son of sorrow to relieve, Cheer the sad heart, nor let affliction grieve. By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent; And what to those we give to Jove is lent. Then food supply, and bathe his fainting limbs Where waving shades obscure the mazy streams.” Obedient to the call, the chief they guide To the calm current of the secret tide; Close by the stream a royal dress they lay, A vest and robe, with rich embroidery gay; Then unguents in a vase of gold supply, That breathed a fragrance through the balmy sky. To them the king: “No longer I detain Your friendly care: retire, ye virgin train! Retire, while from my wearied limbs I lave The foul pollution of the briny wave. Ye gods! since this worn frame refection knew, What scenes have I surveyed of dreadful view! But, nymphs, recede! sage chastity denies To raise the blush, or pain the modest eyes.” The nymphs withdrawn, at once into the tide Active he bounds; the flashing waves divide O’er all his limbs his hands the waves diffuse, And from his locks compress the weedy ooze; The balmy oil, a fragrant shower, be sheds; Then, dressed, in pomp magnificently treads. The warrior-goddess gives his frame to shine With majesty enlarged, and air divine: Back from his brows a length of hair unfurls, His hyacinthine locks descend in wavy curls. As by some artist, to whom Vulcan gives His skill divine, a breathing statue lives; By Pallas taught, he frames the wondrous mould, And o’er the silver pours the fusile gold So Pallas his heroic frame improves With heavenly bloom, and like a god he moves. A fragrance breathes around; majestic grace Attends his steps: the astonished virgins gaze. Soft he reclines along the murmuring seas, Inhaling freshness from the fanning breeze. The wondering nymph his glorious port survey’d, And to her damsels, with amazement, said: “Not without care divine the stranger treads This land of joy; his steps some godhead leads: Would Jove destroy him, sure he had been driven Far from this realm, the favourite isle of heaven. Late, a sad spectacle of woe, he trod The desert sands, and now he looks a god. Oh heaven! in my connubial hour decree This man my spouse, or such a spouse as he! But haste, the viands and the bowl provide.” The maids the viands and the bowl supplied: Eager he fed, for keen his hunger raged, And with the generous vintage thirst assuaged. Now on return her care Nausicaa bends, The robes resumes, the glittering car ascends, Far blooming o’er the field; and as she press’d The splendid seat, the listening chief address’d: