“Our ship now past the straits of th’ ocean flood, She plow’d the broad sea’s billows, and made good The isle Ææa, where the palace stands Of th’ early riser with the rosy hands, Active Aurora, where she loves to dance, And where the Sun doth his prime beams advance. When here arriv’d, we drew her up to land, And trod ourselves the re-saluted sand, Found on the shore fit resting for the night, Slept, and expected the celestial light. Soon as the white-and-red-mix’d finger’d Dame Had gilt the mountains with her saffron flame, I sent my men to Circe’s house before, To fetch deceas’d Elpenor to the shore. Straight swell’d the high banks with fell’d heaps of trees, And, full of tears, we did due exsequies To our dead friend. Whose corse consum’d with fire, And honour’d arms, whose sepulchre entire, And over that a column rais’d, his oar, Curiously carv’d, to his desire before, Upon the top of all his tomb we fix’d. Of all rites fit his funeral pile was mix’d. Nor was our safe ascent from Hell conceal’d From Circe’s knowledge; nor so soon reveal’d But she was with us, with her bread and food, And ruddy wine, brought by her sacred brood Of woods and fountains. In the midst she stood, And thus saluted us; ‘Unhappy men, That have, inform’d with all your senses, been In Pluto’s dismal mansion! You shall die Twice now, where others, that Mortality In her fair arms holds, shall but once decease. But eat and drink out all conceit of these, And this day dedicate to food and wine, The following night to sleep. When next shall shine The cheerful morning, you shall prove the seas. Your way, and ev’ry act ye must address, My knowledge of their order shall design, Lest with your own bad counsels ye incline Events as bad against ye, and sustain, By sea and shore, the woful ends that reign In wilful actions.’ Thus did she advise And, for the time, our fortunes were so wise To follow wise directions. All that day We sat and feasted. When his lower way The Sun had entered, and the Even the high, My friends slept on their gables; she and I (Led by her fair hand to place apart, By her well-sorted) did to sleep convert Our timid pow’rs; when all things Fate let fall In our affair she ask’d; I told her all. To which she answer’d: ‘These things thus took end. And now to those that I inform attend, Which you rememb’ring, God himself shall be The blesséd author of your memory. First to the Sirens ye shall come, that taint The minds of all men whom they can acquaint With their attractions. Whosoever shall, For want of knowledge mov’d, but hear the call Of any Siren, he will so despise Both wife and children, for their sorceries, That never home turns his affection’s stream, Nor they take joy in him, nor he in them. The Sirens will so soften with their song (Shrill, and in sensual appetite so strong) His loose affections, that he gives them head. And then observe: They sit amidst a mead, And round about it runs a hedge or wall