“Withdraw, ye maidens, hence, while I prepare To cleanse my shoulders from the bitter brine, And to anoint them; long have these my limbs Been unrefreshed by oil. I will not bathe Before you. I should be ashamed to stand Unclothed in presence of these bright-haired maids.”
He spake; they hearkened and withdrew, and told The damsel what he said. Ulysses then Washed the salt spray of ocean from his back And his broad shoulders in the flowing stream, And wiped away the sea-froth from his brows. And when the bath was over, and his limbs Had been anointed, and he had put on The garments sent him by the spotless maid, Jove’s daughter, Pallas, caused him to appear Of statelier size and more majestic mien, And bade the locks that crowned his head flow down, Curling like blossoms of the hyacinth. As when some skilful workman trained and taught By Vulcan and Minerva in his art Binds the bright silver with a verge of gold, And graceful is his handiwork, such grace Did Pallas shed upon the hero’s brow And shoulders, as he passed along the beach, And, glorious in his beauty and the pride Of noble bearing, sat aloof. The maid Admired, and to her bright-haired women spake:—
“Listen to me, my maidens, while I speak. This man comes not among the godlike sons Of the Phaeacian stock against the will Of all the gods of heaven. I thought him late Of an unseemly aspect; now he bears A likeness to the immortal ones whose home Is the broad heaven. I would that I might call A man like him my husband, dwelling here, And here content to dwell. Now hasten, maids, And set before the stranger food and wine.”
She spake; they heard and cheerfully obeyed,
And set before Ulysses food and wine.
The patient chief Ulysses ate and drank
Full eagerly, for he had fasted long.