But when the morning ftar with early ray Flam'd in the front of heaven, and promis'd day; Like diftant clouds the mariner defcries
Fair Ithaca's emerging hills arise.
Far from the town a fpacious port appears,
Sacred to Phorcys' power, whofe name it bears:
Two craggy rocks projecting to the main,
The roaring wind's tempeftuous rage reftrain;
Within, the waves in fofter murmurs glide,
And ships secure without their halfers ride,
High at the head a branching olive grows,
And crowns the pointed cliffs with fhady boughs.
Beneath, a gloomy grotto's cool recefs
Delights the Nereids of the neighbouring seas,
Where bowls and urns were form'd of living stone,
And mafly beams in native marble fhone;
On which the labours of the nymph were roll'd,
Their webs divine of purple mix'd with gold.
Within the cave the clustering bees attend
Their waxen works, or from the roof depend.
Perpetual waters o'er the pavement glide;
Two marble doors unfold on either fide;
Sacred the fouth, by which the Gods defcend;
But mortals enter at the northern end.
Thither they bent, and haul'd their ship to land;
(The crooked keel divides the yellow fand);
Ulyffes fleeping on his couch they bore,
And gently plac'd him on the rocky fhore.
His treasures next, Alcinous' gifts, they laid
In the wild olive's unfrequented fhade,
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Secure from theft: then launch'd the bark again,
Refum'd their oars, and measur'd back the main.
Nor yet forgot old Ocean's dread Supreme
The vengeance vow'd for eyeless Polypheme.
Before the throne of mighty Jove he stood;
And fought the fecret counfels of the God:
Shall then no more, O Sire of Gods, be mine The rights and honours of a Power divine? Scorn'd ev'n by man, and (oh! fevere difgrace!) 150 By foft Phæacians, my degenerate race! Against yon deftin'd head in vain I swore,
And menac'd vengeance, ere he reach'd his shore ;
To reach his natal fhore was thy decree;
Mild I obey'd, for who fhall war with thee?
Behold him landed, careless and afleep,
From all th' eluded dangers of the deep!
Lo! where he lies, amidft a fhining store
Of brafs, rich garments, and refulgent ore:
And bears triumphant to his native isle
A prize more worth than Ilion's noble spoil.
To whom the Father of th' immortal Powers,
Who fwells the clouds, and gladdens earth with showers:
Can mighty Neptune thus of man complain!
Neptune, tremendous o'er the boundless main ! 165
Rever'd and awful ev'n in heaven's abodes,
Ancient and great! a God above the Gods!
If that low race offend thy power divine,
(Weak, daring creatures !) is not vengeance thine? Go then, the guilty at thy will chastise.
He faid the Shaker of the earth replies :
This then I doom; to fix the gallant ship
A mark of vengeance on the fable deep :
To warn the thoughtlefs felf-confiding train,
No more unlicens'd thus to brave the main.
Full in their port a fhady hill shall rife,
If fuch thy will.-We will it, Jove replies:
Ev'n when, with transport blackening all the strand,
The fwarming people hail their fhip to land,
Fix her for ever, a memorial stone:
Still let her feem to fail, and feem alone;
The trembling crouds fhall fee the fudden shade
Of whelming mountains overhang their head!
With that the God, whofe earthquakes rock the
Fierce to Phæacia crofs'd the vast profound.
Swift as a swallow fweeps the liquid way,
The winged pinnace fhot along the sea.
The God arrefts her with a fudden ftroke,
And roots her down an everlasting rock.
Aghaft the Scherians ftand in deep furprize;
All prefs to speak, all question with their eyes.
What hands unseen the rapid bark restrain !
And yet it fwims, or feems to fwim, the main !
Thus they, unconfcious of the deed divine:
Till great Alcinous rifing own'd the fign.
Behold the long predeftin'd day! (he cries)
Oh! certain faith of antient prophecies!
These ears have heard my royal fire disclose
A dreadful story, big with future woes ;
How mov'd with wrath, that careless we convey
Promifcuous every guest to every bay,
Stern Neptune rag'd; and how by his command
Firm rooted in the furge a ship should stand
(A monument of wrath); and mound on mound
Should hide our walls, or whelm beneath the ground.
The Fates have follow'd as declar'd the feer.
Be humbled, nations! and your monarch hear.
No more unlicens'd brave the deeps, no more
With every ftranger pass from shore to fhore;
On angry Neptune now for mercy call:
To his high name let twelve black oxen fall.
So may the God reverfe his purpos'd will,
Nor o'er our city hang the dreadful hill.
The monarch spoke: they trembled and obey'd,
Forth on the fands the victim oxen led:
The gather'd tribes before the altars stand,
And chiefs and rulers, a majestic band.
The King of Ocean all the tribes implore;
The blazing altars redden all the fhore.
Meanwhile Ulyffes in his country lay,
Releas'd from fleep, and round him might furvey
The folitary fhore and rolling sea.
Yet had his mind through tedious abfence loft
The dear remembrance of his native coaft;
Befides, Minerva, to secure her care,
Diffus'd around a veil of thicken'd air:
For fo the Gods ordain'd, to keep unseen
His royal perfon from his friends and queen;
Till the proud fuitors for their crimes afford
An ample vengeance to their injur'd lord.
Now all the land another profpect bore,
Another port appear'd, another shore,
And long-continued ways, and winding floods,
And unknown mountains, crown'd with unknown
Penfive and flow with fudden grief opprest
The king arofe, and beat his careful breast,
Caft a long look o'er all the coaft and main,
And fought, around, his native realm in vain :
Then with erected eyes stood fix'd in woe,
And, as he spoke, the tears began to flow:
Ye Gods! he cry'd, upon what barren coat,
In what new region, is Ulyffes. tost?
Poffefs'd by wild barbarians, fierce in arms?
Or men whose bofom tender pity warms?
Where fhall this treasure now in fafety lie?
And whither, whither, its fad owner fly?
Ah! why did I Alcinous' grace implore?
Ah! why forfake Phæacia's happy shore ?
Some jufter prince perhaps had entertain'd,
And fafe reftor'd me to my native land.
Is this the promis'd long-expected coaft,
And this the faith Phæacia's rulers boast?
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-feeing eyes
The deeds of men appear without disguise,
'Tis his alone t' avenge the wrongs I bear:
For ftill th' opprefs'd are his peculiar care.
To count these presents, and from thence to prove Their faith, is mine: the reft belongs to Jove. Then on the fands he rang'd his wealthy store, The gold, the vests, the tripods, number'd o'er:
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