When the noble Juyce
Had wrought upon his spirit; I then gave use
To fairer language; saying: Cyclop ! now
As thou demandst, Ile tell thee my name; do thou
Make good thy hospitable gift to me;
My name is No-Man ; No-Man , each degree
Of friends, as well as parents, call my name.
He answerd, as his cruell soule became:
No-Man ! Ile eate thee last of all thy friends;
And this is that, in which so much amends
I vowd to thy deservings; thus shall be
My hospitable gift made good to thee.

This the divine Expressor did so give
Both act and passion, that he made it live;
And to Ulysses facts did breathe a fire,
So deadly quickning, that it did inspire
Old death with life; and renderd life so sweet
And passionate, that all there felt it fleet;
Which made him pitie his owne crueltie,
And put into that ruth, so pure an eie
Of humane frailtie; that to see a man
Could so revive from Death; yet no way can
Defend from death; his owne quicke powres it made
Feele there deaths horrors: and he felt life fade

Mean-time the Bard alternate to the strings
The loves of Mars and Citherea sings;
How the stern God enamour'd with her charms
Clasp'd the gay panting Goddess in his arms,
By bribes seduc'd: and how the Sun, whose eye
Views the broad heav'ns disclos'd the lawless joy.
Stung to the soul, indignant thro' the skies
To his black forge vindictive Vulcan flies:
Arriv'd, his sinewy arms incessant place
Th' eternal anvil on the massy base.
A wond'rous Net he labours, to betray
The wanton lovers, as entwin'd they lay,

Ulysses, then, toward the palace moved
Of King Alcinoüs, but immers'd in thought
Stood, first, and paused, ere with his foot he press'd
The brazen threshold; for a light he saw
As of the sun or moon illuming clear
The palace of Phaeacia's mighty King.
Walls plated bright with brass, on either side
Stretch'd from the portal to th' interior house,
With azure cornice crown'd; the doors were gold
Which shut the palace fast; silver the posts
Rear'd on a brazen threshold, and above,
The lintels, silver, architraved with gold.

Two nights yet, and daies,
He spent in wrestling with the sable seas;
In which space, often did his heart propose
Death to his eyes. But when Aurora rose,
And threw the third light from her orient haire;
The winds grew calme, and cleare was all the aire;
Not one breath stirring. Then he might descrie
(Raisd by the high seas) cleare, the land was nie.
And then, looke how to good sonnes that esteeme
Their fathers life deare, (after paines extreame,
Felt in some sicknesse, that hath held him long

And so these daughters fair of Pandarus
The whirlwinds took. The gods had slain their kin:
They were left orphans in their father's house.
And Aphrodite came to comfort them
With incense, luscious honey, and fragrant wine;
And Here gave them beauty of face and soul
Beyond all women; purest Artemis
Endowed them with her stature and white grace;
And Pallas taught their hands to flash along
Her famous looms. Then, bright with deity,
Toward far Olympus, Aphrodite went
To ask of Zeus (who has his thunder-joys

The mindes of men are ever so affected,
As by Gods will they daily are directed.

The Sun descending, the Phaeacian train
Spread their broad sails, and launch into the main:
At once they bend, and strike their equal oars,
And leave the sinking hills, and less'ning shores.
While on the deck the Chief in silence lies,
And pleasing slumbers steal upon his eyes.
As fiery coursers in the rapid race,
Urg'd by fierce drivers thro' the dusty space,
Toss their high heads, and scour along the plain;
So mounts the bounding vessel o'er the main:
Back to the stern the parted billows flow,
And the black ocean foams and roars below.

Muse,
tell me of this man of wil,
who roamed long years
after he had sacked
Troy's sacred streets.
All the rest
who had escaped death,
returned,
fleeing battle and the sea;
only Odysseus,
captive of a goddess,
desperate and home-sick,
thought but of his wife and palace;
but Calypso,
that nymph and spirit,
yearning in the furrowed rock-shelf,
burned
and sought to be his mistress;
but years passed,
the time was ripe,
the gods decreed,
(although traitors plot
to betray him in his own court),

" Arriv'd now at our ship, we lancht, and set
Our Mast up, put forth saile, and in did get
Our late-got Cattell. Up our sailes, we went,
My wayward fellowes mourning now th'event.
A good companion yet, a foreright wind,
Circe (the excellent utterer of her mind)
Supplied our murmuring consorts with, that was
Both speed and guide to our adventurous passe.
All day our sailes stood to the winds, and made
Our voiage prosprous. Sunne then set, and shade
All wayes obscuring, on the bounds we fell
Of deepe Oceanus, where people dwell