Classic Poem

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,
Hindring his swimming; yet he left not so
His drenched vessell, for the overthrow
Of her nor him, but gat at length againe
(Wrestling with Neptune) hold of her, and then
Sate in her Bulke, insulting over Death--
Which (with the salt streame prest to stop his breath)
He scap't and gave the sea againe to give
To other men. His ship so striv'd to live,
Floting at randon, cufft from wave to wave,
As you have seene the Northwind when he drave
In Autumne heapes of thorne-fed Grashoppers
Hither and thither; one heape this way beares,
Another that, and makes them often meete
In his confusde gales; so Ulysses' fleete
The winds hurl'd up and downe: now Boreas
Tost it to Notus, Notus gave it passe
To Eurus; Eurus Zephyr made pursue
The horrid Tennis.

At length escaping. 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 on breath stirring. Then he might descrie
(Raisd by the high seas) cleare, the land was nie.

He heard a sound beate from the sea-bred rocks
Against which gave a huge sea horrid shocks,
That belcht upon the firme land weeds and fome,
With which were all things hid there--where no roome
Of fit capacitie was for any port,
Nor (from the sea) for any man's resort,
The shores, the rocks, and cliffes so prominent were.
"O,' said Ulysses then, "now Jupiter
Hath given me sight of an unhop't for shore,
(Though I have wrought these seas so long, so sore)
Of rest yet no place shewes the slendrest prints,
The rugged shore so bristl'd is with flints,
Against which every way the waves so flocke,
And all the shore shewes as one eminent rocke--
So neare which tis so deepe, that not a sand
Is there for any tired foote to stand:
Nor flie his death-fast-following miseries,
Lest, if he land, upon him fore-right flies
A churlish wave to crush him gainst a Cliffe,
Worse than vaine rendring all his landing strife.
And should I swim to seeke a haven elsewhere,
Or land lesse wave-beate, I may justly feare
I shall be taken with a gale againe
And cast a huge way off into the Maine;
And there the great Earth-shaker (having seene
My so neare landing, and againe his spleene
Forcing me to him) will some Whale send out
(Of which a horrid number here about
His Amphitrite breeds) to swallow me.
I well have prov'd with what malignitie
He treds my steps.' While this discourse he held,
A curst Surge gainst a cutting rocke impeld
His naked bodie, which it gasht and tore,
And had his bones broke, if but one sea more
Had cast him on it. But she prompted him
That never faild, and bad him no more swim
Still off and on, but boldly force the shore
And hug the rocke that him so rudely tore.
Which he with both hands sigh'd and claspt till past
The billowes' rage was; which scap't backe, so fast
The rocke repulst it, that it reft his hold,
Sucking him from it, and farre backe he rould.
And as the Polypus that (forc't from home
Amidst the soft sea, and neare rough land come
For shelter gainst the stormes that beate on her
At open sea, as she abroad doth erre)
A deale of gravill and sharpe little stones
Needfully gathers in her hollow bones:
So he forc't hither (by the sharper ill
Shunning the smoother), where he best hop't, still
The worst succeeded: for the cruell friend,
To which he clingd for succour, off did rend
From his broad hands the soken flesh so sore
That off he fell and could sustaine no more.
Quite under water fell he, and, past Fate,
Haplesse Ulysses there had lost the state
He held in life, if (still the grey-eyd Maid
His wisedome prompting) he had not assaid
Another course and ceast t'attempt that shore,
Swimming, and casting round his eye, t'explore
Some other shelter. Then the mouth he found
Of faire Callicoe's flood, whose shores were crownd
With most apt succors--rocks so smooth they seemd
Polisht of purpose, land that quite redeemd
With breathlesse coverts th'other's blasted shores.
The flood he knew, and thus in heart implores:
"King of this River, heare! Whatever name
Makes thee invokt, to thee I humbly frame
My flight from Neptune's furies. Reverend is
to all the ever-living Deities
What erring man soever seekes their aid.
To thy both flood and knees a man dismaid
With varied sufferance sues. Yeeld then some rest
To him that is thy suppliant profest.'
This (though but spoke in thought) the Godhead heard,
Her Current strain staid, and her thicke waves cleard
Before him, smooth'd her waters, and just where
He praid, halfe drownd, entirely sav'd him there.