The mules, unharness’d, range beside the main,

Or crop the verdant herbage of the plain.


Then emulous the royal robes they lave,

And plunge the vestures in the cleansing wave

(The vestures cleansed o’erspread the shelly sand,

Their snowy lustre whitens all the strand);

Then with a short repast relieve their toil,

And o’er their limbs diffuse ambrosial oil;

And while the robes imbibe the solar ray,

O’er the green mead the sporting virgins play

(Their shining veils unbound). Along the skies,

Toss’d and retoss’d, the ball incessant flies.

They sport, they feast; Nausicaa lifts her voice,

And, warbling sweet, makes earth and heaven rejoice.


As when o’er Erymanth Diana roves,

Or wide Täygetus’ resounding groves;

A sylvan train the huntress queen surrounds,

Her rattling quiver from her shoulders sounds:

Fierce in the sport, along the mountain’s brow

They bay the boar, or chase the bounding roe;

High o’er the lawn, with more majestic pace,

Above the nymphs she treads with stately grace;

Distinguish’d excellence the goddess proves;

Exults Latona as the virgin moves.

With equal grace Nausicaa trod the plain,

And shone transcendent o’er the beauteous train.


Meantime (the care and favourite of the skies

Wrapp’d in imbowering shade, Ulysses lies,

His woes forgot! but Pallas now address’d

To break the bands of all-composing rest.

Forth from her snowy hand Nausicaa threw

The various ball; the ball erroneous flew

And swam the stream; loud shrieks the virgin train,

And the loud shriek redoubles from the main.

Waked by the shrilling sound, Ulysses rose,

And, to the deaf woods wailing, breathed his woes:


“Ah me! on what inhospitable coast,

On what new region is Ulysses toss’d;

Possess’d by wild barbarians fierce in arms;

Or men, whose bosom tender pity warms?

What sounds are these that gather from he shores?

The voice of nymphs that haunt the sylvan bowers,