But when nor hunger now nor thirst remain'd Unsated, recollecting, then, their friends 360 By Scylla seized and at her cave devour'd, They mourn'd, nor ceased to mourn them, till they slept. The night's third portion come, when now the stars Had travers'd the mid-sky, cloud-gath'rer Jove Call'd forth a vehement wind with tempest charged, Menacing earth and sea with pitchy clouds Tremendous, and the night fell dark from heav'n. But when Aurora, daughter of the day, Look'd rosy forth, we haled, drawn inland more, Our bark into a grot, where nymphs were wont 370 Graceful to tread the dance, or to repose. Convening there my friends, I thus began. My friends! food fails us not, but bread is yet And wine on board. Abstain we from the herds, Lest harm ensue; for ye behold the flocks And herds of a most potent God, the Sun! Whose eye and watchful ear none may elude. So saying, I sway'd the gen'rous minds of all. A month complete the South wind ceaseless blew, Nor other wind blew next, save East and South, 380 Yet they, while neither food nor rosy wine Fail'd them, the herds harm'd not, through fear to die. But, our provisions failing, they employed Whole days in search of food, snaring with hooks Birds, fishes, of what kind soe'er they might. By famine urged. I solitary roam'd Meantime the isle, seeking by pray'r to move Some God to shew us a deliv'rance thence. When, roving thus the isle, I had at length Left all my crew remote, laving my hands 390 Where shelter warm I found from the rude blast, I supplicated ev'ry Pow'r above; But they my pray'rs answer'd with slumbers soft Shed o'er my eyes, and with pernicious art Eurylochus, the while, my friends harangued. My friends! afflicted as ye are, yet hear A fellow-suff'rer. Death, however caused, Abhorrence moves in miserable man, But death by famine is a fate of all Most to be fear'd. Come--let us hither drive 400 And sacrifice to the Immortal Pow'rs The best of all the oxen of the Sun, Resolving thus--that soon as we shall reach Our native Ithaca, we will erect To bright Hyperion an illustrious fane, Which with magnificent and num'rous gifts We will enrich. But should he chuse to sink Our vessel, for his stately beeves incensed, And should, with him, all heav'n conspire our death, I rather had with open mouth, at once, 410 Meeting the billows, perish, than by slow And pining waste here in this desert isle. So spake Eurylochus, whom all approved. Then, driving all the fattest of the herd Few paces only, (for the sacred beeves Grazed rarely distant from the bark) they stood Compassing them around, and, grasping each