In Circe’s sacred house, may see each friend Eating and drinking banquets out of end.᾿ They soon obey’d; all but Eurylochus, Who needs would stay them all, and counsell’d thus: ῾O wretches! whither will ye? Why are you Fond of your mischiefs, and such gladness show For Circe’s house, that will transform ye all To swine, or wolves, or lions? Never shall Our heads get out, if once within we be, But stay compell’d by strong necessity. So wrought the Cyclop, when t’ his cave our friends This bold one led on, and brought all their ends By his one indiscretion.᾿ I for this Thought with my sword (that desp’rate head of his Hewn from his neck) to gash upon the ground His mangled body, though my blood was bound In near alliance to him. But the rest With humble suit contain’d me, and request, That I would leave him with my ship alone, And to the sacred palace lead them on. I led them; nor Eurylochus would stay From their attendance on me, our late fray Struck to his heart so. But mean time, my men, In Circe’s house, were all, in sev’ral bain, Studiously sweeten’d, smug’d with oil, and deck’d With in and out weeds, and a feast secret Serv’d in before them; at which close we found They all were set, cheer’d, and carousing round, When mutual sight had, and all thought on, then Feast was forgotten, and the moan again[12] About the house flew, driv’n with wings of joy. But then spake Circe: ‘Now, no more annoy, I know myself what woes by sea, and shore, And men unjust have plagued enough before Your injur’d virtues. Here then feast as long, And be as cheerful, till ye grow as strong As when ye first forsook your country-earth. Ye now fare all like exiles; not a mirth, Flash’d in amongst ye, but is quench’d again With still-renew’d tears, though the beaten vein Of your distresses should, me think, be now Benumb with suff’rance.’ We did well allow Her kind persuasions, and the whole year stay’d In varied feast with her. When, now array’d The world was with the spring, and orby hours Had gone the round again through herbs and flow’rs, The months absolv’d in order, till the days Had run their full race in Apollo’s rays; My friends remember’d me of home, and said; If ever fate would sign my pass, delay’d It should be now no more. I heard them well, Yet that day spent in feast, till darkness fell, And sleep his virtues through our vapours shed. When I ascended sacred Circe’s bed, Implor’d my pass, and her performéd vow Which now my soul urg’d, and my soldiers now Afflicted me with tears to get them gone. All these I told her, and she answer’d these: “Much-skill’d Ulysses Laertiades! Remain no more against your wills with me, But take your free way; only this must be Perform’d before you steer your course for home: You must the way to Pluto overcome, And stern Persephoné, to form your pass, By th’ aged Theban soul Tiresias, The dark-brow’d prophet, whose soul yet can see Clearly, and firmly; grave Persephoné, Ev’n dead, gave him a mind, that he alone