“She spake, and easily my generous mind Was moved by what she said. Forthwith I went To my good ship beside the sea, and found My friends in tears, lamenting bitterly. As in some grange the calves come leaping round A herd of kine returning to the stall From grassy fields where they have grazed their fill, Nor can the stall contain the young which spring Around their mothers with continual bleat; So when my comrades saw me through their tears, They sprang to meet me, and their joy was such As if they were in their own native land And their own city, on the rugged coast Of Ithaca, where they were born and reared; And as they wept they spake these winged words:—
“ ‘O foster-child of Jove! we welcome thee On thy return with a delight as great As if we all had reached again the land That gave us birth, our Ithaca. And now Tell by what death our other friends have died.’
“They spake; I answered with consoling words:— ‘First draw our galley up the beach, and hide Our goods and all our weapons in the caves, And then let all make haste to follow me, And see our friends in Circè’s sacred halls, Eating and drinking at the plenteous board.’
“I spake; and cheerfully my men obeyed, Save that Eurylochus alone essayed To hold them back, and spake these winged words:—
“ ‘Ah, whither are we going, wretched ones? Are ye so eager for an evil fate, That ye must go where Circè dwells, who waits To turn us into lions, swine, or wolves, Forced to remain and guard her spacious house? So was it with the Cyclops, when our friends Went with this daring chief to his abode, And perished there through his foolhardiness.’
“He spake; and then I thought to draw my sword From my stout thigh, and with the trenchant blade Strike off his head and let it fall to earth, Though he were my near kinsman; yet the rest Restrained me, each one speaking kindly words:—