Of day-spring, now arose, when at the isle 110 (Her voyage soon perform'd) the bark arrived. There is a port sacred in Ithaca To Phorcys, hoary ancient of the Deep, Form'd by converging shores, prominent both And both abrupt, which from the spacious bay Exclude all boist'rous winds; within it, ships (The port once gain'd) uncabled ride secure. An olive, at the haven's head, expands Her branches wide, near to a pleasant cave Umbrageous, to the nymphs devoted named 120 The Naiads. In that cave beakers of stone And jars are seen; bees lodge their honey there; And there, on slender spindles of the rock The nymphs of rivers weave their wond'rous robes. Perennial springs water it, and it shows A twofold entrance; ingress one affords To mortal man, which Northward looks direct, But holier is the Southern far; by that No mortal enters, but the Gods alone. Familiar with that port before, they push'd 130 The vessel in; she, rapid, plow'd the sands With half her keel, such rowers urged her on. Descending from the well-bench'd bark ashore, They lifted forth Ulysses first, with all His splendid couch complete, then, lay'd him down Still wrapt in balmy slumber on the sands. His treasures, next, by the Phæacian Chiefs At his departure given him as the meed Due to his wisdom, at the olive's foot They heap'd, without the road, lest, while he slept 140 Some passing traveller should rifle them. Then homeward thence they sped. Nor Ocean's God His threats forgot denounced against divine Ulysses, but with Jove thus first advised. Eternal Sire! I shall no longer share Respect and reverence among the Gods, Since, now, Phæacia's mortal race have ceas'd To honour me, though from myself derived. It was my purpose, that by many an ill Harass'd, Ulysses should have reach'd his home, 150 Although to intercept him, whose return Thyself had promis'd, ne'er was my intent. But him fast-sleeping swiftly o'er the waves They have conducted, and have set him down In Ithaca, with countless gifts enrich'd, With brass, and tissued raiment, and with gold; Much treasure! more than he had home convey'd Even had he arrived with all his share Allotted to him of the spoils of Troy. To whom the cloud-assembler God replied. 160 What hast thou spoken, Shaker of the shores, Wide-ruling Neptune? Fear not; thee the Gods Will ne'er despise; dangerous were the deed To cast dishonour on a God by birth More ancient, and more potent far than they. But if, profanely rash, a mortal man Should dare to slight thee, to avenge the wrong Some future day is ever in thy pow'r. Accomplish all thy pleasure, thou art free.