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Alas! though Jove hath given me to behold, 490 Unhoped, the land again, and I have pass’d, Furrowing my way, these num’rous waves, there seems No egress from the hoary flood for me. Sharp stones hem in the waters; wild the surge Raves ev’ry where; and smooth the rocks arise; Deep also is the shore, on which my feet No standing gain, or chance of safe escape. What if some billow catch me from the Deep Emerging, and against the pointed rocks Dash me conflicting with its force in vain? 500 But should I, swimming, trace the coast in search Of sloping beach, haven or shelter’d creek, I fear lest, groaning, I be snatch’d again By stormy gusts into the fishy Deep, Or lest some monster of the flood receive Command to seize me, of the many such By the illustrious Amphitrite bred; For that the mighty Shaker of the shores Hates me implacable, too well I know. While such discourse within himself he held, 510 A huge wave heav’d him on the rugged coast, Where flay’d his flesh had been, and all his bones Broken together, but for the infused Good counsel of Minerva azure-eyed. With both hands suddenly he seized the rock, And, groaning, clench’d it till the billow pass’d. So baffled he that wave; but yet again The refluent flood rush’d on him, and with force Resistless dash’d him far into the sea. As pebbles to the hollow polypus 520 Extracted from his stony bed, adhere, So he, the rough rocks clasping, stripp’d his hands Raw, and the billows now whelm’d him again. Then had the hapless Hero premature Perish’d, but for sagacity inspired By Pallas azure-eyed. Forth from the waves Emerging, where the surf burst on the rocks, He coasted (looking landward as he swam) The shore, with hope of port or level beach. But when, still swimming, to the mouth he came 530 Of a smooth-sliding river, there he deem’d Safest th’ ascent, for it was undeform’d By rocks, and shelter’d close from ev’ry wind. He felt the current, and thus, ardent, pray’d. O hear, whate’er thy name, Sov’reign, who rul’st This river! at whose mouth, from all the threats Of Neptune ’scap’d, with rapture I arrive. Even the Immortal Gods the wand’rer’s pray’r Respect, and such am I, who reach, at length, Thy stream, and clasp thy knees, after long toil. 540 I am thy suppliant. Oh King! pity me. He said; the river God at once repress’d His current, and it ceas’d; smooth he prepared The way before Ulysses, and the land Vouchsafed him easy at his channel’s mouth. There, once again he bent for ease his limbs Both arms and knees, in conflict with the floods Exhausted; swoln his body was all o’er, And from his mouth and nostrils stream’d the brine. Breathless and speechless, and of life well nigh 550 Bereft he lay, through dreadful toil immense. But when, revived, his dissipated pow’rs He recollected, loosing from beneath His breast the zone divine, he cast it far Into the brackish stream, and a huge wave Returning bore it downward to the sea, Where Ino caught it. Then, the river’s brink Abandoning, among the rushes prone He lay, kiss’d oft the soil, and sighing, said, Ah me! what suff’rings must I now sustain, 560 What doom, at last, awaits me? If I watch This woeful night, here, at the river’s side, What hope but that the frost and copious dews, Weak as I am, my remnant small of life Shall quite extinguish, and the chilly air Breath’d from the river at the dawn of day? But if, ascending this declivity I gain the woods, and in some thicket sleep, (If sleep indeed can find me overtoil’d And cold-benumb’d) then I have cause to fear 570 Lest I be torn by wild beasts, and devour’d. Long time he mused, but, at the last, his course Bent to the woods, which not remote he saw From the sea-brink, conspicuous on a hill. Arrived, between two neighbour shrubs he crept, Both olives, this the fruitful, that the wild; A covert, which nor rough winds blowing moist Could penetrate, nor could the noon-day sun Smite through it, or unceasing show’rs pervade, So thick a roof the ample branches form’d 580 Close interwoven; under these the Chief Retiring, with industrious hands a bed Collected broad of leaves, which there he found Abundant strew’d, such store as had sufficed Two travellers or three for cov’ring warm, Though winter’s roughest blasts had rag’d the while. That bed with joy the suff’ring Chief renown’d Contemplated, and occupying soon The middle space, hillock’d it high with leaves. As when some swain hath hidden deep his torch 590 Beneath the embers, at the verge extreme Of all his farm, where, having neighbours none, He saves a seed or two of future flame Alive, doom’d else to fetch it from afar, So with dry leaves Ulysses overspread His body, on whose eyes Minerva pour’d The balm of sleep copious, that he might taste Repose again, after long toil severe.
