Still off and on, but boldly force the shore, And hug the rock that him so rudely tore;
Which he with both hands sigh’d and clasp’d, till past
The billow’s rage was; when ’scap’d, back so fast
The rock repuls’d it, that it reft his hold,
Sucking him from it, and far back he roll’d
And as the polypus that (forc’d from home
Amidst the soft sea, and near rough land come
For shelter ’gainst the storms that beat on her
At open sea, as she abroad doth err)
A deal of gravel, and sharp little stones,
Needfully gathers in her hollow bones;
So he forc’d hither by the sharper ill,
Shunning the smoother, where he best hop’d, still
The worst succeeded; for the cruel friend,
To which he cling’d for succour, off did rend
From his broad hands the soaken flesh so sore
That off he fell, and could sustain no more.
Quite under water fell he; and, past fate,
Hapless Ulysses there had lost the state
He held in life, if, still the grey-eyed Maid
His wisdom prompting, he had not assay’d
Another course, and ceas’d t’ attempt that shore,
Swimming, and casting round his eye t’ explore
Some other shelter. Then the mouth he found
Of fair Callicoe’s flood, whose shores were crown’d
With most apt succours: rocks so smooth they seem’d
Polish’d of purpose; land that quite redeem’d
With breathless coverts th’ others’ blasted shores.
The flood he knew, and thus in heart implores:
“King of this river, hear! Whatever name
Makes thee invok’d, to thee I humbly frame
My flight from Neptune’s furies. Rev’rend is
To all the ever-living Deities
What erring man soever seeks their aid.
To thy both flood and knees a man dismay’d
With varied suff’rance sues. Yield then some rest
To him that is thy suppliant profest.”
This, though but spoke in thought, the Godhead heard,
Her current straight stay’d, and her thick waves clear’d
Before him, smooth’d her waters, and, just where
He pray’d half-drown’d, entirely sav’d him there.
Then forth he came, his both knees falt’ring, both
His strong hands hanging down, and all with froth
His cheeks and nosthrils flowing, voice and breath
Spent to all use, and down he sunk to death.
The sea had soak’d his heart through; all his veins
His toils had rack’d t’ a labouring woman’s pains. [5]
Dead weary was he. But when breath did find
A pass reciprocal, and in his mind
His spirit was recollected, up he rose,
And from his neck did th’ amulet unloose,
That Ino gave him; which he hurl’d from him
To sea. It sounding fell, and back did swim
With th’ ebbing waters, till it straight arriv’d
Where Ino’s fair hand it again receiv’d.
Then kiss’d he th’ humble earth; and on he goes,
Till bulrushes show’d place for his repose,
Where laid, he sigh’d, and thus said to his soul:
“O me, what strange perplexities control
The whole skill of thy pow’rs in this event!
What feel I? If till care-nurse night be spent
I watch amidst the flood, the sea’s chill breath,
And vegetant dews, I fear will be my death,
So low brought with my labours. Towards day
A passing sharp air ever breathes at sea.
If I the pitch of this next mountain scale,
And shady wood, and in some thicket fall
Into the hands of Sleep, though there the cold
May well be check’d, and healthful slumbers hold
Her sweet hand on my pow’rs, all care allay’d,
Yet there will beasts devour me. Best appaid
Doth that course make me yet; for there, some strife,
Strength, and my spirit, may make me make for life;
Which, though impair’d, may yet be fresh applied,
Where peril possible of escape is tried.
But he that fights with heav’n, or with the sea,
To indiscretion adds impiety.”
Thus to the woods he hasted; which he found
Not far from sea, but on far-seeing ground,
Where two twin underwoods he enter’d on,
With olive-trees and oil-trees overgrown;
