Fair Ithaca’s emerging hills arise.

Far from the town a spacious port appears,

Sacred to Phorcys’ power, whose name it bears;

Two craggy rocks projecting to the main,

The roaring wind’s tempestuous rage restrain;

Within the waves in softer murmurs glide,

And ships secure without their halsers ride.

High at the head a branching olive grows,

And crowns the pointed cliffs with shady boughs.

Beneath, a gloomy grotto’s cool recess

Delights the Nereids of the neighbouring seas,

Where bowls and urns were form’d of living stone,

And massy beams in native marble shone,

On which the labours of the nymphs were roll’d,

Their webs divine of purple mix’d with gold.

Within the cave the clustering bees attend

Their waxen works, or from the roof depend.

Perpetual waters o’er the pavement glide;

Two marble doors unfold on either side;

Sacred the south, by which the gods descend;

But mortals enter at the northern end.


Thither they bent, and haul’d their ship to land

(The crooked keel divides the yellow sand).

Ulysses sleeping on his couch they bore,

And gently placed him on the rocky shore.

His treasures next, Alcinous’ gifts, they laid

In the wild olive’s unfrequented shade,

Secure from theft; then launch’d the bark again,

Resumed their oars, and measured back the main,

Nor yet forgot old Ocean’s dread supreme,

The vengeance vow’d for eyeless Polypheme.

Before the throne of mighty Jove he stood,

And sought the secret counsels of the god.


“Shall then no more, O sire of gods! be mine

The rights and honours of a power divine?

Scorn’d e’en by man, and (oh severe disgrace!)

By soft Phæacians, my degenerate race!

Against yon destined head in vain I swore,

And menaced vengeance, ere he reach’d his shore;

To reach his natal shore was thy decree;

Mild I obey’d, for who shall war with thee?

Behold him landed, careless and asleep,

From all the eluded dangers of the deep;