The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems. Homer

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       ‭ He were as then, and with the Wooers coped,

       ‭ Short-liv’d they all were, and their nuptials hoped

       ‭ Would prove as desp’rate. But, for thy demand

       ‭ Enforc’d with pray’rs, I’ll let thee understand

       ‭ The truth directly, nor decline a thought,

       ‭ Much less deceive, or sooth thy search in ought;

       ‭ But what the old and still-true-spoken God,

       ‭ That from the sea breathes oracles abroad,

       ‭ Disclos’d to me, to thee I’ll all impart,

       ‭ Nor hide one word from thy sollicitous heart.

       ‭ I was in Ægypt, where a mighty time

       ‭ The Gods detain’d me, though my natural clime

       ‭ I never so desir’d, because their homes

       ‭ I did not greet with perfect hecatombs.

       ‭ For they will put men evermore in mind,

       ‭ How much their masterly commandments bind.

       ‭ There is, besides, a certain island, call’d

       ‭ Pharos, that with the high-wav’d sea is wall’d,

       ‭ Just against Ægypt, and so much remote,

       ‭ As in a whole day, with a fore-gale smote,

       ‭ A hollow ship can sail. And this isle bears

       ‭ A port most portly, where sea-passengers

       ‭ Put in still for fresh water, and away

       ‭ To sea again. Yet here the Gods did stay

       ‭ My fleet full twenty days; the winds, that are

       ‭ Masters at sea, no prosp’rous puff would spare

       ‭ To put us off; and all my victuals here

       ‭ Had quite corrupted, as my men’s minds were,

       ‭ Had not a certain Goddess giv’n regard,

       ‭ And pitied me in an estate so hard;

       ‭ And ’twas Idothea, honour’d Proteus’ seed,

       ‭ That old sea-farer. Her mind I make bleed

       ‭ With my compassion, when (walk’d all alone,

       ‭ From all my soldiers, that were ever gone

       ‭ About the isle on fishing with hooks bent;

       ‭ Hunger their bellies on her errand sent)

       ‭ She came close to me, spake, and thus began:

       ‭ ‘Of all men thou art the most foolish man!

       ‭ Or slack in business, or stay’st here of choice,

       ‭ And dost in all thy suff’rances rejoice,

       ‭ That thus long liv’st detain’d here, and no end

       ‭ Canst give thy tarriance? Thou dost much offend

       ‭ The minds of all thy fellows.’ I replied:

       ‭ ‘Whoever thou art of the Deified,

       ‭ I must affirm, that no way with my will

       ‭ I make abode here; but, it seems, some ill

       ‭ The Gods, inhabiting broad heav’n, sustain

       ‭ Against my getting off. Inform me then,

       ‭ For Godheads all things know, what God is he

       ‭ That stays my passage from the fishy sea?’

       ‭ ‘Stranger,’ said she, ‘I’ll tell thee true: There lives

       ‭ An old sea-farer in these seas, that gives

       ‭ A true solution of all secrets here,

       ‭ Who deathless Proteus is, th’ Ægyptian peer,

       ‭ Who can the deeps of all the seas exquire,

       ‭ Who Neptune’s priest is, and, they say, the sire

       ‭ That did beget me. Him, if any way

       ‭ Thou couldst inveigle, he would clear display

       ‭ Thy course from hence, and how far off doth lie

       ‭ Thy voyage’s whole scope through Neptune’s sky.

       ‭ Informing thee, O God-preserv’d, beside,

       ‭ If thy desires would so be satisfied,

       ‭ Whatever good or ill hath got event,

       ‭ In all the time thy long and hard course spent,

       ‭ Since thy departure from thy house.’ This said;

       ‭ Again I answer’d: ‘Make the sleights display’d

       ‭ Thy father useth, lest his foresight see,

       ‭ Or his foreknowledge taking note of me,

       ‭ He flies the fixt place of his us’d abode.

       ‭ ’Tis hard for man to countermine with God.’

       ‭ She straight replied: ‘I’ll utter truth in all:

       ‭ When heav’n’s supremest height the sun doth skall,

       ‭ The old Sea-tell-truth leaves the deeps, and hides

       ‭ Amidst a black storm, when the West Wind chides,

       ‭ In caves still sleeping. Round about him sleep

       ‭ (With short feet swimming forth the foamy deep)

       ‭ The sea-calves, lovely Halosydnes call’d,

       ‭ From whom a noisome odour is exhal’d,

       ‭ Got from the whirl-pools, on whose earth they lie.

       ‭ Here, when the morn illustrates all the sky,

       ‭ I’ll guide, and seat thee in the fittest place

       ‭ For the performance thou hast now in chace.

       ‭ In mean time, reach thy fleet, and choose out three

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