“With broken hearts my sad companions stood,

Mindful of Cyclops and his human food,

And horrid Laestrygons, the men of blood.

Presaging tears apace began to rain;

But tears in mortal miseries are vain.

In equal parts I straight divide my band,

And name a chief each party to command;

I led the one, and of the other side

Appointed brave Eurylochus the guide.

Then in the brazen helm the lots we throw,

And fortune casts Eurylochus to go;

He march’d with twice eleven in his train;

Pensive they march, and pensive we remain.


“The palace in a woody vale they found,

High raised of stone; a shaded space around;

Where mountain wolves and brindled lions roam,

(By magic tamed,) familiar to the dome.

With gentle blandishment our men they meet,

And wag their tails, and fawning lick their feet.

As from some feast a man returning late,

His faithful dogs all meet him at the gate,

Rejoicing round, some morsel to receive,

(Such as the good man ever used to give,)

Domestic thus the grisly beasts drew near;

They gaze with wonder not unmix’d with fear.

Now on the threshold of the dome they stood,

And heard a voice resounding through the wood:

Placed at her loom within, the goddess sung;

The vaulted roofs and solid pavement rung.

O’er the fair web the rising figures shine,

Immortal labour! worthy hands divine.

Polites to the rest the question moved

(A gallant leader, and a man I loved):


“‘What voice celestial, chanting to the loom

(Or nymph, or goddess), echoes from the room?

Say, shall we seek access?’ With that they call;

And wide unfold the portals of the hall.


“The goddess, rising, asks her guests to stay,

Who blindly follow where she leads the way.

Eurylochus alone of all the band,

Suspecting fraud, more prudently remain’d.

On thrones around with downy coverings graced,

With semblance fair, the unhappy men she placed.

Milk newly press’d, the sacred flour of wheat,