to the Phaeacian town. The royal damsel at a handmaid cast The ball; it missed, and fell into the stream Where a deep eddy whirled. All shrieked aloud. The great Ulysses started from his sleep And sat upright, discoursing to himself:—
“Ah me! upon what region am I thrown? What men are here—wild, savage, and unjust, Or hospitable, and who hold the gods In reverence? There are voices in the air, Womanly voices, as of nymphs that haunt The mountain summits, and the river-founts, And the moist grassy meadows. Or perchance Am I near men who have the power of speech? Nay, let me then go forth at once and learn.”
Thus having said, the great Ulysses left The thicket. From the close-grown wood he rent, With his strong hand, a branch well set with leaves And wound it as a covering round his waist.
Then like a mountain lion he went forth, That walks abroad, confiding in his strength, In rain and wind; his eyes shoot fire; he falls On oxen, or on sheep, or forest-deer, For hunger prompts him even to attack The flock within its closely guarded fold.
Such seemed Ulysses when about to meet Those fair-haired maidens, naked as he was, But forced by strong necessity. To them His look was frightful, for his limbs were foul With sea-foam yet. To right and left they fled Along the jutting riverbanks. Alone The daughter of Alcinoüs kept her place, For Pallas gave her courage and forbade Her limbs to tremble. So she waited there.
Ulysses pondered whether to approach The bright-eyed damsel and embrace her knees And supplicate, or, keeping yet aloof, Pray her with soothing words to show the way Townward and give him garments. Musing thus, It seemed the best to keep at distance still, And use soft words, lest, should he clasp her knees, The maid might be displeased. With gentle words Skilfully ordered thus Ulysses spake:—