Close to the bay great Neptune’s fane adjoins;

And near, a forum flank’d with marble shines,

Where the bold youth, the numerous fleets to store,

Shape the broad sail, or smooth the taper oar:

For not the bow they bend, nor boast the skill

To give the feather’d arrow wings to kill;

But the tall mast above the vessel rear,

Or teach the fluttering sail to float in air.

They rush into the deep with eager joy,

Climb the steep surge, and through the tempest fly;

A proud, unpolish’d race—To me belongs

The care to shun the blast of slanderous tongues;

Lest malice, prone the virtuous to defame,

Thus with wild censure taint my spotless name:

‘What stranger this whom thus Nausicaa leads!

Heavens, with what graceful majesty he treads!

Perhaps a native of some distant shore,

The future consort of her bridal hour:

Or rather some descendant of the skies;

Won by her prayer, the aërial bridegroom flies,

Heaven on that hour its choicest influence shed,

That gave a foreign spouse to crown her bed!

All, all the godlike worthies that adorn

This realm, she flies: Phæacia is her scorn.’

And just the blame: for female innocence

Not only flies the guilt, but shuns the offence:

The unguarded virgin, as unchaste, I blame;

And the least freedom with the sex is shame,

Till our consenting sires a spouse provide,

And public nuptials justify the bride,

But would’st thou soon review thy native plain?

Attend, and speedy thou shalt pass the main:

Nigh where a grove with verdant poplars crown’d,

To Pallas sacred, shades the holy ground,

We bend our way; a bubbling fount distills

A lucid lake, and thence descends in rills;

Around the grove, a mead with lively green

Falls by degrees, and forms a beauteous scene;

Here a rich juice the royal vineyard pours;

And there the garden yields a waste of flowers.

Hence lies the town, as far as to the ear

Floats a strong shout along the waves of air.