« ПредишнаНапред »
Vengeance, ye powers, (he cries) and thou whose hand Aims the red bolt, and hurls the writhen brand ! Slain are those herds which I with pride survey, When through the ports of Heaven I pour the day. Or deep in Ocean plunge the burning ray. Vengeance, ye Gods ! or I the skies forego,
45 And bear the lamp of heaven to shades below..
To whom the Thundering Power: 0 Source of Day! Whose radiant lamp adorns the azure way, Still may thy beams through heaven's bright portals rise, The joy of earth, and glory of the skies ; 455 Lo! my red arm I bare, my thunders guide, To dash th offenders in the whelming tide.
To fair Calypso, from the bright abodes, Hermes convey'd these councils of the Gods.
Meantime from man to man my tongue exclaims, My wrath is kindled, and my soul in flames. · In vain! I view perform’d the direful deed, Beeves, Nain by heaps, along the ocean bleed.
Now Heaven gave signs of wrath; along the ground Crept the raw hides, and with a bellowing sound Roar'd the dead limbs; the burning entrails groan'd. Six guilty days my wretched mates employ In impious feasting, and unhallow'd joy ; The seventh arose, and now the Sire of Gods Rein’d the rough storms, and calm’d the tossing floods: With speed the bark we climb; the spacious fails Loos’d from the yards invite th' impelling gales. Past sight of shore, along the surge we bound, And all above is lky, and ocean all around !
When, lo! a murky cloud the Thunderer forms
up the deck; then all at once descends;
Now sunk the West, and now a Southern breeze
For on the rocks it bore where Scylla raves, 505
520 Charybdis rumbling from her inmost caves, The maft refunded on her refluent waves. Swift from the tree, the floating mast to gain, Sudden I dropp'd amidst the flashing main ; Once more undaunted on the ruin rode,
525 And oar'd with labouring arms along the flood. Unseen I pass’d by Scylla's dire abodes : So Jove decreed (dread Sire of men and gods). Then nine long days I plough'd the calmer seas, Heav’d by the surge, and wafted by the breeze. 530 Weary and wet th’ Ogygian fhores I gain, When the tenth fun descended to the main. There, in Calypso's ever-fragrant bowers, Refrela'd I lay, and joy beguild the hours.
My following fates to thee, O King, are known,