And Jove sends show’rs for all. No councils there, Nor councillors, nor laws; but all men bear Their heads aloft on mountains, and those steep, And on their tops too; and their houses keep In vaulty caves, their households govern’d all By each man’s law, impos’d in several, Nor wife, nor child awed, but as he thinks good, None for another caring. But there stood Another little isle, well stor’d with wood, Betwixt this and the entry; neither nigh The Cyclops’ isle, nor yet far off doth lie, Men’s want it suffer’d, but the men’s supplies The goats made with their inarticulate cries. Goats beyond number this small island breeds, So tame, that no access disturbs their feeds, No hunters, that the tops of mountains scale, And rub through woods with toil, seek them at all. Nor is the soil with flocks fed down, not plow’d, Nor ever in it any seed was sow’d. Nor place the neighbour Cyclops their delights In brave vermilion-prow-deck’d ships; nor wrights Useful, and skilful in such works as need Perfection to those traffics that exceed Their natural confines, to fly out and see Cities of men, and take in mutually The prease of others; to themselves they live, And to their island that enough would give A good inhabitant; and time of year Observe to all things art could order there. There, close upon the sea, sweet meadows spring; That yet of fresh streams want no watering To their soft burthens, but of special yield. Your vines would be there; and your common field But gentle work make for your plow, yet bear A lofty harvest when you came to shear; For passing fat the soil is. In it lies A harbour so oppórtune, that no ties, Halsers, or gables need, nor anchors cast. Whom storms put in there are with stay embrac’d,[6] Or to their full wills safe, or winds aspire To pilots’ uses their more quick desire. At entry of the haven, a silver ford Is from a rock-impressing fountain pour’d, All set with sable poplars. And this port Were we arriv’d at, by the sweet resort Of some God guiding us, for ’twas a night So ghastly dark all port was past our sight, Clouds hid our ships, and would not let the moon Afford a beam to us, the whole isle won By not an eye of ours. None thought the blore, That then was up, shov’d waves’ against the shore, That then to an unmeasur’d height put on; We still at sea esteem’d us, till alone Our fleet put in itself. And then were strook Our gather’d sails; our rest ashore we took, And day expected. When the morn gave fire, We rose, and walk’d, and did the isle admire; The Nymphs, Jove’s daughters, putting up a herd Of mountain goats to us, to render cheer’d My fellow soldiers. To our fleet we flew, Our crooked bows took, long-pil’d darts, and drew Ourselves in three parts out; when, by the grace That God vouchsaf’d, we made a gainful chace. Twelve ships we had, and ev’ry ship had nine Fat goats allotted [it], ten only mine. Thus all that day, ev’n till the sun was set, We sat and feasted, pleasant wine and meat