thee The threatened evil. I will now reveal The treacherous arts of Circè. She will bring A mingled draught to thee, and drug the bowl, But will not harm thee thus; the virtuous plant I gave thee will prevent it. Hear yet more: When she shall smite thee with her wand, draw forth Thy good sword from thy thigh and rush at her As if to take her life, and she will crouch In fear, and will solicit thine embrace. Refuse her not, that so she may release Thy comrades, and may send thee also back To thine own land; but first exact of her The solemn oath which binds the blessed gods, That she will meditate no other harm To thee, nor strip thee of thy manly strength.’
“The Argus-queller spake, and plucked from earth The potent plant and handed it to me, And taught me all its powers. The root is black, The blossom white as milk. Among the gods Its name is Moly; hard it is for men To dig it up; the gods find nothing hard.
“Back through the woody island Hermes went Toward high Olympus, while I took my way To Circè’s halls, yet with a beating heart. There, as I stood beneath the portico Of that bright-haired divinity, I called Aloud; the goddess heard my voice and came, And threw at once the shining doors apart, And prayed me to come in. I followed her, Yet grieving still. She led me in and gave A seat upon a silver-studded throne, Beautiful, nobly wrought, and placed beneath A footstool, and prepared a mingled draught Within a golden chalice, and infused A drug with mischievous intent. She gave The cup; I drank it off; the charm wrought not, And then she smote me with her wand and said:— ‘Go to the sty, and with thy fellows sprawl.’
“She spake; but drawing forth the trusty sword Upon my thigh, I rushed at her as if To take her life. She shrieked and, stooping low, Ran underneath my arm and clasped my knees, And uttered piteously these winged words:— “ ‘Who art thou? of what race and of what land, And who thy parents? I am wonder-struck To see that thou couldst drink that