The Odyssey. Homer

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       In honour's limits; such the power of song.

       But when the gods these objects of their hate

       Dragg'd to the destruction by the links of fate;

       The bard they banish'd from his native soil,

       And left all helpless in a desert isle;

       There he, the sweetest of the sacred train,

       Sung dying to the rocks, but sung in vain.

       Then virtue was no more; her guard away,

       She fell, to lust a voluntary prey.

       Even to the temple stalk'd the adulterous spouse,

       With impious thanks, and mockery of the vows,

       With images, with garments, and with gold;

       And odorous fumes from loaded altars roll'd.

       "Meantime from flaming Troy we cut the way

       With Menelaus, through the curling sea.

       But when to Sunium's sacred point we came,

       Crown'd with the temple of the Athenian dame;

       Atride's pilot, Phrontes, there expired

       (Phrontes, of all the songs of men admired

       To steer the bounding bark with steady toil,

       When the storm thickens, and the billows boil);

       While yet he exercised the steerman's art,

       Apollo touch'd him with his gentle dart;

       Even with the rudder in his hand, he fell.

       To pay whole honours to the shades of hell,

       We check'd our haste, by pious office bound,

       And laid our old companion in the ground.

       And now the rites discharged, our course we keep

       Far on the gloomy bosom of the deep:

       Soon as Malae's misty tops arise,

       Sudden the Thunderer blackens all the skies,

       And the winds whistle, and the surges roll

       Mountains on mountains, and obscure the pole.

       The tempest scatters, and divides our fleet;

       Part, the storm urges on the coast of Crete,

       Where winding round the rich Cydonian plain,

       The streams of Jardan issue to the main.

       There stands a rock, high, eminent and steep,

       Whose shaggy brow o'erhangs the shady deep,

       And views Gortyna on the western side;

       On this rough Auster drove the impetuous tide:

       With broken force the billows roll'd away,

       And heaved the fleet into the neighb'ring bay.

       Thus saved from death, the gain'd the Phaestan shores,

       With shatter'd vessels and disabled oars;

       But five tall barks the winds and water toss'd,

       Far from their fellows, on the Aegyptian coast.

       There wander'd Menelaus through foreign shores

       Amassing gold, and gathering naval stores;

       While cursed Aegysthus the detested deed

       By fraud fulfilled, and his great brother bled.

       Seven years, the traitor rich Mycenae sway'd,

       And his stern rule the groaning land obey'd;

       The eighth, from Athens to his realm restored,

       Orestes brandish'd the avenging sword,

       Slew the dire pair, and gave to funeral flame

       The vile assassin and adulterous dame.

       That day, ere yet the bloody triumphs cease,

       Return'd Atrides to the coast of Greece,

       And safe to Argos port his navy brought,

       With gifts of price and ponderous treasure fraught.

       Hence warn'd, my son, beware! nor idly stand

       Too long a stranger to thy native land;

       Lest heedless absence wear thy wealth away,

       While lawless feasters in thy palace away;

       Perhaps may seize thy realm, and share the spoil;

       And though return, with disappointed toil,

       From thy vain journey, to a rifled isle.

       However, my friend, indulge one labour more,

       And seek Atrides on the Spartan shore.

       He, wandering long a wider circle made,

       And many-languaged nations has survey'd:

       And measured tracks unknown to other ships,

       Amid the monstrous wonders of the deeps,

       (A length of ocean and unbounded sky.

       Which scarce the sea-fowl in a year o'erfly);

       Go then; to Sparta take the watery way,

       Thy ship and sailors but for orders stay;

       Or, if my land then choose thy course to bend,

       My steeds, my chariots, and my songs, attend;

       Thee to Atrides they shall safe convey,

       Guides of thy road, companions of thy way.

       Urge him with truth to frame his wise replies,

       And sure he will; for Menelaus is wise."

       Thus while he speaks the ruddy sun descends,

       And twilight grey her evening shade extends.

       Then thus the blue-eyed maid: "O full of days!

       Wise are thy words, and just are all thy ways.

       Now immolate the tongues, and mix the wine,

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