mast of the ship, arrived on the island of Calypso. With which his narration

concludes.


“Thus o’er the rolling surge the vessel flies,

Till from the waves the Ææan hills arise.

Here the gay Morn resides in radiant bowers,

Here keeps her revels with the dancing Hours;

Here Phœbus, rising in the ethereal way,

Through heaven’s bright portals pours the beamy day.

At once we fix our halsers on the land.

At once descend, and press the desert sand:

There, worn and wasted, lose our cares in sleep,

To the hoarse murmurs of the rolling deep.


“Soon as the morn restored the day, we paid

Sepulchral honours to Elpenor’s shade.

Now by the axe the rushing forest bends,

And the huge pile along the shore ascends.

Around we stand, a melancholy train,

And a loud groan re-echoes from the main.

Fierce o’er the pyre, by fanning breezes spread,

The hungry flames devour the silent dead.

A rising tomb, the silent dead to grace,

Fast by the roarings of the main we place;

The rising tomb a lofty column bore,

And high above it rose the tapering oar.


“Meantime the goddess our return survey’d

From the pale ghosts and hell’s tremendous shade.

Swift she descends: a train of nymphs divine

Bear the rich viands and the generous wine:

In act to speak the power of magic stands,

And graceful thus accosts the listening bands;


“‘O sons of woe? decreed by adverse fates

Alive to pass through hell’s eternal gates!

All, soon or late, are doom’d that path to tread;

More wretched you! twice number’d with the dead!

This day adjourn your cares, exalt your souls,

Indulge the taste, and drain the sparkling bowls;

And when the morn unveils her saffron ray,

Spread your broad sails, and plough the liquid way:

Lo, I this night, your faithful guide, explain

Your woes by land, your dangers on the main.’


“The goddess spoke. In feasts we waste the day,

Till Phœbus downward plunged his burning ray;