O righteous gods! of all the great, how few
Are just to heaven, and to their promise true!
But he, the Power to whose all-seeing eyes
The deeds of men appear without disguise,
'Tis his alone t' avenge the wrongs I bear:
For still th' oppress'd are his peculiar care.
To count these presents, and from thence to prove
Their faith, is mine: the rest belongs to Jove.
Then on the sands he rang'd his wealthy store,
The gold, the vests, the tripods, number'd o'er:
All these he found, but still in error lost,
Disconsolate he wanders on the coast,
Sighs for his country, and laments again
To the deaf rocks, and hoarse resounding main.
When lo! the guardian goddess of the wise,
Celestial Pallas, stood before his eyes;
In show a youthful swain, of form divine,
Who seem'd descended from some princely line,
A graceful robe her slender body dress'd,
Around her shoulders flew the waving vest,
Her decent hand a shining javelin bore,
And painted sandals on her feet she wore.
To whom the king. Whoe'er of human race
Thou art, that wander'st in this desart place!
With joy to thee, as to some god, I bend,
To thee my treasures and myself commend.
O tell a wretch, in exile doom'd to stray,
What air I breathe, what country I survey?
The fruitful continent's extremest bound,
Or some fair isle which Neptune's arms surround?
From what fair clime (said she) remote from
fame,
Arriv'st thou here a stranger to our name? Thou seest an island, not to those unknown Whose hills are brighten❜d by the rising sun, Nor those that plac'd beneath his utmost reign, Behold him sinking in the western main.
The rugged soil allows no level space
For flying chariots, or the rapid race;
Yet not ungrateful to the peasant's pain,
Suffices fulness to the swelling grain:
The loaded trees their various fruits produce,
And clustering grapes afford a generous juice:-
Woods crown our mountains, and in every grove
The bounding goats and frisking heifers rove:
Soft rains and kindly dews refresh the field,
And rising springs eternal verdure yield.
E'en to those shores is Ithaca renown'd,
Where Troy's majestic ruins strow the ground.
At this the chief with transport was possess❜d,
His panting heart exulted in his breast;
Yet well dissembling his untimely joys,
And veiling truth in plausible disguise,
Thus, with an air sincere, in fiction bold,
His ready tale th' inventive hero told.
Oft have I heard in Crete, this island's name;
For 'twas from Crete my native soil I came,
Self-banish'd thence. I sail'd before the wind,
And left my children and my friends behind.
From fierce Idomeneus' revenge I flew,
Whose son, the swift Orsilochus, I slew:
(With brutal force he seiz'd my Trojan prey,
Due to the toils of many a bloody day)
Unseen I 'scaped; and favour'd by the night
In a Phoenician vessel took my flight,
For Pyle or Elis bound, but tempests toss'd
And raging billows drove us on your coast.
In dead of night an unknown port we gain'd,
Spent with fatigue, and slept secure on land.
But ere the rosy morn renew'd the day,
While in th' embrace of pleasing sleep I lay,
Sudden, invited by auspicious gales,
They land my goods, and hoist their flying sails.
Abandon'd here, my fortune I deplore,
A hapless exile on a foreign shore.
Thus while he spoke, the blue-ey'd maid began With pleasing smiles to view the god-like man: Then changed her form: and now divinely bright, Jove's heavenly daughter stood confess'd to sight. Like a fair virgin in her beauty's bloom, Skill'd in th' illustrious labours of the loom. O, still the same Ulysses! she rejoin'd, In useful craft successfully refin'd! Artful in speech, in action, and in mind! Suffic'd it not, that thy long labours past, Secure thou seest thy native shore at last? But this to me? who, like thyself, excel In arts of counsel, and dissembling well. To me, whose wit exceeds the powers divine, No less than mortals are surpass'd by thine. Know'st thou not me? who made thy life my care, Through ten years wandering, and through ten
Who taught thee arts, Alcinous to persuade,
To raise his wonder, and engage his aid:
And now appear, thy treasures to protect,
Conceal thy person, thy designs direct,
And tell what more thou must from fate expect:
Domestic woes far heavier to be borne!
The pride of fools, and slaves' insulting scorn.
But thou be silent, nor reveal thy state;
Yield to the force of unresisted fate,
And bear unmov'd the wrongs of base mankind,
The last, and hardest, conquest of the mind.
Goddess of wisdom! Ithacus replies,
He who discerns thee must be truly wise,
So seldom view'd, and ever in disguise!
When the bold Argives led their warring powers,
Against proud Ilion's well defended towers;
Ulysses was thy care, celestial maid;
Grac❜d with thy sight, and favour'd with thy aid. But when the Trojan piles in ashes lay,
And bound for Greece we plough'd the watery
Our fleet dispers'd and driven from coast to coast,
Thy sacred presence from that hour I lost:
Till I beheld thy radiant form once more,
And heard thy counsels on Phæacia's shore.
But, by th' almighty author of thy race,
Tell me, O tell, is this my native place?
For much I fear, long tracts of land and sea
Divide this coast from distant Ithaca;
The sweet delusion kindly you impose,
To soothe my hopes, and mitigate my woes.
Thus he. The blue-ey'd goddess thus replies:
How prone to doubt, how cautious are the wise!
Who, vers'd in fortune, fear the flattering show,
And taste not half the bliss the gods bestow.
The more shall Pallas aid thy just desires,
And guard the wisdom which herself inspires.
Others, long absent from their native place,
Straight seek their home, and fly with eager pace
To their wives' arms, and children's dear embrace.
Not thus Ulysses: he decrees to prove
His subjects' faith, and queen's suspected love;
Who mourn'd her lord twice ten revolving years,
And wastes the days in grief, the night in tears.
But Pallas knew (thy friends and navy lost,)
Once more 'twas given thee to behold thy coast:
Yet how could I with adverse fate engage,
And mighty Neptune's unrelenting rage?
Now lift thy longing eyes, while I restore
The pleasing prospect of thy native shore.
Behold the port of Phorcys! fenc'd around
ith rocky mountains, and with olives crown'd.
Behold the gloomy grot! whose cool recess
Delights the Nereids of the neighbouring seas:
Whose now-neglected altars, in thy reign,
Blush'd with the blood of sheep and oxen slain.
Behold! where Neritus the clouds divides,
And shakes the waving forests on his sides.
So spake the goddess, and the prospect clear'd, The mists dispers'd, and all the coast appear'd. The king with joy confess'd his place of birth, And on his knees salutes his mother earth: Then with his suppliant hands upheld in air, Thus to the sea-green sisters sends his prayer.
All hail! ye virgin daughters of the main!
Ye streams, beyond my hopes beheld again!
To you once more your own Ulysses bows;
Attend his transports, and receive his vows:
If Jove prolong my days, and Pallas crown
The growing virtues of my youthful son,
To you shall rites divine be ever paid,
And grateful offerings on your altars laid.
Thus then Minerva. From that anxious breast
Dismiss those cares, and leave to heaven the rest.
Our task be now thy treasur'd stores to save,
Deep in the close recesses of the cave:
Then future means consult-she spoke and trod
The shady grot, that brighten'd with the god.
The closest caverns of the grot she sought;
The gold, the brass, the robes, Ulysses brought;
These in the secret gloom the chief dispos'd;
The entrance with a rock the goddess clos'd.
Now, seated in the olive's sacred shade,
Confer the hero and the martial maid.
The goddess of the azure eyes began:
Son of Laertes, much-experienc'd man!
The suitor-train thy earliest care demand,
Of that luxurious race to rid the land:
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