This spoke, a huge wave tooke him by the head
And hurld him o're-boord: ship and all it laid
Inverted quite amidst the waves, but he
Farre off from her sprawld, strowd about the sea,
His Sterne still holding, broken off; his Mast
Burst in the midst, so horrible a blast
Of mixt winds strooke it. Sailes and saile-yards fell
Amongst the billowes, and himselfe did dwell
A long time under water, nor could get
In haste his head out--wave with wave so met
In his depression, and his garments too
(Given by Calypso) gave him much to do,

There gres two Olives, closest of the grove,
With roots intwin'd, and branches interwove;
Alike their leaves, but not alike they smil'd
With sister-fruits; one fertile, one was wild.
Nor here the sun's meridian rays had pow'r,
Nor wind sharp-piercing, nor the rusing show'r;
The verdant Arch so close its texture kept:
Beneath this covert, great Ulysses crept.
Of gather'd leaves an ample bed he made,
(Thick strown by tempest thro' the bow'ry shade)
Where three at least might winter's cold defy,
Tho' Boreas rag'd along th' inclement sky.

"Then tooke they seate, and forth our passage strooke--
The fomie Sea beneath their labour shooke--
Rowd on in reach of an erected voice;
The Sirens soone tooke note without our noice,
Tun'd those sweete accents that made charmes so strong
And these learn'd numbers made the Sirens' song:
" "Come here, thou, worthy of a world of praise,
That dost so high the Grecian glory raise.
Ulysses! stay thy ship, and that song heare
That none past ever but it bent his eare,
But left him ravishd and instructed more
By us than any ever heard before.

" She thus; when I had great desire to prove
My armes the circle where her soule did move.
Thrice prov'd I, thrice she vanisht like a sleepe
Or fleeting shadow, which strooke much more deepe
The wounds my woes made, and made aske her why
She would my Love to her embraces flie,
And not vouchsarfe that even in hell we might
Pay pious Nature her unalterd right,
And give Vexation here her cruell fill?
" Should not the Queene here, to augment the ill
Of ever sufferance (which her office is),
Enforce thy idoll to affoord me this? "

The Nymph turnd home. He fell to felling downe,
And twentie trees he stoopt in litle space,
Plaind, usde his Plumb, did all with artfull grace.
In meane time did Calypso wimbles bring.
He bor'd, closde, naild, and orderd every thing.
And looke how much a ship-wright will allow
A ship of burthen (one that best doth know
What fits his Art), so large a Keele he cast —
Wroguth up her decks and hatches, side-boords, mast,
With willow watlings armd her to resist
The billowes' outrage, added all she mist —

Now toils the Heroe; trees on trees o'erthrown
Fall crackling round him, and the forests groan:
Sudden, full twenty on the plain are strow'd,
And lopp'd, and lighten'd of their branchy load.
At eqaul angles these dispos'd to join,
He smooth'd, and squar'd 'em, by the rule and line.
(The wimbles for the work Calypso found)
With those he pierc'd 'em, and with clinchers bound.
Long and capacious as a shipwright forms
Some bark's broad bottom to out-ride the storms,
So large he built the Raft: then ribb'd it strong

Now to dispose the dead, the care remains
To you my son, and you, my faithful swains;
Th' offending females to that task we doom,
To wash, to scent, and purify the room.
These (ev'ry table cleans'd, and ev'ry throne,
And all the melancholy labour done)
Drive to yon' court, without the Palace wall,
There the revenging sword shall smite them all;
So with the Suitors let 'em mix in dust,
Stretch'd in a long oblivion of their lust.
He said: The lamentable train appear,
Each vents a groan, and drops a tender tear;

Now gently winding up the fair ascent,
By many an easy step, the matron went;
Then o'er the pavement glides with grace divine,
(With polish'd oak the level pavements shine)
The folding gates a dazling light display'd,
With pomp of various architrave o'erlay'd.
The bolt, obedient to the silken string,
Forsakes the staple as she pulls the ring;
The wards respondent to the key turn round;
The bars fall back; the flying valves resound;
Loud as a bull makes hill and valley ring,
So roar'd the lock when it releas'd the spring.

A mighty wave rush'd o'er him as he spoke,
The Raft it cover'd, and the mast it broke;
Swept from the deck, and from the rudder torn,
Far on the swelling surge the chief was born:
While by the howling tempest rent in twain
Flew sail and sail-yards ratling o'er the main.
Long press'd he heav'd beneath the weighty wave,
Clogg'd by the cumbrous vest Calypso gave:
At length emerging, from his nostrils wide
And gushing mouth, effus'd the briny tyde.
Ev'n then, not mindless of his last retreat,
He seis'd the Raft, and leapt into his seat,

Just then, forgetful of the strict command
Of Circe to forbear, I cloth'd my limbs
In radiant armour, grasp'd two quiv'ring spears,
And to the deck ascended at the prow,
Expecting earliest notice there, what time
The rock-bred Scylla should annoy my friends.
But I discern'd her not, nor could, although
To weariness of sight the dusky rock
I vigilant explor'd. Thus, many a groan
Heaving, we navigated sad the strait,
For here stood Scylla, while Charybdis there
With hoarse throat deep absorb'd the briny flood.