A never-fell’d grove find, that poplars crown, To Pallas sacred, where a fountain flows, And round about the grove a meadow grows, In which my father holds a manor-house, Deck’d all with orchards, green, and odorous, As far from town as one may hear a shout. There stay, and rest your foot-pains, till full out We reach the city; where, when you may guess We are arriv’d, and enter our access Within my father’s court, then put you on For our Phæacian state, where, to be shown My father’s house, desire. Each infant there Can bring you to it; and yourself will clear Distinguish it from others, for no shows The city-buildings make compar’d with those That king Alcinous’ seat doth celebrate. In whose roofs, and the court (where men of state, And suitors sit and stay) when you shall hide, Straight pass it, ent’ring further, where abide My mother, with her withdrawn housewif’ries, Who still sits in the fire-shine, and applies Her rock, all-purple, and of pompous show, Her chair plac’d ’gainst a pillar, all-a-row Her maids behind her set; and to her here My father’s dining-throne looks, seated where He pours his choice of wine in, like a God. This view once past, for th’ end of your abode, Address suit to my mother, that her mean May make the day of your redition seen, And you may frolic straight, though far away You are in distance from your wishéd stay. For, if she once be won to wish you well, Your hope may instantly your passport seal, And thenceforth sure abide to see your friends, Fair house, and all to which your heart contends.” This said, she us’d her shining scourge, and lash’d Her mules, that soon the shore left where she wash’d, And, knowing well the way, their pace was fleet, And thick they gather’d up their nimble feet. Which yet she temper’d so, and us’d her scourge[10] With so much skill, as not to over-urge The foot behind, and make them straggle so From close society. Firm together go Ulysses and her maids. And now the sun Sunk to the waters, when they all had won The never-fell’d, and sound-exciting, wood, Sacred to Pallas; where the god-like good Ulysses rested, and to Pallas pray’d: “Hear me, of goat-kept Jove th’ unconquer’d Maid![11] Now throughly hear me, since, in all the time Of all my wrack, my pray’rs could never climb Thy far-off ears; when noiseful Neptune toss’d Upon his wat’ry bristles my emboss’d And rock-torn body. Hear yet now, and deign I may of the Phæacian state obtain Pity, and grace.” Thus pray’d he, and she heard, By no means yet, expos’d to sight, appear’d, For fear t’ offend her uncle, the supreme Of all the Sea-Gods, whose wrath still extreme Stood to Ulysses; and would never cease, Till with his country shore he crown’d his peace. FINIS LIBRI SEXTI HOM. ODYSS. [1] _ϒπνῳ καἱ καμἀτῳ ἁρημένος. Sonno et labore afflictus._ Sleep (_καταχρηστικω̑ς_) for the want of sleep. [2] Intending Dymas’ daughter.