Obrazy na stronie
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To whom with grief: O swift to be undone, Constrain'd I act what wisdom bid me shun.

But yonder herds, and yonder flocks forbear; S55 Attest the heav'ns, and call the gods to hear: Content, an innocent repast display,

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By Circe giv'n, and fly the dang'rous prey.
Thus I and while to shore the vessel flies,
With hands uplifted they attest the skies;
Then where a fountain's gurgling waters play,
They rush to land, and end in feasts the day:
They feed; they quaff; and now (their hunger fled)
Sigh for their friends devour'd, and mourn the dead.
Nor cease the tears, till each in slumber shares
A sweet forgetfulness of human cares.

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Now far the night advanc'd her gloomy reign, And setting stars roll'd down the azure plain: When, at the voice of Jove, wild whirlwinds rise, And clouds and double darkness veil the skies; 370 The moon, the stars, the bright ethereal host, Seem as extinct, and all their splendours lost; The furious tempest roars with dreadful sound: Air thunders, rolls the ocean, groans the ground. All night it rag'd; when morning rose, to land 375 We haul'd our bark, and moor'd it on the strand,

Where in a beauteous grotto's cool recess

Dance the green Nereids of the neighb'ring seas.

There while the wild winds whistled o'er the

main,

Thus careful I address'd the list'ning train: 380
O friends, be wise! nor dare the flocks destroy
Of these fair pastures: if ye touch, ye die.
Warn'd by the high command of heav'n, be aw'd;
Holy the flocks, and dreadful is the god!
That god who spreads the radiant beams of light,
And views wide earth and heav'n's unmeasur'd

height.

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And now the moon had run her monthly round, The south-east blust'ring with a dreadful sound; Unhurt the beeves, untouch'd the woolly train, Low thro' the grove, or range the flow'ry plain : 390 Then fail'd our food; then fish we make our prey, Or fowl that screaming haunt the wat'ry way. Till now from sea or flood no succour found, Famine and meagre want besieg'd us round. Pensive and pale from grove to grove I stray'd, From the loud storms to find a silvan shade; 396. There o'er my hands the living wave I pour;

And heav'n and heav'n's immortal thrones adore,

To calm the roarings of the stormy main,
And grant me peaceful to my realms again. 400
Then o'er my eyes the gods soft slumber shed,
While thus Eurylochus, arising, said:

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O friends, a thousand ways frail mortals lead To the cold tomb, and dreadful all to tread; But dreadful most, when by a slow decay Pale hunger wastes the manly strength away. Why cease ye then t' implore the pow'rs above, And offer hecatombs to thund'ring Jove? Why seize ye not yon beeves, and fleecy prey? Arise unanimous; arise and slay!

And if the gods ordain a safe return,

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To Phoebus shrines shall rise, and altars burn. But should the pow'rs that o'er mankind preside, Decree to plunge us in the whelming tide,

Better to rush at once to shades below,

Than linger life away, and nourish woe!

Thus he the beeves around securely stray, When swift to ruin they invade the prey; They seize, they kill!-but for the rite divine, The barley fail'd, and for libations, wine. Swift from the oak they strip the shady pride; And verdant leaves the flow'ry cake supplied.

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With pray'r they now address th' ethereal train, Slay the selected beeves, and flay the slain;

The thighs, with fat involv'd, divide with art, 425
Strew'd o'er with morsels cut from ev'ry part.
Water, instead of wine, is brought in urns,
And pour'd profanely as the victim burns.
The thighs thus offer'd, and the entrails drest, 429
They roast the fragments, and prepare the feast.

'Twas then soft slumber fled my troubled brain;
Back to the bark I speed along the main.
When lo! an odour from the feast exhales,
Spreads o'er the coast, and scents the tainted gales;
A chilly fear congeal'd my vital blood,

And thus, obtesting heav'n, I mourn'd aloud:

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O sire of men and gods, immortal Jove! Oh all ye blissful pow'rs that reign above! Why were my cares beguil❜d in short repose? Oh fatal slumber, paid with lasting woes! A deed so dreadful all the gods alarms, Vengeance is on the wing, and heav'n in arms! Meantime Lampetie mounts th' aërial way, And kindles into rage the god of day:

Vengeance, ye pow'rs (he cries), and thou whose

hand

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Aims the red bolt, and hurls the writhen brand!

Slain are those herds which I with pride survey, When through the ports of heav'n I pour the day, Or deep in ocean plunge the burning ray. Vengeance, ye gods! or I the skies forego, 450 And bear the lamp of heav'n to shades below.

To whom the thund'ring pow'r: O source of day! Whose radiant lamp adorns the azure way, Still may thy beams thro' heav'n's bright portals

rise,

The joy of earth, and glory of the skies;
Lo! my red arm I bare, my thunders guide,
To dash th' offenders in the whelming tide.

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To fair Calypso from the bright abodes, Hermes convey'd these councils of the gods. Meantime from man to man my tongue ex

claims,

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My wrath is kindled, and my soul in flames.
In vain! I view perform'd the direful deed,
Beeves, slain by heaps, along the ocean bleed.
Now heav'n gave signs of wrath; along the

ground

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Crept the raw hides, and with a bellowing sound
Roar'd the dead limbs; the burning entrails groan'd.
Six guilty days my wretched mates employ
In impious feasting, and unhallow'd joy:

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