Misjudging of the cause, a sudden fear

Of his arrival known, the chief alarms;

He thinks the queen is rushing to his arms.

Upspringing from his couch, with active haste

The fleece and carpet in the dome he placed

(The hide, without, imbibed the morning air);

And thus the gods invoked with ardent prayer:


“Jove, and eternal thrones! with heaven to friend,

If the long series of my woes shall end;

Of human race now rising from repose,

Let one a blissful omen here disclose;

And, to confirm my faith, propitious Jove!

Vouchsafe the sanction of a sign above.”


Whilst lowly thus the chief adoring bows,

The pitying god his guardian aid avows.

Loud from a sapphire sky his thunder sounds;

With springing hope the hero’s heart rebounds.

Soon, with consummate joy to crown his prayer,

An omen’d voice invades his ravish’d ear.

Beneath a pile that close the dome adjoin’d,

Twelve female slaves the gift of Ceres grind;

Task’d for the royal board to bolt the bran

From the pure flour (the growth and strength of man)

Discharging to the day the labour due,

Now early to repose the rest withdrew;

One maid unequal to the task assign’d,

Still turn’d the toilsome mill with anxious mind;

And thus in bitterness of soul divined:


“Father of gods and men, whose thunders roll

O’er the cerulean vault, and shake the pole:

Whoe’er from Heaven has gain’d this rare ostent

(Of granted vows a certain signal sent),

In this blest moment of accepted prayer,

Piteous, regard a wretch consumed with care!

Instant, O Jove! confound the suitor-train,

For whom o’ertoil’d I grind the golden grain:

Far from this dome the lewd devourers cast,

And be this festival decreed their last!”


Big with their doom denounced in earth and sky,

Ulysses’ heart dilates with secret joy.

Meantime the menial train with unctious wood

Heap’d high the genial hearth, Vulcanian food:

When, early dress’d, advanced the royal heir;