With the refreshing sweetness; and, for that, Men sometimes may be something delicate. Bath’d, and adorn’d, she led me to a throne Of massy silver, and of fashión Exceeding curious. A fair foot-stool set, Water appos’d, and ev’ry sort of meat Set on th’ elaborately-polish’d board, She wish’d my taste employ’d; but not a word Would my ears taste of taste; my mind had food That must digest; eye-meat would do me good. Circe (observing that I put no hand To any banquet, having countermand From weightier cares the light cates could excuse) Bowing her near me, these wing’d words did use; ‘Why sits Ulysses like one dumb, his mind Less’ning with languors? Nor to food inclin’d, Nor wine? Whence comes it? Out of any fear Of more illusion? You must needs forbear That wrongful doubt, since you have heard me swear.’ ‘O Circe!’ I replied, ‘what man is he, Aw’d with the rights of true humanity, That dares taste food or wine, before he sees His friends redeem’d from their deformities? If you be gentle, and indeed incline To let me taste the comfort of your wine, Dissolve the charms that their forc’d forms enchain, And show me here my honour’d friends like men.’ This said, she left her throne, and took her rod, Went to her stye, and let my men abroad, Like swine of nine years old. They opposite stood, Observ’d their brutish form, and look’d for food; When, with another med’cine, ev’ry one All over smear’d, their bristles all were gone, Produc’d by malice of the other bane, And ev’ry one, afresh, look’d up a man, Both younger than they were, of stature more, And all their forms much goodlier than before. All knew me, cling’d about me, and a cry Of pleasing mourning flew about so high The horrid roof resounded; and the queen Herself was mov’d to see our kind so keen, Who bad me now bring ship and men ashore, Our arms, and goods in caves hid, and restore Myself to her, with all my other men. I granted, went, and op’d the weeping vein In all my men; whose violent joy to see My safe return was passing kindly free Of friendly tears, and miserably wept. You have not seen young heifers (highly kept, Fill’d full of daisies at the field, and driv’n Home to their hovels, all so spritely giv’n That no room can contain them, but about Bace by the dams, and let their spirits out In ceaseless bleating) of more jocund plight Than my kind friends, ev’n crying out with sight Of my return so doubted; circled me With all their welcomes, and as cheerfully Dispos’d their rapt minds, as if there they saw Their natural country, cliffy Ithaca, And ev’n the roofs where they were bred and born, And vow’d as much, with tears; ‘O your return As much delights us as in you had come Our country to us, and our natural home. But what unhappy fate hath reft our friends?’ I gave unlook’d-for answer, that amends Made for their mourning, bad them first of all Our ship ashore draw, then in caverns stall Our foody cattle, hide our mutual prize, ῾And then,᾿ said I, ῾attend me, that your eyes,