Through those thick woods you saw; when a descent Show’d us a fair house, in a lightsome ground, Where, at some work, we heard a heav’nly sound Breath’d from a Goddess’, or a woman’s, breast. They knock’d, she op’d her bright gates; each her guest Her fair invitement made; nor would they stay, Fools that they were, when she once led the way. I enter’d not, suspecting some deceit. When all together vanish’d, nor the sight Of anyone (though long I look’d) mine eye Could any way discover.’ Instantly, My sword and bow reach’d, I bad show the place, When down he fell, did both my knees embrace, And pray’d with tears thus: ‘O thou kept of God, Do not thyself lose, nor to that abode Lead others rashly; both thyself, and all Thou ventur’st thither, I know well, must fall In one sure ruin. With these few then fly; We yet may shun the others’ destiny.’ I answer’d him: ‘Eurylochus! Stay thou, And keep the ship then, eat and drink; I now Will undertake th’ adventure; there is cause In great Necessity’s unalter’d laws.’ This said, I left both ship and seas, and on Along the sacred valleys all alone Went in discov’ry, till at last I came Where of the main-med’cine-making Dame I saw the great house; where encounter’d me The golden-rod-sustaining Mercury, Ev’n ent’ring Circe’s doors. He met me in A young man’s likeness, of the first-flow’r’d chin, Whose form hath all the grace of one so young. He first call’d to me, then my hand he wrung, And said: ‘Thou no-place-finding-for-repose, Whither, alone, by these hill-confines, goes Thy erring foot? Th’ art ent’ring Circe’s house, Where, by her med’cines, black, and sorcerous, Thy soldiers all are shut in well-arm’d styes, And turn’d to swine. Art thou arriv’d with prize Fit for their ransoms? Thou com’st out no more, If once thou ent’rest, like thy men before Made to remain here. But I’ll guard thee free, And save thee in her spite. Receive of me This fair and good receipt; with which once arm’d, Enter her roofs, for th’ art to all proof charm’d Against the ill day. I will tell thee all Her baneful counsel: With a festival She’ll first receive thee, but will spice thy bread With flow’ry poisons; yet unalteréd Shall thy firm form be, for this remedy Stands most approv’d ’gainst all her sorcery, Which thus particularly shun: When she Shall with her long rod strike thee, instantly Draw from thy thigh thy sword, and fly on her As to her slaughter. She, surpris’d with fear And love, at first, will bid thee to her bed. Nor say the Goddess nay, that welcoméd Thou may’st with all respect be, and procure Thy fellows’ freedoms. But before, make sure Her favours to thee; and the great oath take With which the blesséd Gods assurance make Of all they promise; that no prejudice (By stripping thee of form, and faculties) She may so much as once attempt on thee.’ This said, he gave his antidote to me, Which from the earth he pluck’d, and told me all The virtue of it, with what Deities call