Aeolus, the Lestrigonians, and Circè

and beneath A massive tripod kindled a great fire And warmed the water. When it boiled within The shining brass, she led me to the bath, And washed me from the tripod. On my head And shoulders pleasantly she shed the streams That from my members took away the sense Of weariness, unmanning body and mind. And when she thus had bathed me and with oil Anointed me, she put a princely cloak And tunic on me, led me in, and showed My seat⁠—a stately silver-studded throne, High-wrought⁠—and placed a footstool for my feet. Then came a handmaid with a golden ewer, And from it poured pure water for my hands Into a silver laver. Next she placed A polished table near to me, on which The matron of the palace laid the feast, With many delicacies from her store, And bade me eat. The banquet pleased me not. My thoughts were elsewhere; dark imaginings Were in my mind. When Circè marked my mood, As in a gloomy revery I sat, And put not forth my hands to touch the feast, She came to me and spake these winged words:⁠—