“‘Friend,’ said he, taking me by the hand, why art thou wandering alone among these wild hills? Dost thou know what awaits thee? Thy friends are shut up in Circe’s pens transformed into swine. Dost intend to release them? Poor man, thou wilt scarcely succeed. I fear she will but pen thee up with the rest.’ I did not know what to answer, and could only gaze perplexed at the youthful god. “‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I wish thee well and I can help thee. Therefore let me warn thee to beware of Circe’s tricks. On thy arrival she will mix for thee a sweet wine with a certain poison which puts all who partake of it in her power. But here is the antidote. Pour it secretly into the wine before thou drinkest, and her herbs cannot harm thee. When thou hast partaken of the mixture she will touch thee with her magic wand in the vain endeavor to transform thee. Take advantage of this moment to overcome her. Fall upon her with drawn sword as though thou wouldst pierce her, and thou shalt see her supplicating for mercy at thy feet. Grant what she asks, but let her swear a solemn oath that she will not further harm thee. Then she shall be appeased, and by degrees, in confidential talk, thou shalt persuade her to release thy friends also.’ “The god gave me the wholesome herb, then hastened back to high Olympus. I gazed gratefully after him, carefully stowed away his gift, and committed his advice to memory. Deep in thought I suddenly found myself at Circe’s dwelling and heard the heavenly singing. I called, and the goddess immediately appeared. She led me to the silver-mounted seat and went to prepare the wine in which she mixed her magic herbs. As soon as she handed me the cup, I quickly poured Hermes’ antidote into it, and drank off the potion without fear. “At once she pointed the magic wand at my head saying: ‘Now, my little beast, follow thy friends into the pig-pen.’ I pushed back my chair, sprang from behind the table, and fell upon the false one with drawn sword. She shrieked and threw herself upon the ground to clasp my knees. ‘Who art thou and whence comest thou who art the first to withstand my magic? Never has a mortal resisted its power. Art thou perhaps the crafty Ulysses who, Hermes once told me, should visit me on his long wanderings and set at naught my sorcery? But look not so fiercely upon me. Put up thy sword. Sit down peaceably beside me that we may hold friendly converse.’ “‘O goddess,’ I answered, ‘how can I trust one who has robbed me of my friends? I know not what schemes thou entertainest against me. If I am to trust thee, swear to me the great oath of the gods that thou wilt not practise thine arts against me, sleeping nor waking.’