Can love, and love-born confidence, be mine,

Beneath thy charms when my companions groan,

Transform’d to beasts, with accents not their own?

O thou of fraudful heart, shall I be led

To share thy feast-rites, or ascend thy bed;

That, all unarm’d, thy vengeance may have vent,

And magic bind me, cold and impotent?

Celestial as thou art, yet stand denied;

Or swear that oath by which the gods are tied,

Swear, in thy soul no latent frauds remain,

Swear by the vow which never can be vain.’


“The goddess swore: then seized my hand, and led

To the sweet transports of the genial bed.

Ministrant to the queen, with busy care

Four faithful handmaids the soft rites prepare;

Nymphs sprung from fountains, or from shady woods,

Or the fair offspring of the sacred floods.

One o’er the couches painted carpets threw,

Whose purple lustre glow’d against the view:

White linen lay beneath. Another placed

The silver stands, with golden flaskets graced:

With dulcet beverage this the beaker crown’d,

Fair in the midst, with gilded cups around:

That in the tripod o’er the kindled pile

The water pours; the bubbling waters boil;

An ample vase receives the smoking wave;

And, in the bath prepared, my limbs I lave:

Reviving sweets repair the mind’s decay,

And take the painful sense of toil away.

A vest and tunic o’er me next she threw,

Fresh from the bath, and dropping balmy dew;

Then led and placed me on the sovereign seat,

With carpets spread; a footstool at my feet.

The golden ewer a nymph obsequious brings,

Replenish’d from the cool translucent springs;

With copious water the bright vase supplies

A silver laver of capacious size.

I wash’d. The table in fair order spread,

They heap the glittering canisters with bread:

Viands of various kinds allure the taste,

Of choicest sort and savour, rich repast!

Circe in vain invites the feast to share;

Absent I ponder, and absorb’d in care;